10.15.15 - Wing Eating Contest

7:45pm: Arrive at Croxley Ales. Croxley Ales has 30-cent wings almost every night of the week. A couple weeks ago one of my guy friends, Peter, challenged me to a wing-eating contest. He knew my fondness for wings and apparently thought I would be keen. I really have no interest in eating an uncomfortable amount of wings BUT I am ultra competitive. I knew I could win. So did I want to do it? No, not really, but the gauntlet was thrown and I don’t back away from a challenge.

I have only engaged in one competitive eating contest and that was when I was 10 at summer camp. It was part of a giant camp wide relay race thing with tasks such as making your bed perfectly the fastest, lighting a firework and other camp tasks. My role was to eat a giant piece of watermelon the fastest. I won. I am pretty sure I did well on the SATs because I was determined to beat all the other people in my grade. If I didn’t have exercise-induced asthma I could have been a real sports star.

7:55pm: A bunch of Peter’s friends are here. They are all guys. They didn’t believe that this was happening or that I could win. At first I am annoyed that a crew of people I barely know are going to watch me gorge myself, but I just use that rage to fuel me. I will win- bring on the fried meats. The rules of the contest are: whoever can eat the most medium spicy wings, wins. There is an hour time limit. And you can’t take a more than 5-minute break between wings.

Must clean wings of all meat. 

8:15pm: I take a shot of Jameson. I usually eat wings with cider or beer but I don’t want to waste stomach space on liquids. We start in on our first plate of 20 medium hot wings. The wings are steaming. I pick all the meat off the bones. This strategy allows the meat to cool and also allows me to pysch out Peter by developing a huge pile of bones near me while he is still on his second wing.

8:23pm: Peter is literally sweating. Not sure if it’s from the spice or from the anxiety. I feel sort of bad for him; I don’t even think these wings are spicy. I am winning and gracefully. By the end of the plate, I feel sort of gross but I finish my plate of wings first – Peter has two wings left. He finishes and towels off.

8:25pm: Our second orders of wings arrive. I really don’t want to eat anymore but I hate losing. We get half way through and it’s a tie. We both pause for a minute. I am deciding whether to tie or to push myself and eat one more wing. I eat one more wing. Peter stops. He says he knows that however many wings we eat I will always eat one more and he’ll lose. So he’d rather lose now when he only feel sort of ill.

9:00pm: I won. Everyone is impressed. I feel ill. Victory.