Page 15 of The Big Race
Old Habits
T he moment Julie’s arm dropped, Ray was off like a shot, his years of athletic training kicking in automatically.
I sprinted after him, already feeling the disadvantage of my desk-job conditioning despite our weeks of training.
Around us, the other teams surged forward in a chaotic mass of colorful shirts and pounding feet.
Ray reached the clue stand first, snatching our envelope as Adrienne and Fletcher grabbed theirs just seconds behind. But he wasn’t allowed to open it until I arrived.
We rushed to the line of parked cars, with Cody hot on our heels. We had agreed that I would drive, and I jumped into the front seat of the third car in the line, with Ray in the back seat and Cody beside me.
We were the third to depart from the monastery.
“I’ll bet most teams are going to head right down 167 th Street to the Golden Glades to get on I-95,” I said.
“And they’ll hit rush hour. I say we veer off and take Route 9 south all the way to the 112.
I used to work in Coral Gables and that road always had less traffic. ”
“I’ll go along with that,” Ray said. “I’ve spent way too long in bumper-to-bumper traffic to argue with you.”
Adrienne and Fletcher and the male models were ahead of us, with the garbage collectors close on our heels.
Through my rear-view mirror I spotted a few other cars.
Ray always accuses me of being too aggressive when I drive, but he didn’t mind the way I darted between cars and trucks on 167 th Street.
Only Ernie and George managed to stay on our tails.
“We need to be on that first flight,” I said, leaning forward on the steering wheel as I zoomed around a convertible driven by an elderly man. “Five teams out of twelve—those aren’t great odds.”
Ray grinned, a flash of the old appreciation for my strategic thinking. “This is why we make a good team.”
I decided that George and Ernie could be good partners for a while, so when I was ready to get onto Route 9 I signaled carefully, and George followed. “Why are you letting them follow you?” Cody asked.
“Because we need allies this early in the race. And those guys are smart and in good shape.”
As I hoped, State Road 9 was nearly traffic-free.
Even when we merged onto 27 th Avenue to head south, we were moving faster than we would have on the highway.
I got us to the airport and followed the red-and-blue signs for The Great Race, showing us where to leave our cars, with the key fob on the seat.
Then Ray and I grabbed our bags and ran into the terminal, with Cody behind us. “Gate 23!” Ray called, spotting a sign. We sprinted through the airport, dodging travelers with rolling suitcases and families corralling small children.
The airline counter had a large “BIG RACE CHECK-IN” sign, where a smiling attendant waited. A production camera crew was already in position to capture our arrival.
“We need two tickets on the 9:30 flight to Panama City,” I said breathlessly.
The attendant checked her computer. “Names?”
“Jeffrey Morgan and Ray Carter,” Ray replied, drumming his fingers impatiently on the counter.
She typed something, then smiled. “You’re the first team to arrive. Congratulations, you’re on the first flight to Panama City.”
Relief washed over me as she handed us our boarding passes. Behind us, George and Ernie were being checked in as the second team.
“First!” Ray exulted as we moved away from the counter. “That’s how we do it.”
“Don’t get cocky,” I cautioned. “We’re still hours from Panama City, and then the real challenges begin.”
Ray’s smile dimmed slightly. “Would it kill you to celebrate a small victory?”
“I’m being realistic. This is a marathon, not a sprint.”
“I know that,” he said, his voice tight. “I’ve run both.”
And just like that, we were falling into our old patterns—Ray rushing ahead without thinking, me overthinking every step, both of us bristling at perceived criticism.
“Thanks for the help getting here,” George said, as we walked toward the gate. “We owe you one.”
We found seats near the gate and watched as the other teams arrived. The military couple, Adrienne and Fletcher, were third, and the male models, Alex and Ross, were fourth, followed closely by the sorority sisters, Genesis and Blaine, who secured the last spots on the first flight.
The remaining seven teams—the gay friends, the mother-son duo, the doctors, the chefs, the influencers, the NBA wives, and the professors—would have to wait for the later flight, putting them more than two hours behind.
“That’s a significant lead,” I observed, reviewing my notes on the other teams. “Adrienne and Fletcher are going to be our toughest competition in this group.”
Ray nodded. “They’re fit, but I saw them arguing last night at dinner. Communication issues.”
“The sorority girls are smarter than they let on,” I added. “I overheard them discussing all the countries they’ve visited at dinner last night. They’re playing the ditzy Southern belle stereotype.”
“And the male models are strong, but Alex seemed to be limping slightly. Might be an old injury.”
We were interrupted by Zoe, the production assistant. “Ray and Jeffrey? We’d like to get an interview before boarding.”
We followed her to a quiet corner where Cody was ready to film us. The same off-camera interviewer from earlier posed her first question: “How does it feel to be on the first flight?”
“Great,” Ray answered. “We worked well together, got here first, and now we’ve got a nice advantage going into Panama City.”
“Is working well together a surprise given what you told us about your relationship struggles?”
I glanced at Ray, unsure how to answer.
“We’re professionals,” Ray said after a moment. “Whatever’s going on between us personally, we both want to win this race. That means putting our issues aside and focusing on the goal.”
It wasn’t the most romantic answer, but it was honest. The race was forcing us to cooperate, but the deeper issues remained unaddressed.
While we waited to board, I noticed Walter and Vivian, the professors, sitting nearby sharing a guidebook and what looked like homemade trail mix. They seemed remarkably calm compared to the nervous energy radiating from most other teams.
"First time on TV?" Vivian asked with a smile as Ray and I settled into nearby seats.
"First time doing anything like this," I admitted. "You two seem pretty relaxed about it."
"At our age, what's the worst that could happen?" Walter chuckled. "We get eliminated and have to go home to our comfortable retirement? There are worse fates."
"We're both retired professors," Vivian explained. "Walter taught anthropology at UC Davis, and I was in linguistics. Forty-three years in academia between us."
Ray looked intrigued. "What made you decide to do the race?"
"Bucket list," Walter said simply. "We spent decades saying we'd travel 'when we had time.' Then Vivian had her heart procedure last year, and we realized time isn't guaranteed."
"The race application was my seventieth birthday present to myself," Vivian added. "Walter thought I'd completely lost my mind."
"I still think you've lost your mind," Walter replied fondly. "But fifty-two years of marriage taught me when to argue and when to just pack my bags."
I felt a twinge of something - envy, maybe? - at their easy affection. "Any advice for those of us who are... still figuring out the teamwork part?"
Vivian studied us with the sharp eyes of someone who'd spent decades reading people. "Don't overthink it. We've watched younger, stronger couples on the race destroy themselves with strategy and competition. Sometimes the best approach is to support each other and enjoy the journey."
"And remember," Walter added, "it's not about being the fastest or strongest. It's about making fewer mistakes than everyone else."
Cherisse and Desiree, the NBA wives, joined us a few minutes later.
I knew from watching their program that they had both been college athletes before they married.
Cherisse was tall and willowy with honey-blonde highlights framing her face, her designer athleisure outfit probably costing more than my monthly mortgage payment.
She’d been a star basketball player but hadn’t been strong enough to join the WNBA.
Desiree was shorter and had been a long-distance runner.
She commanded attention with her confident posture and perfectly applied makeup that somehow looked natural despite the airport lighting.
Both women moved with the practiced grace of people accustomed to cameras and public attention.
"Mind if we join y'all?" Desiree asked, her voice carrying a slight Southern accent. "Looks like we've got some time before boarding."
"Of course," Ray said, making room on the bench.
As they settled in, Desiree leaned toward me conspiratorially. "Can I give you some advice? I know you mentioned you're working through some relationship stuff."
I nodded, curious where this was heading.
"Even when we're busy in challenges, we have to be aware we're being filmed," she said, her voice lowering. "On the first season of our show, Cherisse got the villain edit. They cut together clips of her frustrated moments and complaints, when that was only part of her personality."
Cherisse rolled her eyes but smiled. "Girl, don't remind me. Made me look like a complete nightmare."
"They didn't want to let on that her marriage to Judd was falling apart, and that's why she was so stressed," Desiree continued.
"They used that anger as a storyline for the whole season, made it seem like her personality drove them apart.
But really they broke up because Judd couldn't keep his dick in his pants. "
"Ouch," I said, feeling a familiar pang. At least I had reconciled myself to Ray's cheating before we got in front of the cameras, even Leo's during our audition video. If I was keeping all that anger inside, I knew how bad I would appear to outside viewers.
The flight to Panama City took a little over three hours, and we landed there in the heat of the day.
We grabbed our packs and sprinted through the jetway, and spotted the red-and-blue boxes with the direction cards ahead of us.
I pulled the first card out and Ray and I stopped to read it, but the military couple and the male models grabbed the cards without reading and sprinted ahead of us.
“Head to Terminal Two, where you will find taxis to take you to your first destination, the Plaza de la Catedral, and find the women weaving traditional molas. Who has a steady hand? One team member must complete this solo sprint, crafting a traditional Panamanian mola textile design using the provided materials. Once the craftsperson approves your work, you’ll receive your next clue. ”
We took off and realized that Terminal Two was in the opposite direction of the way the first two teams had gone. “Didn’t they watch the show?” I asked, as we went in the other direction. “Always read the clue before you take off.”