No gifts

The last few weeks of my life have been a celebration of the idea that getting something, or giving someone else something that they don't deserve, especially when competition is involved, is just an icky, yucky, disrespectful abomination of everything decent people stand for and should be avoided at all costs.  There have been a series of events where I've had the opportunity to observe and celebrate this concept, but we'll start with the big one. 

Krispy Kreme Challenge West 2012
I won KKCW 2011 in dominant fashion.  It was an exciting victory for me.  The yog was respectable and the donuts just slid right down.  The future seemed so bright! I figured with some eating technique work I could shave another 1+ minute off the eating split, and if I was in peaking OTCY shape, probably yog 30+ seconds faster too.  I basically decided that this event would be my legacy in life.  I thought of all the small competitions that a single person simply dominates.  The club tennis championship from my youth that some guy won 14 times, Bill McDermott owning the Catalina Marathon for decades, Matt Carpenter unbeatable at the Pikes Peak Marathon for the last 20 years, etc...  Well, the Krispy Kreme Challenge West would be MINE.  Notice to all challengers; To be the man, you've gotta beat the man.  Woo!  So on to the race.

Last year's tutu was left at home in favor of a traditional Indian Diwali outfit, but I did break out the Prince style mullet wig again.  We showed up bright and early and I surveyed the small group of competitors warming up.  There were a few fit looking characters, but the main competition was Patrick Sweeney, the famed barefoot, vegan, aspiring alcoholic and owner of several oddball yogging titles and records.  Conspicuously missing from his trophy collection however is a KKCW championship plaque, having been denied last year by yours truly.  He had returned this year looking fit, focused, and ready for redemption.  We lined up and off we went.  I felt like shit.  A small group surged out and quickly gapped me, but they quickly came back and before the 1 mile turn around I had taken the lead.  After the turnaround, we got hit with a vicious headwind that just about stopped me in my tracks.  Ugh.  The very baggy Diwali outfit didn't help me much, but overall my lack of fitness and power just got exposed by the conditions.  Sweeney overtook me and I had no ability to respond.  I got into the eating area about 10-15 seconds behind. 

Last year's magic eating performance was not to be repeated.  The donuts got into my mouth and had no intention of sliding down my throat.  I had visions of repeating my long forgotten shameful performance of 2 years ago when I took 19 minutes to eat all of the donuts.  Trying to win this event, an event which is so blatantly obviously retarded in concept, seemed even more stupid while I was in the middle of it.  But two things allowed me to push away the negative thoughts.  First, I was secure in the knowledge that at some point I would hate myself for not forcing through the discomfort.  Yeah this was dumb, but I had known this for a while and still decided it was important to try to win, so no matter what I'm thinking and feeling now, I needed to trust my former idiot thoughts.  Secondly, the competition.  Mr Sweeney had made the trip from Manhattan Beach and taken a one day reprieve from vegan living to claim this title, and claim it from me.  Not providing legitimate competition in the face of such sacrifice would be terribly disrespectful and basically unconscionable.  So I forced them down.  Stuff stuff stuff more donuts.  Force swallow.  Gag.  Cover my mouth with my hands to prevent any regurgitation, and repeat the process again.  I got out of the eating tent first.

My legs were still dead for the second part of the run, but it was a little better being mentally prepared for the headwind on the 2nd mile.  After the turnaround, I kept track of the competition and was a little relieved when I saw Sweeney running by that I figured the gap was large enough that even if he ran a sub 4 minute mile on the way back he couldn't catch me.  I tried to keep a decent turnover into the headwind to still put in a respectable finishing time, waved to the throngs of adoring fans, crossed the finish line and puked.  A lot.  I knew at that point that I was done with this competition forever.  So fucking stupid.  I have since reconsidered.  To be the man, you've gotta beat the man.  Woo!