We face problem after problem: falling trees that nearly flatten us, unrelenting rain, chronic fatigue, insect stings … the list feels never ending. The race feels never ending. Mostly, we do what we can to survive each day. We eat and drink what the jungle provides. We share stories and memories from home as we hike to keep our spirits up. And we locate two more flags: each southeast of the one before it. At night, we set up camp and take our usual shifts keeping watch. Guy continues to not wake me when it’s my turn, and I continue to wake up on my own through sheer determination. We talk during this time. Me more so than Guy, but still, he has his moments. There’s never any divulgence about the race, not since that first time. But it feels good to have a moment that’s stolen. As if we carve it out of the jungle night and say, This belongs to us. I learn that Guy actually enjoys the wilderness, and if it weren’t for the race, he might be having the time of his life. He’s from Detroit, which I find insanely cool, and he has three younger brothers.
