Chapter Nineteen
I wake up on the wrong side of the mega sleeping bag.
Not in a literal way; Finn and I are curled so closely into one another that there are hardly even sides, just one central cuddle puddle. But emotionally? The side couldn’t be wronger. The second day of my infrequent periods is the most consistent thing about them, in that my cramps are always the worst and I am one moody bitch. It seems that’s no different out here, despite the soothing atmosphere of the great outdoors, the fact that I slept like an apparently noisy rock, and the hunk of a man snuggling me all night.
I wake up irritated at the world anyway. At the sun for shining so brightly before my eyes are ready to adjust to daylight. At the bugs and birds and other forest musicians for being so damn loud and keeping no rhythm with each other, just a cacophony of buzzes and caws and chirps and hoots. At myself for caring so much about my skin and appearance that I require a two-hundred-fifteen-step regimen every morning and a whole separate one at night. I do it anyway, of course, skipping zero steps of my slightly pared-down routine I’ve had for all of Wild Adventures so far, but I’m grumpy about it the whole time.
I can already tell it’s gonna be a long day.
“Are you giving us the maps, or what?” When I snap for the first time, it’s at Burke Forrester, of all people. He’s lollygagging something awful as he teases today’s race to the checkpoint, going on about the bridges we cross in life and how even when it feels like you’re close to the end, there are always more obstacles to tackle. I, for one, am ready to get the hell on with it. Especially since each team gets to start five minutes apart, in order of when we filled our buckets yesterday. Finn and I will be third, leaving right in the middle of the pack, and I’m not taking anything for granted.
Burke, of course, has no sense of urgency. He looks at me with offense—maybe even a little disgust at my audacity—until he covers it with his polished host mask and a false chuckle. “Somebody’s in rare form today, huh?”
Finn puts a hand on my lower back in a gesture that, if I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt, is probably meant to remind me he’s there supporting me, and we’ll make it to the checkpoint in time. But it also feels unpleasantly close to a calm-down-you-hysterical-woman warning.
Still, I bite my tongue, enduring the rest of the Burke Forrester Metaphor Hour until he finally hands over our maps and Zeke and Enemi set off for the checkpoint, starting the five-minute countdown for Meena and Cammie, ten for Finn and me. We confer over the map, deciding it looks like a pretty straight path up the AT. Finn asks how I feel physically and if I think I’m able to jog again, and I try not to take offense. I know he’s trying to be considerate of the fact that I’m on my period, and if said period wasn’t making me hate everyone and everything at the moment, I’d probably appreciate the consideration. So I don’t bite his head off, and assure him that I’m fine to jog. Whether or not I’m lying remains to be seen.
Finally, Burke gives us the whistle to start toward the checkpoint. I let Finn go in front, determined to meet whatever pace he sets.
I quickly find that to be an ambitious goal.
“Shit, fuck, damnation, sonofa—”
“Okay back there?” Finn calls over his shoulder. I thought the curses I’ve been letting out with each pounding step of my boots were too quiet for his ears. My volume meter must be out of whack along with everything else, including the knives that have started stabbing at my lower abdomen as we’ve jog-hiked.
“Peachy,” I groan back. If he’s heard the rest, I might as well give up the pretense of okay-ness.
Finn slows his pace and walks backward in front of me like a campus tour guide I kind of want to kiss, kind of want to kick in the shins. “We can slow down a little. The later-leaving teams are probably well behind us, so we have a buffer. No need to make you miserable.”
It’s far too late for that, but a nice sentiment anyway.
“I’m fine. I’ll be even better if we’re not the last ones to the checkpoint. Let’s just keep going.”
Of course, it can’t be that easy. We’re almost to the checkpoint when we come up on a creek. It’s marked on the map, so it isn’t entirely a surprise, but what is surprising is the sign that blocks off the bridge crossing the creek—one that says CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE. It’s bright orange and written in the Wild Adventures font, which, combined with the fact that the bridge looks perfectly fine, leads me to believe it actually means CLOSED TO GIVE CO-EDVENTURERS ONE LAST PAIN IN THE ASS.
“Well, what do we…,” I start, but turn at the sound of voices over the rushing water a little farther downstream. Finn starts walking that way and as I follow, we see Meena and Cammie through the trees, appearing to levitate their way over the creek.
Of course they’re not really, but it takes more frantic blinking on my part to make out the rope under their feet, a second clutched in their hands, as they shuffle sideways toward the other bank. A camera operator and producer on the other side cover the action.
Finn spots the orange envelopes hanging from a tree first, takes one, and tears it open. “?‘Co-EdVenturers,’?” he reads. “?‘The Appalachian Trail, like all of life and the great outdoors, is unpredictable.’ Okay, I’m skipping some of this…. To get to the checkpoint, we have to cross by these ropes. One to stand on, one to hold onto for balance. If we fall, head back to the start and try again.” He folds the paper and envelope and stuffs both into one of his pants pockets. “Ready?”
Watching Meena and Cammie as he’s read, I’ve already bitten my lower lip too hard and made it bleed. My arms are wrapped tight around myself as if I can physically keep my raging insides together. I try to run through the rational, reasonable facts in my mind—that the water doesn’t look very deep, so I’ll be okay if I fall; that Wild Adventures wouldn’t let us do anything too life-threatening because it would really be bad if someone died on their show; that Meena and Cammie both just touched down on the opposite bank without falling once, and look pretty chill and happy about it. Zeke and Enemi aren’t even here, so I assume they’ve already sped across.
But my anxiety has counterarguments to all of that. It might be shallow, but there are rocks everywhere. My bruise from the last time I fell in a creek out here is still there, in its yellow-green stage. I signed a bunch of waivers before filming started that I’m pretty sure exempted the show from any responsibility if I do die, and it would probably make for some record-breaking ratings. Zeke and Enemi both look like they’ve been training for American Ninja Warrior since childhood, so their success means nothing for how I, Anxious McShakyhands, will perform.
“Nat?” Finn puts a hand to my arm and I flinch away in surprise. Also in the hopes that he doesn’t feel the light sweat that’s broken out over my whole body, not from the hike here, just from the aerobic activity of worrying.
But this is a performance. I can treat it that way. Act like I’m fine, and manifest it into existence.
“Yeah, sure. Why don’t you go first?” I smile, or think I do. Finn’s answering skepticism indicates I might not be the most convincing.
“You don’t want to cross together like they did?”
I release my grip on my own arms and try to subtly wipe my damp palms on my shorts. After seeing how much the other team bounced the entire way across, and eyeing the skinny rope that is our makeshift bridge, no, I don’t especially want to have our combined weight on it. And it might help me to take another few minutes to compose myself.
I don’t get that many, though. When I convince Finn to go on ahead—which doesn’t take much, as he’s very aware we’re on a time crunch—he starts across like an experienced tightrope walker. Seriously, the guy should consider quitting college to join the circus. I’m certain it takes him no more than one minute to cross the length of the creek and jump smoothly to the ground on the other side, then turn to face me with an easy smile.
“You’re up!” he yells.
The extra time only gave me more space to worry. My heart is galloping in my chest. Full Kentucky Derby underdog, going for the race of her damn life. My damn life. Which might be cut short by a rocky creek in the very near future.
“F-Finn?” I choke out, voice shaking, eyes on the water rushing over boulders under some parts of the rope crossing. I’m conscious of the camera operator moving closer to the creek, probably zooming in to capture every bead of sweat rolling down my forehead, but I’m too swept up by panic to keep up any performance of cool.
“What is it?” Finn calls back.
“I don’t know if I can do it.” I flick a glance up to his face and catch his expression of oh shit before he quickly schools it into fake confidence.
“You totally can. You kidding? Rappelling was way scarier.”
He doesn’t know how scared I was then, too. Already seems to have forgotten that my shaking hands could’ve cost us the whole challenge. I feel the trembling in my extremities, the buzzing spreading through my limbs. I tuck my hands against my sides, but the tremors amplify through my rib cage.
“I had a helmet yesterday, Finn!” I cry.
“See? This must be safer, if we don’t have to wear helmets.” The gotcha! grin he sports makes his face look all too punchable.
“Not what that means.”
“Well, it kind of is. The fall isn’t far, and—”
“You did not just ‘well, actually’ me at a time like this!”
“I—what?” I can’t believe we’re having this conversation across a creek, but I’m too worked up to stop now. He stacks his hands atop his head and I only spare a moment to notice the nice things it does for his arms because I’m now not only freaking out about crossing the ropes, I’m also annoyed at my partner.
Finn is the one to deflate from his puffed-up posturing first, arms dropping back to his sides and volume of his voice lowering with them. “Nat,” he says on a sigh. “What do you want me to say? What do you want to do here? We don’t have unlimited time to decide, you know?”
I stare back at the ropes, not feeling any surer I can haul myself across them. I register another team jogging up from the closed bridge, Zeke and Enemi. Where the hell have they been? I assumed they’d kept their first-place reign of terror, but they must’ve gotten sidetracked, or taken a wrong turn somewhere. Now they’re going to make up for lost time while I flounder uselessly. I feel the threat of tears at the backs of my eyes. No. No, I’m not doing this right now. And I’m absolutely not letting anyone else see.
Blinking quickly, I crouch and mess with the laces on my boots, ensuring I don’t have anything to trip over. Then I stand, just as Zeke is grabbing an orange envelope from the tree off to my side. “Okay, I’m heading over,” I shout.
“Are you sure?” Finn calls back.
No, but he clearly doesn’t want to hear that at the moment. And he’s right—we don’t have all the time in the world. What other option do I have? Hell, Meena and Cammie are probably halfway to whatever nice hotel stay they win for this challenge. Though in truth, the best prize would be not having to participate in any more activities involving serious risk of life and limb.
“Yes,” I say, more forcefulness to it than I feel.
I take a few deep breaths, then approach the ropes, putting my hands on the top one. I am gonna eat this creek for breakfast.
My breakfast hasnever made me so furious.
“FUCK!” My shout echoes through the trees, along with the loud splash as I hit the water a second time.
I maintain that the first time was Enemi’s fault. She and Zeke argued over waiting until I was across to start their trek, but against his protests, she hopped right on before I was even halfway over the creek. Her shaking of the ropes immediately made me lose my balance, and I dropped down, the only blessing being that I landed on my feet in waterproof boots.
This time, I wasn’t as lucky. I did land on my feet, but unsteadily, and fell to my knees in the shallow creek. One got cut on a rock and both my palms are now scraped up with rope burn. As I trudge back to the bank, I let out a groan-scream that’s likely as painful to everyone’s ears as it is to my throat. Zeke gives me a sad, apologetic smile as he shuffles his way across the ropes.
When I’m almost to the starting point, Harper and Evan step on, one after the other, taking the Meena-Cammie tandem-crossing approach. And while I’m pleasantly shocked to see they overtook Karim and Max somewhere, they’re still knocking Finn and me down one more notch in the standings.
Finn, a little more urgency in his encouraging tone now, shouts over, “Hey, you got this, okay? Take a breath. You can do it, Nat. Just stay focused, hang on, keep your balance—”
“What do you think I’ve been doing?” I yell. Harper startles midway across the rope, giving Evan and her both a little bounce.
Finn must have some sense of how unhelpful his advice is. It’s every woman and her bleeding hands and knee for themselves out here. But the frustration and desire to be done with this already are starting to grow stronger than the anxiety. I feel less shaky as I climb up again, just after our friends have made it to the other side. I try not to hold the rope with the most scraped up parts of my palms, but it’s still painful. The pain makes me almost dissociate, block out everything except moving forward so I can stop holding this rope and treat what hurts.
“Natalie, you’re doing great,” I vaguely hear Finn say. Well, that’s good. Some encouragement, unprompted and without any extra attempt at motivational speaking or telling me what to d— “See, you can crush this stuff when you really push yourself!”
My steps falter but miraculously, I don’t go down. Does he think I only just started pushing myself? That my very real anxiety has actually just been, what, me not trying hard enough to be chill?
“And no pressure, take your time. Just want you to know Karim and Max are right behind you and they’re the only team left after us, okay? But we’re ahead and you can do this.”
No pressure! Take my time! Sure!!!
I bite down on the frustrated beast-scream I want to unleash. Does it seem like I’m anything less than fully aware we’re in the last two teams?
I feel the rope bounce, and don’t look to see if it’s Max, Karim, or both bearing down on me. I do pause for some of the initial bouncing to settle, and apparently this is all it takes for Finn to decide it’s Yes Pressure time.
“Nat! It’s now or never! Do you really want this to be what loses us the hundred K?”
When I hear the splash, I first think it’s from me again. Woman down, brutally felled by her partner’s complete lack of faith in her, that she was stupid to think ever went away. But I’m still on the rope, holding on for all I’m worth—which may or may not be one hundred thousand dollars. Finn probably leans toward not.
It’s frustration and spite that push me forward without responding. Even as my fingers hurt, even as I kind of want to cry for reasons both identifiable and not, even as my whole body quakes with lingering nerves or perhaps a dash of fresh rage, I keep on.
When, at last, I set one foot on the solid ground at the far creek bank, Finn reaches for my waist and hauls me the rest of the way down, pulling me into a hurried hug. I don’t return it, though he doesn’t seem to notice before dropping his arms and pulling me by my red, roughed-up hand the rest of the short way down the trail to the Wild Adventures flag and a clapping, smiling Burke Forrester.
I barely register Burke’s words, just the fact that we are not the last team. He and Finn talk back and forth about the challenges today and yesterday. I would add my two cents, but I don’t think I’m human anymore. By my scientific calculations, I’m a barely sentient blob made up of thirty percent exhaustion, twenty percent open wounds, fifty percent mad-sad, the ratios of the former to the latter changing by the second.
The mad is partly directed toward my teammate. The guy who’s been so encouraging and supportive, a good ally at plenty of points in this journey, even more than an ally at others. His impatience with me, the patronizing, all of it stung.
More than that, though, I’m mad at myself. Because Finn was right, ultimately—I could have been the reason we got sent home today instead of Max and Karim. My anxious, screwed-up brain, which I thought was doing so well in this experience, has turned on me as the challenges have grown more intense. It’s getting in my way as it always seems to do in the end, making it painfully obvious to everyone that I’m not cut out for this stuff.
And why did I ever think this wouldn’t be the case? Even if I had my shit together mentally, it’s not like I was ever going to be physically strong or outdoorsy enough to not only keep up, but beat out everyone else in a fierce competition for $100,000 that I really fucking need.
I probably deserved to lose today. This feeling intensifies as I watch Karim and Max make it to the top and approach the checkpoint, defeat evident in every inch of their bodies. I have to turn away as Burke hands down their fate and Max starts to get emotional about how much this experience has meant to him, my own eyes stinging once again.
Finn and I are still here, but it doesn’t feel like we have much longer. And it really doesn’t feel like any kind of win.