Prior to my adventure, I am assigned a primitive survival rating (PSR) by a team of experts. I have never been camping or hunting, and if I have to pee while hiking, I will turn around and drive forty-five minutes into town to a public restroom. Even so, I have combat skills and tenacity, as demonstrated by a recent fight at Ross Dress for Less over the last pair of irregular Levi’s in my size. I have been rated with a PSR of 1.01 out of 10.

As I am driven into the jungle to meet my partner, I pray that I made the right choice to spend hundreds of dollars on laser hair removal instead of outdoor survival classes. I meet my partner, Wolf, who has a PSR of 7.5, and who I am annoyed to discover is much more attractive than me. I ask the producers if a schlubbier man is available because shouldn’t they have done an attractiveness-matching thing if this is being televised?

For his allowed survival item, Wolf brought a fire starter so that we can cook and stay warm during the frigid nights. I brought a stick of Secret Clinical Strength deodorant because, as I explain, “The jungle do get stinky.”

I pretend I understand how to read the map, and we hike into the dense trees. After a half hour of agonizing small talk, I ask if we can take a mindfulness break. Wolf takes the opportunity to fashion us some sandals out of jungle grass, and while I appreciate the effort, they have basically zero arch support.

At camp, Wolf makes a fire and builds a shelter while I supervise. The inside of our shelter is dingy, so I spread around some fun-colored leaves to improve the vibes. Wolf warns that it can be difficult to sleep because of the bugs and freezing temperatures, but I’m so exhausted that I immediately pass out while he’s explaining how to fight off a jaguar, should the need arise.

On day two, I wake up to Wolf filling our Discovery Channel–issued cooking pot with nasty dirt water from a hole he dug with his bare hands. He tells the camera about his experience teaching underserved youth to live off the land, and explains that he can purify the dirt water by soaking moss in it. I ask him if there is a kind of moss that could carbonate the dirt water, as I really prefer drinking seltzer these days.

I tell Wolf I’m getting hangry, so he goes out to forage while I tend the fire. He returns with a handful of sour red berries and some weird nut things that he claims are edible. I close my eyes, pretend I’m on the Paleo diet, and eat a nut thing. It tastes like the Jolly Green Giant’s butthole.

By day four, I am so hungry that I am beginning to hallucinate that Wolf is a sushi roll. While he’s asleep, I scarf down the rest of the berries. When he later demands to know where the berries are, I fabricate an elaborate tale where a wild pig invaded our camp and stole them. Wolf points out that I have juice all over my face, then spends ten hours whittling a spear. I spend the rest of the day trying to remember all the words to Britney Spears’s first album and pondering how jiggly my thighs look on camera.

On day five, I accompany Wolf into the jungle on a hunting trip. He spots a capybara and shushes me. Just as he is throwing the spear, I shriek, “No, no! Don’t kill the cute little animal for a stupid TV show!” He misses, and the spear breaks against a tree. Wolf lunges at me in frustration, and I accidentally step on a snake, killing it. Later, I cry and apologize to the snake while Wolf roasts it for dinner.

The next morning, I hold a little funeral for the snake, then decide to thank Wolf for all his hard work by performing that Britney Spears album in its entirety. I warm up my vocal cords with a cup of hot dirt water. Halfway through “…Baby One More Time,” Wolf walks up to the producer and tells her he is tapping out. We head home in a helicopter, and I joke about not recognizing him with his clothes on. That night, I request him on Instagram and he blocks me.

By the end of our ordeal, Wolf lost twenty-five pounds and gained two additional ab muscles. Although we didn’t finish the challenge, his resourcefulness has increased his survival rating to 8.9. Due to bloating from the dirt water, I have gained fifteen pounds, despite eating nothing for a week but a handful of berries and some burnt snake. My survival rating was rolled back to negative five, yet I somehow feel invincible.