Page 12 of The Big Race

Won’t Let Me Fall

T he three of us ate breakfast together, protein-packed oatmeal, and then Leo left to return to college. We hadn’t been told when to expect our driver, so we wandered around the house, trying to kill time. Ray checked his bags, I tried to focus on answering emails, and we were both edgy.

Finally my cell phone rang shortly after noon. “It’s the gatehouse,” I said. Ray answered while I held my breath.

“Thank you. You can let him in.” He hung up and turned to me, his eyes bright with a mixture of excitement and nerves. “Our driver is here.”

This was it. No more time for doubts or second-guessing. Whatever lay ahead—for the race and for us—the starting line was waiting.

We shouldered our backpacks and walked down the driveway. A black town car pulled up and we put our bags in the trunk. The driver handed us each a folder containing release forms and last-minute instructions, along with security badges on lanyards marked “CONTESTANT.”

As we drove through our neighborhood, Ray reached for my hand, interlacing our fingers. “Nervous?” he asked quietly.

“Terrified,” I admitted. “But ready.”

We watched closely as the driver took us out to US 1, and then on a winding path that didn’t seem to make any sense. “I think they’re deliberately trying to confuse us,” I said. “If a team is being picked up at the airport and then driven to this hotel, they could memorize the route back.”

Ray nodded. “They haven’t counted on us knowing the area.”

Eventually, after more twists and turns, we ended up at a hotel in Aventura, on the north side of Miami.

“What do you think?” Ray whispered to me. “Ancient Spanish Monastery? That’s the closest landmark.”

“Even if it’s not, we know this neighborhood.”

The Aventura Hotel appeared ahead, its modern glass facade gleaming in the early afternoon sun.

As we stepped out of the car, the Florida heat hit me with familiar intensity, but for once I didn’t mind the instant bead of sweat forming at my temples.

After twenty-five years in this climate, I was acclimatized in a way many of our competitors wouldn’t be. Another small advantage.

A security guard checked our credentials before waving us through to a secluded entrance away from the main lobby. Zoe met us, with multiple lanyards and radios. “Hi, it’s so nice to meet you both in person.” We shook hands.

“We’re keeping all contestants separated from regular guests,” Zoe continued. “You’ll be using private elevators and a dedicated floor. Dinner is at seven in the Henderson Room, where you’ll meet the other teams and receive your official welcome.”

Zoe led us through a side door and down a series of hallways to an elevator requiring keycard access. The production team had transformed this section of the hotel into what felt like a covert operation.

“Here are your room keys,” she said, handing us each a card. “You’re in room 1742. The production team will collect you for dinner at 6:45. Until then, you’re asked to remain in your room. There’s a welcome packet on the desk with more information.”

The elevator doors opened on the 17th floor, where two security guards stood at attention. They nodded as we passed, checking our contestant badges.

Our room was spacious with a stunning view of the intracoastal waterway. As soon as the door closed behind us, Ray dropped onto the edge of the bed, running his hands through his hair in a gesture I recognized as his way of processing overwhelming situations.

“Are you ready?” I asked, the question carrying weight beyond the race itself.

Ray looked at me, his hazel eyes serious. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” Then he smiled, that familiar crooked smile that had first caught my attention all those years ago. “Besides, you’ve been training me for weeks. I think I can handle whatever they throw at us.”

“Even the dancing challenges?” I teased, referring to his notorious two left feet.

“Especially those.” He bumped his shoulder against mine. “I’ve got a secret weapon now.”

“What’s that?”

“A partner who won’t let me fall,” he said simply.

As we unpacked our small overnight bags and explored the contents of the welcome packet, I wondered about the other teams we’d soon meet.

Would they be competitors to defeat, or might some become allies?

Would they see Ray and me as the fragile couple trying to repair their broken marriage, or as formidable opponents with decades of shared history to draw upon?

In less than twelve hours, we’d be racing across countries, facing challenges designed to test not just our physical abilities but the very fabric of our relationship. The stakes couldn’t be higher.

But whatever happened in the race ahead, we were facing it together.

We donned our magenta T-shirts and when the production assistant came for us, we rode the elevator down to the restaurant level for the welcome dinner.

The restaurant had been transformed for the occasion, with production cameras and operators positioned around the perimeter and a long oval table set for twenty-four contestants.

A young man with a professional camera rig approached as we walked on. The camera was a compact but high-end model mounted on a stabilizing harness that distributed the weight across his shoulders and torso—the kind of setup that would allow him to move quickly while keeping the footage smooth.

"Ray and Jeffrey?" he asked, extending his hand. "I'm Cody, your dedicated camera operator for the race."

He looked to be in his mid-twenties, with an easy smile and the kind of wiry build that suggested he could keep up with whatever physical demands lay ahead. His dark hair was pulled back in a small ponytail, and despite the serious-looking equipment, he had a relaxed, friendly demeanor.

"Nice to meet you," Ray said, shaking his hand. "That's some serious gear you've got there."

Cody grinned, adjusting the camera rig slightly.

"Sony FX6 with a gimbal stabilizer. Weighs about twelve pounds fully loaded, but this harness makes it manageable for long shoots.

" He patted the camera affectionately. "I just graduated from USC film school last year, so this is my first season with the show.

I'm probably closer to your son's age than yours—I'm twenty-three—but I promise I can keep up. "

"You'd have to be in good shape for this job," I observed, noting how the camera setup would require him to move quickly while maintaining steady footage.

"Rock climbing and parkour training," Cody confirmed.

"Plus I've been working with the production team for months, learning the technical requirements.

At the end of each leg, I'm responsible for uploading all my footage to the editors.

They work overnight to cut together the episodes while we're racing. "

Ray looked impressed. "You're not just filming—you're part of the whole production process."

"Exactly. The editors rely on us to capture not just the big moments, but the small ones too.

The conversations between challenges, the quiet moments when you think no one's watching.

" Cody's expression grew more serious. "I know this race is about more than just competition for you guys.

I've seen your audition video. I want you to know I'll respect what you're going through while still doing my job. "

I felt a flutter of anxiety. "So you know about... our situation?"

"The producers brief us on each team's story," Cody said gently. "But my job is to document what happens, not to judge it. You guys seem like good people working through something difficult. I'll try to stay out of your way while making sure we capture your journey authentically."

Ray and I exchanged glances. There was something reassuring about Cody's straightforward approach.

"Any questions about how this works?" Cody asked, checking his camera settings. "I'll be with you pretty much constantly—challenges, travel, meals. The only times I'm not filming are in bathrooms and when you're sleeping in your hotel rooms."

"What about private conversations?" I asked.

"If you need to talk privately, just let me know and I'll give you space. But remember, those authentic moments—even the difficult ones—often make for the most compelling television."

Ray nodded. "We appreciate the honesty.”