Page 47 of The Big Race
Chapter 21
Breathing Room
Back in our hotel room that evening, I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my hands. They were steady now, but I could still feel the phantom sensation of gripping the bungee cord, the moment of absolute terror before the leap transformed into something else entirely.
Ray emerged from the bathroom, toweling his hair dry. He’d been quieter than usual since we’d returned from the Stop’n’Go, and I wondered if he was processing something too.
“You know what’s funny?” I said, breaking the comfortable silence.
“What?” Ray settled onto his own bed, facing me across the narrow space between us.
“I keep expecting to feel different. Like conquering that fear should have changed me fundamentally somehow.” I flexed my fingers, studying them as if they might reveal some secret. “But I’m still just me. Still the guy who makes multiple to-do lists and reads user manuals cover to cover.”
Ray smiled softly. “But you’re also the guy who jumped off a bridge today. That’s not nothing, Jeffrey.”
“No, it’s not.” I looked up at him, feeling something unfamiliar in my chest—pride, maybe. When was the last timeI’d felt genuinely proud of myself for something that wasn’t work-related? “I’m proud of myself. Is that weird to say?”
“Not weird at all. You should be proud. What you did today...” Ray shook his head. “I’ve been doing physical challenges my whole life, and I’ve never seen anyone face down a fear like that. The way you just decided to jump, despite being terrified.”
His words warmed me in a way I hadn’t expected. Ray had always been generous with encouragement, but this felt different somehow. More specific, more seen.
“It wasn’t really deciding,” I said thoughtfully. “It was more like... stopping the decision. Does that make sense? All my life, I’ve overthought myself out of things that scared me. Today, I just... stopped thinking and jumped.”
“Maybe that’s what courage really is,” Ray said. “The decision to act despite fear.”
I studied his face, noting something subdued. “What about you? You looked like you were processing something down there.”
Ray was quiet for a moment, his hands fidgeting with the towel. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than usual.
“Watching you jump... it made me realize something about myself that I don’t particularly like.”
“What?”
“I’m not actually brave at all,” he said, the words coming out in a rush. “I mean, I am with physical stuff—heights, speed, competition. That stuff has never scared me. But the things that really matter, the emotional risks...” He trailed off, shaking his head.
I felt a shift in the air between us, the sense that we were approaching something important. “Like what?”
Ray looked down at his hands. “Like admitting when I’m struggling. Like asking for help when I need it.” Heglanced up at me briefly before looking away again. “Like having conversations about what’s wrong instead of pretending everything’s fine until it’s not.”
The weight of what he wasn’t saying hung between us. I thought about all the times in our marriage when Ray had withdrawn into training or work rather than talking about whatever was bothering him. How he’d soldier through difficulties with that stubborn determination that I’d once found admirable and had gradually come to recognize as avoidance.
“That’s a different kind of courage,” I said carefully.
“Yeah, and apparently I don’t have it.” Ray’s laugh was bitter. “I can throw myself off a mountain without hesitation, but ask me to have an honest conversation about my feelings? Terrifying.”
I wanted to reach out to him, but something held me back. We were in delicate territory here, circling around truths that neither of us was quite ready to name directly.
“Is that what happened?” I asked quietly. “Before... before the race. Were you struggling with something you couldn’t talk about?”
Ray’s hands stilled on the towel. For a long moment, the only sound was the air conditioning humming in the background.
“I felt invisible,” he said finally, so quietly I had to strain to hear him. “Not physically, but... essentially. Like I was going through the motions of being myself without actually being myself, if that makes sense.”
It made more sense than I wanted to admit. How many evenings had I come home to find Ray watching TV or organizing his gear, both of us moving through our routines without really connecting?
“When did that start?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Gradually, I think. Leo left for college, and suddenly it was just the two of us again, but we’d forgotten howto be just the two of us. You had your work, I had my training, and we were like... roommates who happened to share a bed.”
