Don't see competitive eating in my future

By now you’ve probably heard of little Molly Schuyler. Mother of four, just 120 pounds and knows how to put away the beef steak.

Schuyler, who is a “competitive eater,” set the Big Texan Steak Ranch title for a record time eating its 72-ounce steak. That’s the eatery along Route 66 that made Amarillo famous. That 4 1/2-pound hunk of beef is free if you eat it within an hour with all the sides.

After setting the record last year at 4 minutes and 58 seconds, she returned this spring, much to the dismay of the management, and set a new record at 4 minutes and 18 seconds. Then she kept going until she had finished three of the meals in 20 minutes. Folks, that’s 13 1/2 pounds of steak and probably that much more in sides.

I think the Big Texan got their investment back many times over in publicity.

I think my parents suspected that I would become a competitive eater some day. As a toddler I ate a whole box full of candy that got left where I could get it one Christmas. Mom says they looked over and the candy was all gone and my little tummy looked and sounded like I had swallowed a basketball.

Apparently for a time I wouldn’t go to sleep at night unless I had some of those mini doughnuts. I called them “dough-nos” and still do.

I’ve got to admit at times around my family table we appeared to be engaged in an eating contest. Chicken bones would be flying and mashed potatoes would be smeared across our faces. It was even more competitive when someone set a chocolate pie down in front of us.

I was pretty small when I was little and not even all that big by the time I was in high school but I always figured I had the capacity of the biggest farm boy. After my grandmother instructed me to stop eating a little before I got full, I famously replied, “But grandma, I never get full.”

In high school when we went to the Pizza Hut buffet, just for fun we kept count of the number of pieces consumed. It was never a contest you see, just a badge of honor for the winner.

I can only think of one time when I staked money on my capacity to consume, it happened in the mailroom at the newspaper office one afternoon and it seemed innocent enough at first.

My good friend Bob Dart spouted off that no one could drink a gallon of water in a half hour and keep it down. I defiantly put my $10 down and took him up.

The cadre of newspaper carriers quickly transformed to something like the egg eating scene in “Cool Hand Luke.” The bulk of the room cheered me on with each swig while Bob taunted me as my face began to turn a shade of sea green. Finally, with the clock running down and about a third of the jug to go, I took a long swallow, lowered the jug and emptied the contents of my stomach across the room.

The sad thing is that it sure looked like that 120-pound mom washed all that steak down with more water than I drank that day.

Karl Terry writes for Clovis Media Inc. Contact him at:

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