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 destroythemselves 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."
