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THE COMPETITIONS I HAVE ENTERED
SAM QIAN
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If you’ve never been to the World Robot Contest (or the World Robot Conference that runs alongside some of these events), picture a huge playground for people who build robots — students, hobbyists, university teams, and companies — all showing off what robots can do. In 2024 Beijing, the event brought together several competitive robotics programs and expo activities. The VEX/V5 and other contest formats held regional and championship-style matches in late August 2024, and large conference events ran around the same time. Official event pages show the Beijing contests took place in August 2024 and included qualification and final matches, volunteer coordination, and an exhibitor program.
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Beijing also hosted the World Robot Conference in 2024 (WRC 2024), a related larger conference that ran August 21–25 and gathered researchers, industry leaders, universities, and startup teams to present developments across AI + robotics. That conference emphasizes cross-discipline work — robotics plus AI applications, standards, and talent cultivation — and it’s a major sign that the robotics scene in China is maturing fast.

Why I joined the competition — the short, honest reason
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Why did I decide to co-found a team and enter something that huge? Two reasons, simple and stubborn.
First, I wanted to push a creative idea as far as it could go. I didn’t want to tinker only in school labs for local matches — I wanted to see our work tested against the best, in real rounds and real crowds. Competitions like Beijing’s put your design under real stress: different playing fields, bright lights, unpredictable floors, and opponents who may push the match in unexpected ways. That pressure teaches you things you won’t learn in practice alone.
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Second, I wanted the team to be more than “my robot.” I wanted to build a team culture and a design process that other people could join, learn from, and keep using later. Co-founding the team meant I could try to set standards: clear design workflow, documentation habits, safety checks, and a culture that encourages retrying. I wanted to show other students that you can conceive a vision, plan it, and ship something that competes on a global stage — and that you don’t have to be a genius to start one.
So I signed up, found teammates, and said yes to the chaos.

What I actually did — co-founding, chief design, and everything in between
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Saying “I co-founded and was chief designer” is the short version. The long version is a sequence of messy, fun problems that had to be solved. Below I lay out how my role unfolded from day zero to the final match.
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1. Building the team & the vision
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Co-founding started with people — getting the right group together. I reached out to classmates, friends from other schools, and a couple of university mentors I’d met at workshops. We had a mix of coders, fabricators, mechanics, and one person who had a knack for finding weird parts online.
We wrote a simple team mission on the first weekend: “Design robots that solve clearly defined tasks reliably, and teach every member to understand not only ‘what’ we build but ‘why’ we built it that way.” That mission shaped the decisions that followed: we wanted documentation, repeatable builds, and design reviews.
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2. The core vision & system architecture
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As chief designer, my first job was to pick the system architecture. That meant choosing drivetrain layout, actuator types, control electronics, sensor suites, and mechanical modularity. For a contest like Beijing, you need to balance speed, torque, precision, and reliability.
We prioritized modularity. I pushed for a chassis that could accept different tool-heads (e.g., a gripper, a disc handler, or a lift) because mid-season rule tweaks and match strategies at these big contests often require quick reconfiguration. That decision paid off during testing: swapping heads without de-soldering saved hours.
On the electronics front we standardized on a main controller with redundant motor drivers (so a single motor driver failure wouldn’t stop the whole robot), hot-swapable batteries, and a simple sensor bus using easy-to-replace connectors. Simple choices like standardized connectors made our pit repairs much faster under pressure.
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3. Design-to-competition workflow (my baby)
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I established a repeatable workflow so our builds wouldn’t be one-off miracles but reproducible outcomes:
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Concept stage: sketch multiple small ideas and pick the simplest with the highest chance of working.
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Prototype stage: build a basic proof-of-concept in one weekend (3–4 hours/day).
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Test & iterate: run at least five targeted tests for each module (drive, manipulator, sensor), note failures, fix small items, then repeat.
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Integration: combine modules and run end-to-end tests on a scaled field.
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Stress testing: simulate messy conditions — uneven floors, low light, noise — and run endurance cycles (20–30 minutes) to find heat or battery issues.
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Documentation: every change goes into a team notebook (who changed what, why) so we could revert or replicate.
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This workflow made repairs and improvements much faster. If something failed during inspection, we could look at the log, see who last changed that part, and roll back or patch.
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4. Prototyping & fabrication
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I co-led the fabrication sessions. We used CNC-cut aluminum for the chassis, 3D-printed fixtures for custom fittings, and high-torque motors for the drivetrain. I taught teammates how to use CAD for fast part revisions and set up basic machining safety rules.
We learned several painful but useful lessons: don’t trust a 3D-printed part for high-stress joints unless it’s reinforced; belt drives can slip under heat; and wire routing matters — rat’s nest wiring kills a good robot more than any design flaw.
5. Software & control
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I wasn’t the lead programmer, but as chief designer I defined control interfaces and basic PID loops for steering and manipulation. We implemented simple vision routines (color/shape detection) for autonomous sequences and used sensor fusion to stabilize motion in the noisy arena environment.
Observing the codebase integrity was important. I insisted on branch workflows (so testing code never wrecked the main release), and required nightly basic integration tests before we packed the robot for travel.
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6. Pit strategy & on-site management
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At big events like Beijing, pit work is crucial. I ran the pit station during matches: quick repairs, battery swaps, and last-minute calibration. I set up a “hot swap” table with spare controllers, a soldering kit, and documented quick-fix procedures laminated on the table.
We practiced pit drills: if a wheel motor died, who pulls it? If a sensor fails, do we replace or bypass? Practice made these responses second nature and reduced panicked tinkering.
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7. Leading by doing (and failing publicly)
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We had a few embarrassing failures — a connector unscrewed and we lost a match, a gear stripped mid-play, a vision routine misdetected under bright lights. Each time, my role was to be in the pit, pick tools, and coordinate the fix. I also coached members on how to present failure honestly during debriefs so the team learned faster.
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8. The showcase & finals
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By the time finals rolled around, we had a robot that was refined, repaired, and resilient. The team presented its design, answered judges’ questions, and demonstrated robustness in multiple rounds. Our final placement wasn’t the only thing that mattered — the experience of iterating under pressure, repairing quickly, and conducting coherent post-match analysis was the real win.

What I learned — beyond trophies, the lessons that stuck
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Competitions teach you technical stuff, but the deeper lessons are about people, process, and perspective. Here’s what stuck with me.
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1. Systems thinking beats one-off genius
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A good robot is a system: mechanical, electrical, software, and human processes — all must work together. I learned to think not only about the motor torque or PID gains but also about solder joint longevity, connector choice, and how quickly a human can perform a repair in the pit. Building a system that is easy to maintain under pressure is often more valuable than a marginal performance edge.
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2. Documentation is underrated — and necessary
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When a teammate changed a gearbox ratio for a test and didn’t document it, we spent two hours trying to find out why steering behaved differently. Now I require a team log for every change. Documentation saves time and everyone’s sanity.
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3. Practice under noisy, real conditions
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Field testing in clean labs is helpful, but not enough. Ballast floors, harsh lighting, odd reflections, radio interference — these show up in real matches. Simulating those conditions in practice revealed issues before they became disasters.
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4. Failure in public builds trust when you show process
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Failing in front of a crowd is embarrassing. But failing and then calmly fixing it while explaining what went wrong builds credibility and teaches others you didn’t fake anything. We learned to be transparent about limitations and how we planned to fix them. People respected that.
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5. Leadership is a collection of small actions
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Leading a team in a global contest is less about dramatic decisions and more about small support tasks: making sure the batteries are charged, the paperwork is packed, the team eats, and the quiet members get a chance to speak. Those choices matter.
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6. Logistics are a huge part of engineering
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Transporting the robot, spare parts, tools, and paperwork, and coordinating travel and lodging—all of it needs planning. It’s boring, but if ignored, it ruins competitions faster than a design flaw.
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7. The community matters as much as the robot
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We traded parts and ideas with other teams, borrowed tools, and learned techniques from rivals. At big events, people help each other — that felt like a small, meaningful culture shift from cutthroat competition to collaborative improvement.
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8. You learn how to teach by doing
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Explaining your design to judges, younger teammates, or curious visitors forces you to simplify and clarify. Teaching others taught me how to distill complicated ideas into clear concepts — a skill that’s useful beyond robotics.
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