Lifetime Achievement Award
Courtesy: Nate "Igor" Smith, Photographer.
For some it was a forgotten past-time - the discipline of being able to eat massive amounts of hotdogs in one minute. For me, it was life. There had to be a way to break the current record of 68 dogs per minute. I was determined.
Like anyone, I failed a number of times. No one could eat that much on the first try. So I learned from practice, and though the failures discouraged and depressed me, I kept on trying. That Joey Chestnut has nothing on me.
It took years of training to get where I am today. I have a style, a technique, and most importantly, the passion, stronger than ever. And today is the most critical day of the year: Nathan's Famous hot dog eating contest, also known as America's birthday. This year, I claim victory.
In trial runs, I downed between 71 and 73 dogs. That's including the bun. Things were looking up, and confidence was the only emotion I could feel as I entered the stage.
Platters of processed meat and bread lay before me. The countdown began, and the nationally televised audience cheered us gluttons on.
Peek at the clock - half way done. Forty consumed! This is going better than planned. There's the mid-way gas bubble rising out of my gut to make room for more.
Ten seconds left, and I've already passed the world record! The crowd is going wild. The clock is winding down to zero, and my competitors are gagging on their final franks.
It ends with a buzzer, music, fanfare, and hot dog shaped confetti raining from the sky. I made it. After all this time and practice, the many nights worshiping the porcelain god after exceeding my stomach's capacity to increase it, I made it. And it was so worth it.
I was escorted to the winner's platform by two thin, beautiful women (the likes of whom ironically never eat such foods as grilled meat.) The nation congratulated me, and I received my trophy. It was perfect.
As I raised the icon of achievement above my head, I felt a pinch in my abdomen. Then pain and burning. The acid from my combined with the force of 80 servings of wiener started to rip through the lining of my stomach. I keeled over. The trophy shattered on the stage, and I vomited on the debris. Cheering turned to silence. Music turned to sirens. I was going to die by hot dog. I felt the mashed meat find it's way through my belly, and cradling my midsection only made it worse.
This past-time. Forgotten by some and celebrated by others... For me it was life. And death.