We were nearly a week into playing Australian Survivor when I noticed the hole in my foot.
For the first few nights of shooting the reality TV competition in Samoa, it had rained relentlessly. Our shield was hastily-woven palm fronds. Dry clothes didn’t exist. Socks didn’t dry. Spooning each other at night, shivering and whimpering, we wondered whether we’d ever be dry again.
But then, finally: sunshine! Relief. On our first properly fine day, we threw off our saturated clothes to run into the crystal blue waters of the Pacific. I ripped off my sneakers, stripped off my soaked socks and realised I felt … weird underfoot. Or, rather, I felt something missing. Then I looked down.
The hole in the sole of my foot was red raw, at least a human knuckle deep, all narrow and gaping – like the well Bart Simpson fell down, but dug out of me. Part of my foot was simply gone. I felt grossed out even just looking at it.
As someone with medical knowledge later explained: “Think of what happens to your body in a bath after an hour. Your foot was essentially in the equivalent of a bath for nearly a week.” It’s very likely, they added, that I almost got trench foot – “what soldiers in World War I got after being stuck in trenches where they couldn’t dry their boots”. If it’d gotten any worse, I could have risked nerve damage. (Fun!)
One week in, and I was already rotting. Others later told me their menstrual cycles were off-kilter at this stage. People either pooed too much or not at all. If this was what happened to our bodies after a week, what would happen to someone for a fortnight? A month? Or – as the winner must endure – 45 days?
When people discover I – an inner-city homosexual with a professed hatred of camping – was on Australian Survivor, they’re fascinated and appalled. Even if you’re only ambiently aware of the show, you’ll know contestants are exposed to the elements, assigned limited rations, and made to do brutal physical challenges (hurling bodies into mud; pushing against logs that could knock out teeth) while at their physically weakest. Why would anyone voluntarily subject themselves to this?
But I’d been a fan of Survivor since the very first American seasons. (The US version is now up to its 44th season; there are no signs of slowing down). I’d cited the show in my PhD thesis. I loved its spectacle. I inhaled its politics. I respected how the winners of the Australian version had been impressively varied. An anxious and lovable underdog; a short and wiry flight attendant; an 60-something former Olympian; a pint-sized actor; a shredded god; a quick-thinking PhD in pain management; a former SAS commander. All had won. This wasn’t a game decided on brute strength alone.
At the same time, entering the game at your physical peak is paramount. You don’t want to be a liability to your tribe, lest they vote your scrawny arse off the island. Also, nearly every contestant will lose significant weight out there. Miscalculate rations and you simply starve for the day.
My metabolism is like a furnace, so coming into the show, I aimed to put on roughly seven kilos of muscle. It would be a massive achievement, given I’ve veered towards being underweight my entire life. When my physiotherapist – who I’d been seeing for an injury – suspected I was about to do something absolutely idiotic with my body on national TV, he made me an offer. “How about I train you the same way I’d train an elite athlete?” he said. I was grateful and terrified.
Every weekday, for over a month, I’d wake up at 5.30am, train for an hour, work, swim laps, sleep, then start over again at 5.30am. I augmented my existing diet by inserting an extra two gag-inducing, joyless protein shakes into my body every day.
Soon, I was putting on muscle. Pants didn’t fit any more. My boyfriend noticed I was becoming more absent-minded and struggled in conversation. I kept forgetting words. All I could think about was getting bigger. Was I becoming brainless? Was I becoming … a jock? Secretly, I was thrilled.
Once you’re playing Survivor, though, you discover all the weight in the world won’t stop mosquitoes from destroying your sleep and sanity. It won’t stop you from being terrorised by crabs crawling over your face while you sleep. It won’t prevent physical injury. Within the first 48 hours, two contestants were hospitalised in a physical challenge with a broken collarbone (Jackie) and a nasty head wound (George). In America, contestants have fractured bones, lost consciousness, passed blood in their stools and landed hands-first into open fires.
I’d played the game for 22 days before being voted off, in an episode broadcast last week. In that time, I’d lose almost 15% of my body weight. I came out with scars all over my body from scrapes, bites and scratches. My legs were gnarled; my ribs were visible; my right shoulder blade was twisted. When I saw my weight for the first time on the scales post-game, I got lightheaded: I hadn’t been that skinny since I was a teenager. I went into the show the heaviest I’d been in my adult life, and came out skinnier than I thought possible.
When I got home, I slept and slept and slept. Partly this was me paying off the sleep debt I’d acquired from restless nights in the rain; partly it was my body finally being able to relax without the hyper-vigilance that comes with wondering which of your tribe mates might be scheming against you (in my case, all of them!).
It all sounds horrific, I know. Yet I’ve also come out of the show with a physical confidence I’ve never experienced. Whenever I find myself in a rough spot nowadays, I remind myself: “You slept in the dirt for 22 days.” All pre-existing assumptions about the limits of my lil’ body have evaporated. I’ve since done a 65km hike. A 2km charity swim. I own sneakers made of waterproof Gore-Tex. A CamelBak! A carabiner. WHO EVEN AM I?
Which is to say, playing Survivor made me unrecognisable to myself. When you’re pushed towards the brink of collapse, you discover things about your character that both flatter and horrify. You discover how quickly your body can change, for better or worse. You discover you’re stronger than you think, and can go with less food than you realised. But most importantly, you discover feet heal way faster than you think.
Australian Survivor: Heroes v Villains is broadcast on Sunday, Monday and Tuesday nights at 7.30pm on 10 and 10 Play
This article was amended on 5 March 2023 to correct the description of a former contestant’s job.
