Editor’s note: In February, news bureau chief Eric Townsend was one of several Elon employees who participated in the Krispy Kreme Challenge in Raleigh. He writes about the experience in this month’s column.
It wasn’t the four-mile-run that hurt. It was eating the dozen doughnuts at the halfway point of the race that did the damage.
Specifically, it was eating the last three doughnuts that made me want to puke.
By now you’ve probably seen news coverage of the seventh annual Krispy Kreme Challenge. Maybe you even took part in it. For those who don’t know about this annual Raleigh tradition started by a handful of N.C. State University students in 2004, it’s pretty simple. You begin the run at the N.C. State bell tower on Hillsborough Street, navigate to a Krispy Kreme shop near downtown, eat a dozen doughnuts and run back.
The “challenge” is to do it in less than an hour without vomiting. On the cold, rainy morning of Feb. 5, I joined thousands of others to take the challenge. Why would anyone do something so, um, disruptive to their stomach? That’s pretty simple, too. It’s fun.
I’ve never been a stellar athlete. I wasn’t the fastest guy on the soccer team or the strongest guy in the gym. That’s OK. Food, however, was something I savored, and when it comes to competitive eating, it’s anyone’s game. (For the most part.)
Plus, it’s silly. It makes people laugh. Or gag. Or both. I can tell you about the time I ate 63 Chicken McNuggets from McDonald’s, or three “Joey” burritos from Moe’s Southwestern Grill in the span of five minutes. It may bring a grimace to your face. I wouldn’t blame you.
But it does make for good storytelling. And I like telling stories.
That’s what compelled me to sign up for the Krispy Kreme Challenge back in December when registration first opened. Not all runners, mind you, competed as “challengers.” Some chose to take part as “casual” runners and didn’t commit to the full box of glazed goodness. I’ll refer you to my earlier point: How is it a great story if I only eat a few doughnuts?
I hauled myself out of bed around 5:30 that wet Saturday morning so I could meet friends in Durham to carpool to the race. Katie DeGraff, a colleague and friend in University Relations, and her husband, Nate, wanted to run with me for support. The three of us drove through the rain to campus, and before long we were milling with other runners in a cold drizzle waiting for the race to start.
What’s there to say about the actual run? It was entirely downhill to Krispy Kreme, despite Nate’s false reassurances to the contrary. He works at N.C. State and had traveled to the doughnut shop before. I tried to guess how nauseous I would be on the return with a loaded stomach, then did my best to rid the thought from my mind.
As we approached the shop, hundreds of runners ahead of us had come to a standstill. People grabbed their doughnuts as they passed long tables stacked with boxes. I snatched a package from the top, ripped it open and proceeded to gorge my mouth with 2,400 calories of the best stuff on earth.
How, you may ask, did I accomplish such feat? Here’s my secret. I flattened several together to create “super pastries.” My first two doughnuts went down together. I then smashed four doughnuts for the next serving. So far, so good.
Doughnuts seven through nine proved to be harder. By now my blood sugar level had spiked and the first half dozen doughnuts were expanding in my stomach. I managed to finish. Three more stared me in the face. Heck, I think they were taunting me.
What I really needed was something to help wash everything down. I pressed the last three doughnuts into a lump before heading off to find the water station. As I stumbled through the crowd in a sugar-induced daze, I found myself taking small nibbles, trying my best to ignore the gag reflex that results from a pack of doughnuts trying to escape the stomach.
Other runners looked like they were having identical issues. But once Nate handed me the water, I discovered a second wind, and with one last bite I stared into a pair of hands covered in sugar. I showed the empty box to a race judge who allowed me to leave the doughnut staging area for the return to campus.
I wish I could tell you how big a struggle it was to run on a loaded stomach. That, alas, would be a lie. I ran slower, yes. Who wouldn’t? But Nate and I, who left Katie back at the midpoint, were making decent time as we headed uphill. Nor did we see, let along dodge, vomit puddles like I’d been led to believe existed on this route.
I crossed the finish line with a time of 56:35, a triumph of gluttony over common sense. Nate, Katie and I laughed about the race on our way back to their place, where I showered and changed for my own ride home to Greensboro. Can’t say I ate much the rest of the day.
I’d promised myself this race would be a “one and done” kind of thing, one more crazy food stunt to share with my brothers at Thanksgiving. But here’s what’s crazy … I’m already thinking about how I could trim time in 2012 by elbowing past runners waiting in line for their doughnuts.