Let’s pretend it’s Monday, so I can play mrtl’s game. Her theme this week is “won”, so today I’d like to talk about how I’m a
weiner winner in life.
An extreme overachiever, you might expect to hear about my various scholastic achievements – how I kicked ass in elementary school elocution contests, how I’ve taken state in nerdy Japanese competitions, how I was sent to DC, all expenses paid, thanks to the merits of my writing, etc.
Yes, I could bore you with stories of scholarship and that bit part I got in our second grade production of “The Sound of Music.” (*hack* My Favorite Things Song Group Leader #4), but I would prefer to talk about a win that really means something. I would prefer to talk about the Pizzahutenoff.
Winning the Pizzahutenoff is no small feat. It requires stamina, endurance, and an extreme act of gluttony. It’s about sacrificing your body in the name of competition. It’s about beating the buffet whilst busting your gut.
The Pizzahutenoff was devised on a crisp winter’s day by college kids who had too much time on their hands. The premise was simple: Send a group of cafeteria-worn 20-somethings in to a Pizza Hut all-you-can-eat buffet and see who can eat the most, and still leave standing.
While the odds were stacked against me (I was competing against three male friends), I’m proud to say on our maiden Pizzahutenoff, yours truly consumed 11 slices of piping hot pizza in order to take home the crown.
It wasn’t an easy feat.
At four slices I laughed at my competitors, chomping down a few breadsticks (which didn’t count toward the total), just to show my big cojones.
At eight slices I started feeling lethargic and had to unbutton my pants.
At ten slices, having gone beyond all reasonable levels of bloating, I made myself think about all the starving kids in Ethiopia, and as I put that slice of pepperoni in my pie hole I said, “This one’s for you Abebe.”
By eleven slices I knew I was done. My pants, no longer simply in danger of being snug, were, it seemed, getting close to splitting. Having had a bad experience with busting out of my Levis before, I knew I had to Just. Say. No… to that twelfth slice of deep dish meat lovers, that is.
I’m really proud of my accomplishment. I have to admit though, in retrospect, winning the Pizzahutenoff was kind of like bringing home a blue ribbon from the Special Olympics. I may have won, but at the end of the day, it was still retarded.