The Boston Creme Pie Challenge

Suddenly finding yourself with a wealth of free time, yet lacking a wealth of money, one tends to look for new ways to pass the time. As I try to get the writing thing off the ground again, any new sort of inspiration or challenge is quite welcome fodder for KT. And, today, I have a very unique challenge. Something I have always thought about but never thought about doing until now. Because, let's face it, this is a perfect time to discover more about myself. Today, I have a real bull in a china shop challenge.

Today, I will eat an entire pie in one sitting.

Glutenous, glorious, guilt, shame, full-I am bracing myself to feel a wealth of emotion. I might need counseling when I am finished. First, a little back story.

I don't really consider myself as having a sweet tooth. Sure, I have the occasional cravings just like anybody else, and from time to time I scarf down anything chocolate. Growing up, whenever it was my birthday, I had the dinner and desert of my choosing. And it was always pepperoni pizza and the most glorious, decadent sweet on the face of the planet; Boston Creme Pie.

(And, OK, let's get the cream pie jokes out of the way here. Yes, probably ever male reader knows what I am talking about, but in case you're one of my surprisingly many readers in Ireland, in street lingo, a cream pie is this. NSFW, obviously. OK, we all got that out of our system now?)

In the past, I have been all responsible, and made the BCP last as long as possible. It might take me 3-4 days to finish it, and no, I don't share. But it hit me to see if I could wolf the whole thing down in one sitting. My initial guess is a clear, “FUCK YES!” After all, it has been a struggle to hold myself to just one piece, when I easily feel I could go for a few more.

In fact, I don't expect this to be a challenge at all. The only thing I see stopping me is just the massive overload of sugar and delicious yet empty calories. Which leads me to a decision; do I just choke it all down before I get that “full” sensation? Or do I slow down a little bit so I can truly enjoy every morsel of God's sweet ambrosia? Decisions, decisions. If only I could somehow put this on my resume.

Seek and destroy.

For the record, the BCP is approx 3” high and 6 ½ “ across. For some actual research, I decided to try to track down the nutritional “value” of an entire BCP. Shockingly, there is no easily available data on housing an entire BCP. Logic then tells me no one has ever eaten a whole pie, so a call into the Guinness people is in order. I do find that a 1/6 slice (please, who only takes a sixth of a slice?) is actually not overtly horrible. 232 calories, 8G saturated fat, 132 mg salt. The killer here is a whopping 33 g sugar. Wow, this might disrupt my daily 3-5PM nap routine.

My On Demand yoga instructor will NOT be happy about any of this.

My first instinct is to cut a slice out that is about a quarter of the BCP; aka my usual piece. I am saddened how excited I am about doing this experiment. There's a sticker that says its made with real whip cream. And that appears to be a real cherry on top, so no one can tell me this is totally not healthy.

For the discerning pie eater, we always prefer real ingredients.

I'm using a stop watch as well to just get a basic idea of how much of my life this is going to take me; for writing purposes, of course.

Upon first bite, it occurs to me this just might be my best idea ever. In case you are curious about downing a massive calorie bomb, I can tell you, some preparation was done for this historic event. Last night I played 2 ½ hours of street hockey which works out to about 3 1/2-4 miles of interval running. Then, this morning, I dragged my sore body to the gym to get yet another workout in, to at least proactively control the massive amount of calories I will take in. And I am wearing pajama pants, so there won't be any issues there.

Slice two is just about half of the pie left. Sugar sweats are starting to kick in, and it may be time to take off this hoodie.

SUGAR RUSH!!!

Halfway done. I'm starting to feel like my parents caught me smoking and are now forcing me to smoke the rest of the pack. Slice three, about 2/3rds of the way down. Body is starting to revolt and asking where all the NutriBullets and protein are.

Boston strong.

16 minutes in. I've heard the stomach starts to get that full sensation after about 20 minutes, so I am up against a wall. Literally-as my expanding belly has pushed my chair that far out from the dining room table. From my seat I can see about 3 months of unread Men's Fitness staring back at me from my mail. Fucking irony.

22 minutes, and fatigue has set in. So has shame, to be honest. My plate looks like a murder scene. 2/3rds of the pie is staring back at me, mocking me, calling me names. Or maybe it's just the sugar crash. This is harder than I thought. How do those chicken wing Mfers do it?

26 minutes in, and it's a staring contest. The BCP is clearly wounded, but standing (relatively) firm. My gut is a wreck, but my belches taste like BCP, so it's not a total loss. Sugar rush is quickly disappearing, as bloat takes it's place.

Well, this is turning into a bit of a pissah.

30 minutes and it's time. I have given up, thrown in the towel, which is about the most physical activity I can muster at this point. 2/3rds done in a half hour is the record. At this point the thought of eating anything is enough to make me want to barf.

I just walked down and up six steps to let the dog in, as I didn't want him to witness this mess. He immediately greets me with a look like, “what have you done?” To try to psychologically wash away the shame, I immediately brush my teeth and three fall out.

It was a valiant struggle, but, alas, it is over. All this time I thought I could easily house a BCP has been a lie, a life shattering lie. What's next, being unable to down a 40 in 20 minutes? No more six plates of crab legs at an all you can eat?

In order to try to start to burn off the approximately 700 empty calories I have consumed, I stand to grab the leash to walk the dog, but am immediately greeted by a headrush when standing. He looks back at me like, “It's OK, bro, we can let this go.”

The BCP goes back in the fridge, where it will serve to mock me in 10 hours, which will also be the exact amount of time I should get hungry again.