Page 13 of The Big Race
Worth the Effort
W e found our seats, which had name tags at each chair. At the head of the table stood a familiar figure from our years of watching the show.
Julie Henderson beamed at us with the practiced warmth that had made her America's sweetheart for over a decade. Her signature blonde bob was perfectly styled, and she wore a crisp white blazer that managed to look both professional and approachable.
"Welcome, racers, to The Big Race!" Julie announced, her voice carrying the enthusiasm that had launched a thousand adventures. "I'm Julie Henderson and I’ve been guiding teams around the world for fifteen seasons, and I couldn't be more excited to have you join our Big Race family."
She smiled. "You're about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime—racing across six continents, facing challenges that will test not just your physical abilities but the strength of your relationships.
But before we send you around the world, we want you to get to know your competition.
Each team will introduce themselves and tell us a bit about their relationship and why they think they can win this race. "
It was a strange feeling to know that every move we made from then on, with the exception of bathroom visits, would be filmed and then possibly shown to a national audience.
Julie gestured to a couple at the far end of the table. The woman sat with military-straight posture, her blonde hair pulled back in a regulation bun, while her fiancé—equally rigid in bearing—wore a crew cut that screamed armed forces.
"I'm Adrienne Walsh, Air Force," the woman said crisply. "This is my fiancé Fletcher Barnes, Army. We've been engaged for eighteen months and believe our military training gives us the discipline and teamwork necessary to win this race."
"Failure is not an option," Fletcher added with the kind of intensity that suggested he'd never met a challenge he couldn't overcome through sheer determination.
Next came two men who could have stepped off the pages of a fitness magazine—chiseled jawlines, perfectly styled hair, and the kind of casual confidence that suggested they'd never doubted their own appeal.
"I'm Alex Dominguez," the taller one said with a practiced smile. "This is my best friend and modeling partner, Ross Mitchell. We've been working together for five years, traveling the world for shoots, so we know how to handle pressure and look good doing it."
"Plus, we're in peak physical condition," Ross added, flexing slightly. "This race is basically an extended photo shoot with prizes."
The introductions continued around the table. Two women with distinct Southern accents and perfectly coordinated outfits introduced themselves as Gemini and Blaine—sorority sisters from the University of Alabama who'd been best friends since rush week.
"Y'all might think we're just pretty faces," Gemini drawled, "but we've been planning events and managing crisis situations for our chapter for years. We know how to think on our feet."
A pair of middle-aged men in work shirts and jeans went next. Both were built like linebackers, with broad shoulders and powerful hands. The kind of practical strength that came from years of physical labor.
"I'm George Patterson, this is my best friend Ernie Williams," the bearded one said. "We've been collecting garbage in Detroit for twenty years. People might underestimate us, but we know how to work hard, work smart, and work together."
Two young men who looked like they'd stepped out of a lifestyle blog introduced themselves as Tyler and Brandon—friends since college who'd bonded over their shared love of travel and adventure. Unlike some of the romantic couples, their dynamic seemed more relaxed, built on friendship.
"We're here to prove that sometimes the best partnerships aren't romantic ones," Tyler explained. "We've backpacked through Europe, gone on spontaneous road trips, and we communicate like we share a brain."
The parade of introductions revealed professors, doctors, food truck owners, a mother-son team, and a pair of social media influencers who looked barely old enough to drink.
We were particularly impressed with Desiree and Cherisse, a pair of NBA wives who had reality TV experience—we’d even watched their series.
When it came to our turn, I felt Ray's knee brush against mine under the table—a brief touch of solidarity before we faced the scrutiny of our competitors and the cameras.
"I'm Jeffrey Morgan, and this is my husband Ray Carter," I began, my voice steadier than I felt. "We've been together for twenty-five years, married for fifteen, and we're here because..."
I glanced at Ray, seeing him nod encouragingly.
"Because we need to remember how to be partners again, not just roommates."
As dinner progressed, I found myself drawn into conversation with George, one of the garbage collectors. He was surprisingly well-read and insightful, challenging my preconceptions with every word.
“Most people think it’s just a dirty job,” he said when I asked about his work. “But it’s fascinating from an anthropological perspective. You can learn everything about a neighborhood from what they throw away.”
Across the table, Ray was engaged in an animated discussion with Vivian and Walter, a pair of professors, about their favorite hiking trails in the American Southwest.
“You’ve done Angels Landing?” Ray asked, impressed. “That’s a serious hike even for experienced climbers.”
“Age is just a number, young man,” Vivian replied with a wink. “Walter and I may be in our seventies, but we’ve been making up for lost time.”
By the end of dinner, alliances and rivalries were already forming.
The military couple kept to themselves, eyeing everyone with barely disguised competitiveness.
The sorority sisters had befriended the male models, giggling at their stories.
And Ray and I had somehow formed an easy camaraderie with both the garbage collectors and the professors.
The doctors, Anika and Raj, looked allied with the mother and son, Keisha and Lamar, as well as the food truck owners, Jenny and Carlos.
“Early day tomorrow,” Miranda announced as our dessert plates were cleared away. “Everyone back to your rooms by nine. Call time is 4:30 a.m.”
Back in our hotel room, Ray and I went through our pre-race checklist one final time. Proper shoes, moisture-wicking clothes, the minimal toiletries allowed by production, our passports securely in their waterproof pouches.
The next morning dawned way too early, but I sucked it up. I hoped there would be a lot more early mornings ahead.
We lined up at a bus outside the hotel where Miranda handed out blindfolds.
I tried to imagine what turns we were taking but it was impossible.
When we pulled to a stop and Miranda told us we could take off our blindfolds, I was delighted to see the weathered limestone walls of the Ancient Spanish Monastery.
Delicate stone archways framed a courtyard where medieval monks had once walked in silent contemplation, while towering palm trees—incongruously tropical against the Romanesque architecture—cast long shadows across the worn flagstones.
The juxtaposition of the 12th-century European cloister against Florida’s vibrant greenery created a surreal, timeless setting, as if we were standing at the intersection of multiple worlds—fitting for a race that would soon send us across continents.
I looked at Ray and we fist-bumped. It was six AM and the sun was rising as we were instructed to leave our backpacks in the parking lot. Then we were led to the back of the property.
Everyone around us was excited, so Ray and I didn’t have to hide our delight at knowing exactly where we were.
The morning air hummed with anticipation. Camera operators darted between the contestants, capturing candid moments of nervous preparation. Ray and I stood side by side in our bright magenta shirts, watching the production team make final adjustments to the starting line.
“How are you feeling?” Ray asked, his voice low enough that the microphones pinned to our collars might not pick it up.
“Like I might throw up,” I admitted. “But ready.”
Ray nodded, scanning the other teams with the practiced eye of a former athlete sizing up the competition. “Military couple looks tough,” he murmured, nodding Adrienne and Fletcher in purple shirts. They stood at attention, barely speaking to each other, eyes focused on the starting line.
“Who do you think we should consider as allies?” Ray asked. He gestured toward George and Ernie in their bright orange. “The garbage collectors look strong as oxes.”
“Oxen,” I said, and we both laughed. I remembered my conversation with Ernie from dinner. “Ernie’s smart, too. Well-read. They might surprise everyone.”
Zoe approached us, clipboard in hand. “Ray and Jeffrey? We need you for your pre-race interview. Follow me, please.”
We were led to a small setup against an arched wall.
A woman with a headset had us hand over our cell phones, credit cards and any cash in our wallets.
“Here’s a credit card that can be used to charge your plane tickets, but only those unless otherwise directed.
You’ll be given cash at the start of each round and it will be up to you to budget wisely.
” She directed us to stand on marks taped to the ground.
“Just be natural,” she advised. “Pretend the camera isn’t there. ”
Cody stood in front of us with his camera aimed at us. The red light blinked on, and the interviewer, off-camera, asked, “Ray and Jeffrey, what brings you to The Big Race?”
Ray glanced at me, clearly expecting me to take the lead as we’d discussed.
I took a deep breath. “We’re here to save our marriage,” I said, the words feeling both terrifying and liberating as they left my mouth. “After twenty-five years together, we’ve hit a rough patch. This race is our way of remembering how to be partners, not just roommates.”
“Could you elaborate on that?” the interviewer prompted.
I hesitated, not wanting to broadcast Ray’s affair to millions of viewers. “We got comfortable. Too comfortable. Started taking each other for granted. Stopped seeing each other as the people we fell in love with.”
Ray shifted beside me, and I could feel his discomfort at my candor. But we’d agreed to be honest—not about the specific details of his infidelity, but about our struggle.
“Ray,” the interviewer continued, “what do you hope to gain from this experience?”
Ray cleared his throat. “A second chance,” he said simply. “Jeffrey and I built something amazing together—a home, a family with our son. I don’t want to lose that because we forgot how to communicate, how to appreciate each other’s strengths.”
“And what are those strengths?”
A small smile played at Ray’s lips. “Jeffrey is the thinker, the planner. He sees ten steps ahead. Keeps us on track.”
“And Ray is the doer,” I added. “Fearless, adaptable. Pushes through when things get tough.”
“Sounds like a good combination for The Big Race,” the interviewer observed.
“We’ll see,” I said. “It’s been a while since we functioned as a team.”
“One last question,” the interviewer said. “What would winning mean to you?”
Ray and I exchanged a glance, and I saw something vulnerable flash in his eyes.
“Winning would be great,” Ray said carefully. “But honestly? If we finish this race with our relationship stronger, that’s the real victory.”
“And a million dollars wouldn’t hurt,” I added with a wry smile, trying to lighten the moment.
The red light blinked off, and the production assistant thanked us. As we walked back to the starting area, Ray touched my elbow.
“You didn’t have to be that open about us struggling,” he said, his voice tight.
“We agreed to be honest,” I reminded him. “Besides, it’s not like we can hide it. We know from watching the show that the cameras will catch everything.”
Ray nodded reluctantly. “I know. It’s just... strange hearing you talk about our problems to strangers.”
“Maybe that’s part of the problem,” I said. “We haven’t been talking about them enough to each other.”