For those of you that follow my blog, I feel my first responsibility is to debunk any rumors out there regarding my lack of website updates. No, my wife didn’t smother me with the vacuum when I told her I was too tired to lift my legs out of the way. And no, my lack of posts had nothing to do with the fact that I’d have to walk up a flight of stairs to get to my computer. My delay had everything to do with the process of moving my website over to the new format. Every piece of technology has it’s individual quirks, right? But now that you know I’m haven’t “fallen and I can’t get up!,” let’s start catching up. I’ve been eating this whole time, after all!
And the Week 17 Food Challenge is one to catch you up on. It won’t surprise you that growing up as the football kid paid off with a fair share of popularity. Thus, I probably didn’t have to deal with as many self-esteem issues as someone else might. For example, I never found myself feeling like I had to prove myself by doing stupid human tricks when asked. But throw 60 lbs. on this body, and suddenly someone could ask me to eat a live rabbit and I probably would consider it, just to prove that the competitive athlete was still somewhere under the soft marshmallow exterior. Hence this food challenge…
As most of you know by now, I had a follower from Ireland (who is a competitive eater) challenge me to a timed peanut butter challenge. Shockingly (not), I stepped up to the challenge and decided to take him on.
The rules were simple: the jar had to be about 510g of peanut butter (quick, figure out what that would equate to in ounces – something tells me I probably miscalculated and ate 3 times the peanut butter I should have). Yep, that was the only rule. Convert grams to ounces (or actually read past the “Choosy Moms Choose Jif” label), and eat the peanut butter. To help my cause, I decided to use some almond milk (remember I'm lactose intolerant – it’s easy to forget. I seem to during food challenges anyway) to wash this pasty fatty substance down. I also decided to use crunchy peanut butter (I figure chewing would be better than gagging and choking). With my 510g of peanut butter, and a stiff challenge from the Land of Leprechauns, I was ready to show my stuff.
Truthfully, I'm not sure how much I pushed myself during this challenge. I haven't been a huge fan of timed challenges in the past (probably because I have lost them….ALL), but I finished the 510 g in 11:42. Not being a competitive eater, I wasn’t immediately sure if I had been impressive, average, or woefully pitiful. Half of me didn’t care because I suddenly knew why dogs struggle with peanut butter so much. Half of me cared greatly, because the peanut butter sweats were going to be worse than the meat sweats, I was sure. While I wasn’t about to pick up the phone and get into the Guiness Book of World Records, I would be curious to know if it was at least respectable.
But this takes me back to High School. Remember how I said I didn’t have to deal with the “hey, prove you’re cool by going and doing something crazy and weird” friend tests? True to high school form, I am forced to report that this challenge was never really “completed”. You see, my challenger (you know, the Irish Competitive Eater Extraordinaire) never submitted a video and never responded to my emails. It was like trying a friend test, only to think you just got Punk’d. At first, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe the internet worked a bit slower over there. Perhaps he meant 5100g, and was now in a peanut butter coma. Perhaps, as a competitive eater, he was angry at his performance and actually ate his computer (and couldn’t actually respond back).
It wasn’t until today that I found the truth (and an email response from him). Across the pond, there are still 510g of peanut butter, somewhere in a jar. He didn’t do it. Because he had a sore throat.
If it were me, I would have gone with the “I have a headache” excuse. Isn’t that the universal “I really didn’t want to do it in the first place” excuse? Needless to say, I think I learned my lesson. No more competitive eating challenges for me.
Unless, of course, you triple dog dare me.