February 5, 2004

Obviously, when you feel fat - even though people tell you you look fine - you feel depressed. Plus, you know those people are lying.

Like many fat people, I can't just decide to lose weight on my own. I refuse to exercise during winter. Outdoor running is the only exercise I can tolerate, and despite Santa's generosity in the running gloves/neck wrap/reflective arm band arena, I just can't bring myself to face that bitter cold torture.

Some sort of torture was necessary, though. I was hitting the Taco Bell-Burger King-KFC triumvirate on a daily basis and hating myself for it (while loving the food). What could I do that was both treacherously self-deprecating and yet inspirational for a healthier lifestyle?

The ideas flew through my double chin faster than the little pieces of garlic bread I was currently scarfing. Tape up photos of skinny models over the giant Reese's poster in the kitchen. Angle the mirror more severely so you look even fatter. Run all 13 flights of stairs in the middle of the night.

Then it hit me. Those ideas, particularly the last one, were all bogus. I needed to do something brave, bold, and much bigger-boned. The mission was clear: Force feeding myself 60 equally sized chunks of fat was the most logical way to kick my rapidly expanding ass back into gear.

With the advent of another freezing month, and since misery loves danish, Diminishing Returns presents The Highly Unnecessary Entenmann's Challenge.

Power Hour, Redefined

Thanks to insane college roommates, an Irish propensity towards drinking, and my tendency to have nothing better to do, I am well versed in the Power Hour concept. Someone makes a CD of 60 cheesy party songs, each track a minute long. When the song changes, you drink. A shot of beer every minute for an hour equals five beers. Easy.

I set out to accomplish the same task, substituting Raspberry Danish Twist as the medium. The pastry choice was an obvious one for me, as I love Entenmann's danish so much that I have atually been caught on camera dancing with a box of it while out at a bar.

Why I chose to hold it as I would a boom box on a city street in the early '90s is inexplicable, but certainly noteworthy.

The danish choice was an economical one, too. Ever a sight for sore, fat-encrusted eyes, the Entenmann's Tower is an awe-inspiring staple of many supermarkets. But upon discovery of the Food Emporium's incredible sale, the deal was sealed.

Two danish for $5 should be enough for reasonable people to consider challenging, but I know my gut and its feeling and I thought I should raise the bar a little.

My basketball teammates in high school called me a go-getter. And it's true - I was always coming up with creative ways to sneak Lemonheads, Nerds, and sometimes even chocolate candy while watching games from the bench. Once, I managed to enjoy a concession stand hot dog during a tense fourth quarter. When it comes to stuffing face, I just never give up.

In that spirit, I decided to buy not two but four Entenmann's products to use in the Challenge. Four danishes seemed a little much, but I thought maybe I could do three. A box of Valentine's-themed "Pop'ems" donuts rounded out the order. They'd be a good diversion from the delectable danish.

You should always stretch your stomach out before eating 60 pieces of Entenmann's, so I got KFC for lunch. I considered getting a big salad or eating a whole lot of fruits and vegetables, but why kid myself? Today was about fat.

My flab-friendly pals Kate and Maria agreed to host the Challenge at their swanky uptown apartment. The only downside of this was that I couldn't wear my jammie pants. This is New York City, not the Midwest. The girls insisted it would be funnier if I was literally exploding not only out of my own stretched skin, but also out of jeans.

The topographical view from my perch at the head of the table was daunting. The required two danishes are on the larger tray, while the bonus danish lies physically and symbolically a bit further from my reach.

Here's Maria looking appalled at my feast of fat because she is a skinny vegan.

Speaking of great ways to lose weight. It's too bad I like cheeseburgers so much. Not to mention, I just plain don't like animals.

Suddenly, through the magic of Kate's cell phone, three more girls I hadn't seen since college were in the apartment to cheer me on. They stared at me in disbelief upon arriving. The look said more than the basic "Why are you doing this?" - that was a given. It was more like "I didn't know you were this gross. You're lucky I'm really bored."

I was suddenly nervous. What if I disappointed everyone who cared deeply whether I completed the Challenge or not? In other words, what if I disappointed myself?

The timer was set, the Power Hour CD was ready, and I even felt slightly hungry. I flashed a thumbs up to the camera and prepared for utter gluttony.

Note that this is the last documented evidence that my leg could fit up against my then-dilapidated gut.

The Challenge begins