A few days before 'Challenge Day' arrived, we were discussing tactics of all sorts: What we would eat on the day, how much water we would drink, at what pace we would eat the challenge, what we would eat first etc. It was an overwhelming presence in our lives which would be over in a matter of hours, but for that moment, nothing was more important.
Arriving to the restaurant we were chirpy, laughing, mobile creatures. We ordered our water and promptly ordered the challenge. It was a 1kg burger challenge which included: a bun, 2 beef burgers (with extra salt), 2 rashers of bacon, 2 chicken fillets, a lump of chilli con carne and a pitiful lettuce leaf fraction which I can only assume was there by accident. It was topped off with 6 onion rings and pierced through the heart with a skewer. The plate was sprinkled with a flooding of chips, which coated the burger and the rest of the plate.
Looking over at how my friends were getting on... 2 of them were almost finished, making it look like a piece of cake, or a really small burger! The other 2 had given up. Which side was I on? The more I wanted to be on the victorious side, the more I was hindering myself.
I decided to go for a walk to digest the food I had eaten and make room for the second round to finish this thing. I walked to the bathroom, but feeling delirious in a food coma, the inevitable happened...
Ding. Ding. Ding. And within a few seconds it was over. There was no point in eating anymore, because I wouldn't have ever completed the challenge. I was on the team I didn't want to be on.
Only one of us had completed the challenge victorious, but looking back, was it a victory? Or did the burger unknowingly beat us all?
My body rejected the burger, the salt, and my pride; because it was all gone that night.
I am no Adam Richmond, but in that challenge of Man vs Food... Food knocked me out!