I didn’t watch Season 1 of The Amazing Race, but I’ve seen all the other seasons. Number 25 just started last week.
I’ve seen the contestants race around Europe, and Asia, and Africa. I’ve watched them shave their heads, dare to confront their fears by jumping out of planes or off buildings, and eat some truly disgusting stuff.
I’m an armchair adventurer, hear me whimper.
My daughter, the Lovely Oldest, and I have applied to be on the show but they keep losing our paperwork.
We don’t live in the same house any longer, and we DVR the show but we often text back and forth about it.
Someone finding our phones would think we were speaking in secret code.
ME: #1 rule?
LO: READ THE CLUE!
Me: Shank it.
LO: No, Rank it.
And on it goes.
While I would love that kind of adventure, another part of me knows that I’d be cast as the fat, old, non-athlete who’d likely be eliminated at the end of the first leg.
But I can dream. Which I will do all during this season. We left the teams Friday night in the US Virgin Islands, dripping wet, but eager to continue the adventure.