Sunday Wrap Up: Hot Dog Challenge Race Report

In my attempt to maintain once-a-week cross training, I recently procured Jillian Michael's Yoga Meltdown DVD (chanturanga pushups aren't physically possible, FYI). In it, Jillian urges us to "get comfortable with being uncomfortable." She probably wasn't referring to eating hot dogs in mass quantities (that would be a weird yoga DVD), but I tried to keep her words in mind yesterday as I attempted to take down 10 hot dogs in 2.5 miles during the New York Rogue Runners' Hot Dog Challenge. Alas, it wasn't enough. Yesterday, I took my first DNF. Did not finish.



I woke up on Saturday morning primed for the competition. While normally I aim to avoid waking up with a vague hangover on race morning, yesterday's headache and unsettled stomach were intentional (if that isn't a quote from someone with a problem, I don't know what is...). The hungover need and ability to eat mass quantities of bad-for-me foods was exactly what I was hoping for.

But in case that weren't enough, I tried to really maximize my running hunger (runger) by knocking out my weekly long run immediately before the challenge began. I layered up and headed to Central Park, shit-talking my competition via Twitter on the way. My personal favorites were " Know how I grew my legs so long? BY EATING HOT DOGS!" and "Know why my hair is this color? I MIX KETCHUP AND MUSTARD!"

A wet snow was falling as I made my way through my first loop of the park, but my fuzzy wool mittens kept me warm and dry, my windbreaker allowed me to work up a good sweat, and my tights kept my legs feeling good. I felt like Rocky preparing for his prize fight as the miles ticked off and eventually the snow,let up. I didn't take any Gu, so as to really prime my system for solid food intake. 14 miles in 1:49.

My long run was timed just right; with a slated noon kick off for the challenge, I had about half an hour to get change for a couple twenties (singles are key for hot dog purchases) and let the runger really germinate. Unfortunately, the first glitch was that, perhaps because of the snow, there was nary a hot dog truck to be found to get change! I tried all the usual spots: outside the Boathouse, atop Cat Hill, even out on Fifth Avenue. But no matter where I roamed (all the while getting colder and colder, thanks to sweating up a storm during my long run), I could find no place to make change. In fact, the first cart on the course map wasn't there! Fast on his feet and in his brain, Baker made a few quick course revisions to maintain the robust number of hot dogs to be eaten and reviewed the rules for the competitors: eat a dog at every cart on the course; dogs and buns must be fully finished before competitors can move on to the next cart; no puking; diarrhea is acceptable (I asked). The course map indicated 11 carts; I felt confident i could take down 8, and I was committed to strong-arming the last 3 down. The purse was up to $225; that's a lot of hot dogs!

With the newly establish first cart at the 72nd Street transverse, all competitors bought their dogs, and on the count of 3, we ate.





Thanks for capturing this moment, Neal. I look terrified.

I got ketchup and mustard on dog one, which was also a mistake. A liberal mustard application made my first dog delicious, but the vinegar tang from the condiments made it tougher to pound. And those fuzzy mittens that kept me warm on my long run weren't ideal for fast-paced eating. I was among the last competitors to finish and head to cart two. Still, I felt confident; I had anticipated that I wouldn't eat fast, but that my skill would be maintaining a good pace on a full stomach. And I had no trouble hustling to my second dog, located just outside the park. In a cruel twist of fate, Cart 2 had calorie counts displayed. One hot dog, 240 calories.




Thanks to Elyssa for the action photography above. I skipped the mustard on dog 2 and went with straight ketchup. Unfortunately, bun 2 was pretty stale and tough to devour. Tougher still, Cart 3 was just across the street. Back to back dogs was not playing to my skill set; I had no chance to run, and instead could only swallow, shuffle across the street, and purchase dog 3. The prospect was too daunting for Gillian, and she tapped out.

I should point out that I love hot dogs. But by Cart 3, I was able to notice the subtleties in dog flavor at each cart. And Cart 3 was not good. And thinking about how this dog didn't taste like the other dogs reminded me that hot dogs are actually pretty disgusting in concept. And that didn't really help me force me down my gullet. I wasn't full or nauseous, but tasting dog 3 made me gag. Still, I downed it and moved on, following the course map with Bethany.

Like Cart 1, Cart 4 wasn't set up when we arrived, so Course Marshall AbbeLew waved us on. I said a silent prayer, still unable to get the taste of dog 3 out of my mouth or mind. We continued running south and west, running through what is known (to the hot dog competitors, based on the course map) as Baker's Pass, and arrived at the next cart at 53rd and Fifth.

This 4th dog cost $3, a whole dollar more than the other dogs. I gave the vendor a dirty look and then gave my expensive dog a dirty look. I can do this. Can I do this? I don't want to do this. The running was still going well for me, but I was really dragging on the eating by now. How is this only my fourth dog?! We got an update on the leaders: Matt6 was still going strong, and Neal was starting to slip. Who could blame him? Steph was undecided as to whether should she be proud or horrified that her boyfriend excelled at hot dog eating. Bethany and I took down dog 4 together.

The next two carts were again across the street from each other, in an area labeled on the map as Dead Man's Corner. The mental struggle of knowing we had to take down back to back dogs again was almost more difficult than the act of doing it. This was where boys would become men. I bellied up to the cart and purchased my fifth hot dog of the day. I was not happy about it.

Dog 5 was the kind of hot dog people cite when they talk about why they hate dirty water dogs. It wasn't quite the right color - more gray than pink - and about halfway through, I encountered a mysterious gristly bit. I extricated it with my hand and dropped it on the sidewalk. A pigeon walked by and ate it. I tried not to think about it. I kept chewing and chewing, but I couldn't get that mystery hot dog component out of my mind. I gagged. I swallowed. I kept eating. With one swallow standing between me and dog number 6 a block away, I turned my head and violently ejected hot dog into the planter beside me. I was done.

Course Marshall Steph told me she was proud of my efforts. I took a swig of water and immediately doubled over, spewing mushy bun bits onto the sidewalk and horrifying tourists. Meanwhile, Bethany was still going strong. Steph and I followed her to the next cart as she tackled her 6th dog.

The rest of the challenge was a battle of the mind; Bethany's mind battled with the thought of 4 more hot dogs, and my mind battled with the prospect of not vomiting while watching Bethany eat 4 more hot dogs. As we pressed on, we continued on the heels of Dennis, who opened the day with 2 hot dogs at the first cart. He was looking tired, but strong. Bethany was struggling to get the dogs down, but between carts, was doing her best to keep up a jog. 3 dogs to go. 2 dogs to go. Though I'd given up, I did come close to being revisited by my previously consumed hot dogs when Bethany gave her 8th dog a good squeeze to demonstrate how juicy it was. We made our way along 46th Street, inching closer to the finish line. Was it possible? Might the last cart on the map not be there? Might Bethany be done already?! Alas, no. Hidden behind a building's column, the tenth and final dog. Using deep breathing techniques, Bethany finished and Steph and I let out a cheer! Just a three block jog to the finish.

The competitors set up a power arch outside Rudy's, and Bethany brought it on home through the screaming crowd. I sheepishly side-stepped the finish line. DNFing sucks.

But not so much that I wish I had eaten five more hot dogs yesterday. In fact, after 5 dogs, I had to roll the waistband of my running tights down to accommodate my nitrate bloat. And my Pork Slap Ale, which I drank in honor of the pigs/cows/other random gristly animals who gave their lives so we could compete. Also, Rudy's serves free hot dogs with your beer. No thank you.

In the end, Gillian and I were the only two competitors who didn't finish. I cannot believe you disgusting savages all ate 10 hot dogs yesterday.




The eventual winner is not pictured, likely because he left to spend his $225 winnings. Apparently it came down to the wire, and Matt6 was a close second. Maybe next time, buddy. At least Steph doesn't have to pretend to be proud. And he did get that fancy cat crown.

In summation, never participate in a hot dog eating contest ever, as it was disgusting. Or if you do, at least do it with people you like, and who won't judge you for regurgitating hot dogs on Fifth Avenue.

Number of Miles Run This Week: 46. Took an extra running day this week. Those 1,200 of hot dogs aren't going to burn themselves.

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: 13. But, ever the honest football fan, Neal made good on a bet we made back when the Giants walloped the Packers, and hand-delivered 19 unique and delicious beers to me after the challenge yesterday. I suspect I'll check out a few from the mix later today.

Types of Beers Consumed This Week: Barrier Beech Street Wheat, Moretti, Bud Light, Blue Moon, Pork Slap, and Long Trail IPA.