Don't hate the belly, hate the game

The other day at work a "friend" called me fat. Actually, her almost exact words were, while patting me on the stomach: "Whoa! Looks like someone's putting on a few with this competitive eating thing!"

I didn't really care. Actually I laughed and said something about having just had lunch. But a few minutes later I thought, "Damn, that's kind of fucked up!" I mean, I wouldn't walk up to her, smack her on the ass and say, "Hey, looks like someone's been having a few too many dollar drafts and jalapeno poppers during happy hour!"

So I've gained a few pounds. It's not like I didn't know that before she told me.

My gain is actually in contrast to what normally happens to competitive eaters. I've heard from several competitors that after they take up the sport, many of them actually lose weight. But not me. I've gained about 10 or 15 pounds this year (up to about 185). I'm still, by most definitions, "skinny" but I am developing something resembling one of those little neck pillows around my midsection.

Still not anywhere near the doughy 210 pounds I topped out at during my sophomore year in college. Blame that on beer, all-you-can-eat cafeteria food, and a very sedentary lifestyle. The fact that I was approaching my mid-20s and saying goodbye to my super-charged metabolism probably didn't help either. Then I lost 50 pounds during my junior year just by cutting out the crappy cafeteria food and spending a few hours a week on a treadmill (the beer stayed).

So yeah. I'm going to try to keep my weight under 180. For every contest I compete in or three-pound burger challenge I attempt, I'll make it a point to step up the calorie watch and exercise regimen in the week prior and the week after. Hopefully that'll do the trick. At least enough to keep my co-workers off my back.