I am overcome with an intense, stomach-clenching hunger as the indescribable aroma of charring meat envelopes the chamber that will soon be my battleground.
I sit at a table in a restaurant inside the Outer Limits Fun Zone in Pocatello, Idaho. I start to think of my formidable opponent: five pounds of hamburger meat, a one-pound, plate-sized hamburger bun, another pound of tomatoes, lettuce, onions, an extra two pounds of fries, and a liter of cola to wash it all down.
I sit undaunted by the enormity of the challenge. As I wait for the hefty hamburger to be made, I gaze upon the small crowd around me: My brother, my friend, and my dad. As the waiter is setting the hamburger, fresh off the grill, onto its final resting place, I do not falter in my unwavering concentration. I gaze down at this meal, contemplating my game plan. The server reads the instructions, informing me that I must complete the trial in less than 30 minutes.
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"Do you have any questions?" the waiter asks.
Trying to hype up my confidence, I ask the man for the percentage of competitors who have finished all the food in the allotted time.
He thinks for a second. Then he replies in an ironically chipper demeanor: "About 13 percent."
I then ask as to how many people have tried this eating challenge; he ponders for a second.
"About 100,000 people have tried," he said, with only 13,000 succeeding, I guess, by my quick-and-easy calculation.
Nervous sweat starts to roll down my uncertain face as I tentatively tell the waiter that I am ready. He starts the clock. The challenge begins.
I had studied eating techniques, or should I say, gorging techniques, from a Travel Channel's show called "Man vs. Food" starring Adam Richman. After studying some of Adam's strategies, I chose to divide and conquer. With this plan, I figured I could get through the burger with ease and then take a swig of the cola.
Mission accomplished. Now onto the French fries.
I look at the fries, expecting to employ the same tactic and hoping to use the ketchup and mustard as wisely as I had with the hamburger.
Halfway through the French fries, I suddenly feel an overwhelming need for air. I get up and head outside to walk around and inhale, deeply. Outside, nausea starts to envelope my body. For the first time, I start to doubt if I can finish this challenge. Then I remember something arriving at the edge of my mind: My older brother had declared, before I even started, that I could not do it.
I stomp back inside to keep eating.
Sitting down, I ponder my plate still half full with French fires and the liter of cola, which is still three-quarters full. I focus on the clock. I've got about twenty-two minutes left to prove my brother wrong.
I inhale the fries, then turn my attention to the drink, squinting at it, ready to do what I have to do. I start to chug the cool refreshment like a NASCAR champion at Daytona Beach. Finally, my stomach bulging, I finish the magnificent drink and look at the time. There are a full thirteen minutes remaining! But I just sit there, not knowing what to do next. Finally, after a long pause, I call over the waiter.
"I'm done," I say.
The waiter inspects the plates. I have made everything on them disappear into my stomach. Then he examines the cup. Every bit of liquid is gone. Finally, he looks up at the clock.
After a few moments, the waiter declares that I have, indeed, accomplished the task. A rush of elation and pride rushes over me. I fist pump, fist pump, fist pump!
The waiter briefly disappears behind the counter before returning with my prize: a t-shirt announcing my triumph over this gargantuan meal. I have beaten the challenge.
Since that day, I have never been more full in my life nor more proud of my atrocious eating habits.
Ben Phillips Jr. is a varsity wrestler and team basketball co-captain, plans to attend college in the fall of 2015 after he graduates from Kotzebue High School.
The preceding essay is part of a series written by volunteer students participating in the Chukchi College Honors Program, a dual-credit partnership between the Northwest Arctic Borough School District and Chukchi College, the Kotzebue branch of the University of Alaska Fairbanks.
The views expressed here are the writer's own and are not necessarily endorsed by Alaska Dispatch News, which welcomes a broad range of viewpoints. To submit a piece for consideration, email commentary(at)alaskadispatch.com.