Page 14 of The Big Race
The World is Waiting
A s we walked away from the interview spot, Cody followed us, though he didn’t appear to be filming. I felt a familiar knot forming in my stomach. Something about the polished way Ray had answered those questions troubled me—his voice had that practiced salesman’s cadence I knew too well.
It was so easy to fall back into our competitive dynamic, Ray taking charge, me analyzing everything to death. The race hadn’t even begun, and already I could feel us slipping into our old roles.
But then Ray’s hand brushed against mine—briefly, almost accidentally—as we approached the starting line. A small gesture, but deliberate. His eyes met mine for a moment, and I saw something there beyond the competitor’s focus: uncertainty, yes, but also determination.
Maybe this was how healing worked—not in a straight line, but in a messy zigzag of progress and retreat.
Two steps forward in the privacy of our hotel room, one step back under the glare of the cameras.
What mattered wasn’t that we occasionally retreated to our corners, but that we kept trying to meet in the middle.
A whistle summoned all contestants to the starting line, interrupting my thoughts.
As we took our positions, surrounded by the other teams, I made a silent promise to myself: I would notice these patterns.
I would name them, even if only in my head.
Because recognizing the problem was the first step toward fixing it.
To our left stood Tyler and Brandon, the gay friends in orange shirts, exchanging rapid-fire observations about the other teams. “That Southern sorority girl duo is going to be tougher than they look,” Tyler was saying. “They’ve got that steel magnolia thing going on.”
Brandon nodded. “And the model bros will be strong but probably terrible at puzzles. We should try to align with the professors—they’ll know things.”
On our right, the mother-son team from Chicago, Keisha and Lamar, were engaged in what appeared to be a familiar argument.
“Mom, I’m telling you, we need to sprint for that first clue,” Lamar insisted.
“And I’m telling you, baby, your mama’s knees aren’t what they used to be,” Keisha replied. “We pace ourselves. This is a marathon, not a sprint.”
In front of us, the two male models were taking selfies, flexing and pouting for the camera. “Hashtag race day, hashtag a million dollars,” one of them said as he reviewed the photo.
The energy of the starting line was electric, a mixture of anticipation, nervousness, and competitive spirit. Camera operators circled, capturing the tension, while Julie took her position on an elevated platform.
At a signal from the director, the cameras began to roll. “Welcome to the sixteenth season of The Big Race!” Julie announced. “You’re about to embark on a journey that will test not just your physical abilities, but your communication, problem-solving, and most importantly, your relationships.”
I looked over at Ray. He was totally focused, the way I’d seen him at starting gates for previous races he’d run.
“Over the next twenty-one days, you’ll race across five continents, navigating cultural challenges, physical obstacles, and the inevitable fatigue that comes with constant travel.
Here are some of the basics of the race.
At the start of each leg, you’ll receive a Direction Card, with basic instructions to the next location or challenge.
You may encounter several different kinds of direction cards, including the two-way street, where teams can choose between two different tasks, each with distinct advantages and disadvantages. ”
Around us, the teams were all nodding.
Julie continued, “If you encounter a solo sprint, that means only one team member can complete the tasks. If you reach a yield sign, then the partner who began the task must yield to their teammate to complete it. You may also encounter a Checkpoint Challenge—in the middle of a leg you may be required to pass a test before continuing.”
Fortunately, as fans of the show we knew about all of those.
“There are also some new challenges in this race, which we’ll tell you about as you encounter them,” Julie said. “The first team to cross the final finish line will win one million dollars. But every team will walk away with experiences that will change your relationships forever.”
Camera operators moved among us, capturing reaction shots. I tried to look confident rather than terrified.
Fletcher and Adrienne exchanged a determined nod. “Failure is not an option in this mission,” Fletcher said loudly enough for nearby teams to hear, his stance rigid as if still on duty.
“One man’s trash is another man’s million dollars,” George, one of the garbage collectors, quipped in response, earning a laugh from several contestants.
“Your first clue awaits you at those stands by the fountain,” Julie explained, pointing to twelve identical envelopes arranged on a display. “When we give the signal, you’ll race to retrieve your envelope and begin your journey.”
The teams tensed, ready to sprint at her word.
Ray turned to me, his eyes seeking mine in a moment of connection. “Partners,” he said softly, extending his hand.
I took it, feeling the familiar calluses on his palm, remembering all the times we’d held hands over the years—walking down the aisle when we finally could legally marry, bringing Leo home for the first time, comforting each other through the loss of my parents.
“Partners,” I agreed.
Around us, the other teams were having similar moments of connection. Keisha squeezed her son’s hand. The sorority sisters bumped hips playfully. The professors shared a quick kiss. Even the military couple softened momentarily, their fingers brushing against each other’s.
“Teams,” Julie called, raising her arm. “The world is waiting! Travel safe!”
Her arm dropped, and the race began.
A horn blasted, and chaos erupted as twenty-four people surged forward toward the waiting clues, the race for survival—of both the competition and our marriage—officially begun.