When our team of four Beacon journalists arrived at the Incredible Race on Saturday morning, we were asked to provide contact information for our next of kin.

“Umm, this is our first time competing,” I told an organiser. “Does this event involve a high risk of death?”

She just laughed. Normally, I would have taken this response as a sign to make a hasty exit. But our team had come prepared for the annual race, which involves a series of mental-health-related challenges across Tortola.

Specifically, we had spent the previous afternoon fashioning shields, swords and helmets out of cardboard boxes and old newspapers as part of our required costumes.

Needless to say, these outfits looked extremely realistic and fearsome, and so we felt sure of winning first place.

As other teams arrived, our confidence grew. Unlike us, our competitors were woefully underprepared. None of them possessed high-tech weaponry such as ours. Instead, they wore sleek, skin-tight athletic shirts emblazoned with their team names, as well as matching tennis shoes and sports shorts.

“Those guys look ridiculous,” I said as I struggled to repair a loose staple in my cardboard-and- newspaper helmet. “Surely they don’t expect to win a prize dressed like that.”

As we shook our heads with pity, last year’s first-place team walked by bragging about their plans to win again.

“Not this time!” I announced, brandishing my cardboard sword and ducking behind my cardboard shield. “Prepare to be defeated!”

They were too terrified even to run away as common sense would dictate: Clearly frightened out of their wits, they held their ground and burst out laughing.

Out of pity, I decided to spare them.

“I’ll let you live this time, because the real purpose of this contest is spreading awareness about mental health,” I said, sheathing my cardboard sword by sliding it under my left arm. “But don’t let it happen again.”

T-shirt challenge

Soon, the nine four-person teams gathered in the centre of the Noel Lloyd Positive Action Movement Park, and an announcer explained the first challenge: Each team was required to thaw out a frozen T-shirt and put it on a team member before receiving a clue that would lead to the next event.

Because we wished to give our underprepared competitors a head start, we generously took our time unfreezing our T-shirt. We were so generous, in fact, that we were the last team to leave the park.

The first clue led us to Enis Adams Primary School, where students were teaching the competitors traditional dances to perform before a group of judges.

This challenge posed an immediate problem for me: My impeccable sense of rhythm is only unleashed after consumption of alcohol, which was prohibited under the rules of the Incredible Race.

Nevertheless, we jumped in the fray.

Unfortunately, our team had three men and only one woman. This meant that when it came time to perform, I found myself across from Beacon Business Editor Ken Silva. With the judges watching sternly, we had no choice but to dance together.

“Well, at least aren’t many people around to see this,” I thought, as I held Ken’s hand and spun him around in a graceful circle.

That’s when I noticed that Beacon reporter Ngovou Gyang was standing nearby shooting a video with her cell phone.

I wondered then if my cardboard sword would be strong enough to commit ritual suicide, like disgraced soldiers did in ancient Rome.

Other challenges

After the dancing, more clues led us to other challenges, including tossing balls at Brewers Bay, riding go-carts near the helipad in Road Town, and swimming with dolphins at Prospect Reef.

Then we got some bad news. Because of a few wrong turns and misinterpreted clues — not to mention my jeep’s limited hill-ascending abilities — we had fallen too far behind. Along with other slower teams, we were eliminated.

Suddenly, we faced our most difficult challenge of the whole race: deciding whether to obey organisers’ instructions and return to the park or to stay at Dolphin Discovery and drink margaritas for the rest of the day.

The race rules clearly prohibited drinking, but since we had already been eliminated this seemed like a moot point. On the other hand, showing up drunk to the award ceremony might disqualify us from any other prize we might win — Sexiest Cardboard Helmet, say, or Most Graceful Pirouette.

In the end, we played it safe, returning to the park sober to watch the remaining teams compete for the first-prize cruise.

Unfortunately, we didn’t win anything, but we had great fun and went home exhausted.

As I lay down on my couch that afternoon for a nap, I let out a sigh of relief. That’s when I heard my cell phone ding with a notification from the Beacon’s Instagram account: Ms. Gyang had posted the dancing video, and it already had six “likes.”

 

Disclaimer: Dateline: Paradise is a column and occasionally contains satirical “news” articles that are entirely fictional.

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