I am far too attached to food. And within the world of food, I am far too attached to Krispy Kreme Original Glazed Doughnuts. I don’t like the other flavors or the other bakeries. And sometimes I have an idea, such as running some number of miles, eating an entire box of joy in one sitting, and running those miles again. No breaks. And when I have an idea, I don’t let it go until I at least try.

 

 

Once upon a bored night wasted on the internet, I watched Jenna Marbles and her friends run two miles, shove 12 donuts down their throats, and run two more miles with faces half written with death, half written with the need to puke.

A note on my body and how it decides to work:
There appears to be a strong correlation in that the less healthy I eat, the skinnier and more toned I become. Really. At the beginning of college I went hard-core with clean eating and BBG workouts, which led to weekend binging and then an alarming peanut/almond butter addiction. There was little sugar and processed food involved, but I gained a Freshman 15 that wouldn’t leave until I started traveling (have you noticed how traveling has solved every problem I have ever had in my life, ever?). To see if they would improve my digestion, I’ve also tried paleo, vegan, and elimination diets. All made me feel worse. Now I have no restrictions and only listen to my cravings, whether it’s a full order of Five Guys or a sleeve of Oreos or even endless Ben and Jerry’s on certain election nights. So why not a dozen donuts? If I was ever going to slam my metabolism with 2,280 calories, I should do it now, at age 21. Right?

 

 

I called Erich and told him what he would be doing that Sunday. He’d be accompanying me in my version of a good donut fest of course. Then I called Ryan and asked how many miles we were running, and he decided three on each side of the donuts.

By the day of, Ryan was sick, and the several other young men who expressed interest were suddenly also sick.

I had never eaten close to 12 donuts before. I hadn’t run six miles in at least six months. Erich’s CV looked the same.

 

Donut in hand, fear in face. The hazards of being my friend.

 

If travel had taught me anything, it was portion control. More now meant less elsewhere, so I only had a few bites of my roommate’s smoothie bowl that day. I dragged poor Erich out of his nap. The route, starting from my house to the only KK joint in town, was the product of my OCD perfectly mapping it to 3.0 miles.

The only thing I remember from Erich and I running to the donut shop was us pointing at the different bushes we could throw up on when we were on the run home.

I have to say it wasn’t my first time walking in smelly and shirtless. The hot light came on. We each ordered a dozen and sat under the giant neon sign by the road.

By now my roommates had arrived with water. While we double-fisted our deep-fried and gluten-laden confectioneries, Maria and Laura double-fisted phones to catch every moment.

 

 

One by one, the rings of sugar and grease disappeared. After three, it felt like I hit a wall. I guess I had always wanted to squish them together and eat them like a sandwich. After six, I looked down at my legs to see they were covered in sticky flakes of glaze. After nine, I forgot who I was.

“I feel raped.”

“Yeah, this was probably the worst thing I’ve done to my body in college. College—that’s saying something.”

 

 

Erich lost his “I could finish in two minutes” attitude and wasn’t doing so well. I was in a lot of pain, and drinking water made everything worse, but it was bearable. I caught up to him, and 14 minutes later we both had one left.

The second I swallowed my last bite, I slammed down the empty box, and returned to my usual self. I felt incredible. Full, but incredible.

I washed the sugar off in the bathroom while Erich was being dramatic and claiming he might puke. But he slowly started to get better as well.

And within another minute we were running on our way home, fueled by 120 grams of sugar, 132 grams of fat, 36 grams of protein, 48% of our daily calcium and iron needs each, and even 96% of our daily vitamin C needs. See, I really am a nutrition major.

Not to mention we were pumped on adrenaline.

 

 

By one mile Erich was already singing Symphony at what I am convinced was both the top of his lungs and his range of pitch. He even spat out a haiku (thought I was gonna say donuts?)  at the stoplight, ad lib:

“I ran three miles, now.

Then, I ate twelve donuts, yeah.

Then, three more miles, yeah.”

 

 

I was pleased our bodies bounced back instantaneously and as of now, half a year later, I can say there was no harm done. In fact the next week my gynecologist asked if I was okay, and if I was eating enough, because I was down seven pounds from my last visit. She also complimented me on my good health.

Erich and I both agreed we were done with donuts for life, and we swore by it for about a day. A few days later, Krispy Kreme released Ghiardelli flavors and was handing them out for free. Obviously such a promo sucked me in. And being as extra as I was, I even brought my own mason jar of organic almond milk to for pairing.

 

 

Still on team Original Glazed though.

 

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