Alot of people have this problem when approached with a challenge. I myself have this do. The most simple everyday tasks can become within seconds the most important thing in your life aslong as you beat whoever is doing the task with you. Examples of this: Running past a neighbour, losing weight, dancing, singing with a stranger drunkenly on the karaoke on a friday night, alot of things really. However, for me and my friend Louise, this is an entirely different thing. Which could be taken too seriously, but it hasn't fallen to a violent nature. Yet.
Louise is a fairly small little thing. A grand height of 5 ft fuck all (I'm guessing 5 ft, if not 4 ft 11; She's a midget) and around a size 8. Due to not being able to see each other often enough we usually have our 1-2 time a month routines of going for lunch, going to the pub and having conversations other people wouldn't have in public. The most recent was how some Karma Sutra positions didn't make sence, the penis would never bend that way and some of that shit would seriously hurt your neck.
These lunch dates are usually at a chinese buffet we go to, just for the icecream (and it's dirt cheap.) However, for my size, I can eat some amount. It tends to scare people. I like this. I take pride in that shit. I'm not naturally good at many things, but by god I can fucking eat. This is where it all starts. Louise can eat more than I can. No toilet breaks (ew) inbetween, one sitting she could put anything out of business if she actually tried. And there is the kick in the face. She barely TRIES to outdo me. She just, can. So everytime we go out, I tend to starve myself from the day before in preparation. During lunch, I'll be midway through my 2nd plate, and then the horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach grows and settles in. I'm full. I need to puke. I can feel the food piled at the base of my throat ready to choke me. Looking over at Louise, I realise she's just sat down with her 3rd plate, still looking rather hungry. This is when the envy, then upmost hate settles in.
"I need to fucking out eat this bitch."
And so I'll get a third plate, eat through it like a trooper, then grab a forth. At this point I've fully accepted I'm about to eat myself to death and consider bringing up the conversation of 'when we die who would you give what to' scenario. But around this time, she begins to feel full, and there's a shine of hope I may have actually beaten here. Then I remember we've not had desert yet. Oh almightly mother of fuck. There's no getting out of that. And I admit defeat, and have the smallest amount of ice cream to comfort my defeat, which never helps and tips the scales to me waddling out of the door. So for the rest of the day, due to being over-competitive, I'm left feeling more than full, not eating for a while, sickness and physically waddling to the pub to drown my sorrows in alcohol.
And that's how I managed to gain two stone over two years.