Page 10 of The Big Race

Final Instructions

D r. Lieber’s office felt different without Ray beside me. More intimate, somehow. She settled into her chair and smiled encouragingly.

“So, Jeffrey, what brings you in for an individual session today?”

“We’ve been selected for The Big Race ,” I said. “We start filming in two weeks.”

“Congratulations,” she said. “That sounds like an exciting opportunity.”

“It’s a disaster, actually.” I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “We can’t agree on how to prepare or what strategy to use. Every training session ends in an argument. We’re no closer to rebuilding trust than we were before.”

“I see.” She made a note on her pad. “When you discussed this idea of competing on the show, what was your expectation?”

I considered the question. “I thought it would be a clear test. Either we can work together or we can’t. Either our marriage is worth saving or it isn’t.”

“That’s a very binary way of looking at it.” She adjusted her glasses. “Either success or failure, with no middle ground.”

“Isn’t that how a race works? You either win or lose.”

“Is winning the race your goal? Or is healing your relationship the goal?”

The question caught me off guard. “Both, I guess.”

“But which is primary? If you had to choose between winning the race and making progress in your relationship, which would you choose?”

“Making progress in our relationship,” I said without hesitation.

“Then perhaps the race isn’t the test you’ve been framing it as.” She set her pad down. “What if, instead, you viewed the race as a classroom? A place where both you and Ray can learn new ways of interacting, of supporting each other, of rebuilding trust?”

“A classroom,” I repeated slowly.

“Tests have pass or fail outcomes. Classrooms have lessons, growth, setbacks, and breakthroughs. They’re messy, non-linear spaces for development.”

I leaned back, considering this shift in perspective. “So instead of seeing each challenge as a measure of our compatibility...”

“You could see it as an opportunity to practice new patterns,” she finished. “To consciously choose different responses than the ones that have become automatic between you.”

“Like when Ray pushes too hard, instead of getting defensive, I could acknowledge his enthusiasm while setting a boundary.”

“Exactly. And perhaps when you stop to analyze a situation, Ray could practice patience instead of impatience.”

The knot of anxiety that had been tightening in my chest for weeks began to loosen slightly. “This makes sense. But how do I convince Ray to see it this way?”

“Have you tried simply telling him what you need? Not in the heat of a disagreement, but in a calm moment?”

I thought about our pattern of communication—assertions and rebuttals, with very little genuine listening on either side. “No, I haven’t.”

“That might be a good place to start.” She smiled. “The race hasn’t even begun, and you’re already having your first lesson.”

When I got home, I found Ray in the backyard, meticulously packing and repacking a backpack to find the optimal arrangement. It was exactly the kind of careful preparation he usually teased me for, and the irony wasn’t lost on me.

“Hey,” I said, settling into the patio chair next to him. “Can we talk?”

He continued adjusting the contents of the pack. “About?”

“A different approach to the race.”

Ray sighed and set the backpack aside. “Look, I know I’ve been pushing hard. But the race is going to be way more demanding than anything we’ve practiced. I just want us to be ready.”

“I know. And I appreciate that.” I took a deep breath. “But I think we’re focusing on the wrong thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re treating the race like a test we have to pass. Like if we don’t perform perfectly, it means our relationship is doomed.” I met his gaze. “But what if we looked at it differently? What if the race is actually a classroom—a place where we learn how to be partners again?”

Ray was quiet for a moment, considering. “So instead of being focused on winning...”

“We focus on learning from each challenge. On practicing new ways of supporting each other.” I leaned forward. “Don’t get me wrong—I want to compete. I want to see how far we can go. But if the goal is rebuilding us, then every leg of the race is valuable, whether we’re first or last.”

“A classroom, not a test,” Ray repeated. He nodded slowly. “I like that.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. It takes some of the pressure off.” He reached for the backpack again, but instead of returning to his packing, he just held it in his lap. “I’ve been so focused on making sure we’re physically ready that I haven’t thought about how we’ll handle the emotional challenges.”

“And I’ve been so caught up in strategy that I haven’t considered the importance of adaptability.” I smiled slightly. “Maybe we’re both right, in different ways.”

I felt something close to hope. Not the desperate hope of early recovery, when you cling to any sign of improvement. But a quieter, more grounded belief based on mutual effort and clear-eyed recognition of the work ahead.

“So,” Ray said, breaking the silence, “classroom starts in two weeks. Think we can be ready?”

I reached over and took the backpack from his lap. “Let me show you a packing technique I found on a travel forum. More efficient use of space.”

Ray raised an eyebrow but didn’t object. “I’m listening.”

And he was. Maybe that was the first lesson.

After I finished demonstrating the technique, Ray methodically repacked his own bag, following my instructions perfectly. The quiet cooperation felt foreign after months of tension, but welcome.

As he zipped the backpack closed, his phone buzzed with a notification. He glanced at it, then held it up for me to see. An email from The Big Race production team.

“Final instructions,” he said, his voice suddenly tense. “Looks like we’re really doing this.”

I swallowed hard, the reality of what we’d signed up for hitting me. In two weeks, we’d be competing against eleven other teams for a million dollars, our relationship on full display for the world to judge. The thought made my stomach twist into knots.

“Two weeks,” Ray said, more to himself than to me. “Two weeks until we find out if twenty-five years together is worth something after all.”

The weight of his words hung in the air between us, both a challenge and a promise. The race hadn’t even begun, but already I felt out of breath, like we were standing at the edge of a cliff with no safety harness.

And yet, despite everything, a small part of me was exhilarated by the thought of what lay ahead. Whether we crashed and burned or found our way back to each other, at least we wouldn’t be stuck in this limbo anymore.

The starting line was waiting.