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One year ago today, I published my first post here on Anyone Can Enter.

In the 12 months that followed, I’ve stuck to my mission of competing in at least one offbeat, obscure, wacky, or just plain ridiculous event each month, so long as anyone can enter. Along the way, I have succeeded (winning a national championship in egg tossing) and failed (in nearly everything else). More than anything, I’ve had fun at every step. Even when I was earning the title Last Ass in a pack burro race in Colorado or listening to my friends crack on me for failing to complete the Krispy Kreme Challenge.

The way I see it, this occasion deserves a professionally baked cake. It may seem crazy—buying a cake to celebrate the anniversary of a blog—but is it really any crazier than jumping into a freezing cold lake on New Year’s Day or throwing yourself down a hill after a wheel of cheese? I don’t think so.

Plus, this blog is responsible for more than a series of wacky adventures. Back in that first post, I set a few additional goals. One was to lose about 20 pounds. The other was to run a marathon. I’m happy to say that I have exceeded my weight loss goal and that in four days, I’m running in the Tobacco Road Marathon.

As for next year, I doubt I can stand to lose 20 more pounds and I’m not sure I can continue competing in one event each month. But I do plan to maintain this blog. Sometime after the marathon, expect a more sentimental retrospective, complete with a year-in-review video and a more detailed plan for the future of Anyone Can Enter.

For now, let’s take a look at the first year of Anyone Can Enter by the numbers…

11,975—All-time blog views (not including my own views)

8,667—Miles traveled to and from events

6,913—YouTube views

1,776—Stairs climbed at the CN Tower Climb

725 Tossing For Hunger YouTube views

650—Approximate number of people who endured my attempt to holler at the National Hollerin’ Contest

365—Days my awesome, beautiful wife Carie has had to put up with all this nonsense

350—Most blog views in one day, largely thanks to @darrenrovell

349—Second-most blog views in one day, largely thanks to Penn Holderness

335—Comments you’ve made on the blog

253—Miles I’ve run since October, when I started training for the Tobacco Road Marathon

149—Votes I lost by to the eventual winner of the News & Observer’s Ugly Sweater Contest

145Tweets posted

86—Percentage of people who voted for me to shave my head for the Warrior Dash

73—Twitter followers

62—Feet between Mike Hepp and I when we completed our winning toss in the National Egg Toss Championship

50—Approximate number of people who jumped into a freezing cold lake with me on New Year’s Day

42—Stone skips registered by Russ Byars at the Pennsylvania Stone Skipping Tournament, 27 more than my best effort

25 (and counting)—pounds I’ve lost since starting this blog

15—Trees we planted during the Asheville Idiotarod

10.5—Doughnuts I managed to eat at the Krispy Kreme Challenge, 1.5 less than the necessary dozen to complete the challenge

10—Men, including me, who entered the Idaho Springs Pack Burro Race

9—Men who finished ahead of me in the Idaho Springs Pack Burro Race

4—Orange habanero peppers I ate during the Bailey Farms Chile Pepper Eating Contest before bowing out to the Toothless Pepper King, who ate 14

3National champion coaches who declined my request for advice leading up to the National Egg Toss Championship

1—National championship won without the help of national championship coaches

 

The first orange habañero pepper goes down easier than expected.

Maybe it’s because I practiced eating one of the peppers—which is 30 times hotter than a jalapeño—on the Wednesday night before the competition. Or maybe it’s just because I’m riding a high in my first competitive eating contest. After all, now I have a crowd and nine fellow competitors. Or maybe it’s because a $300 prize is on the line in the Second Annual Bailey Farms Chile Pepper Eating Contest.

Either way, the burning isn’t so bad this time. Not like in my practice round when I thought I was going to pass out. Nope, I’m ready for another round. And another. And another. Whatever it takes to claim that prize money.

But then it’s time for the second habañero. Before I finish chewing, the first pepper starts to really kick in. I’m beginning to sweat. My chest is an incinerator. My mouth a flamethrower. To make matters worse—on what has thus far been an overcast day—the sun peeks out from behind a cloud and shines an unwelcomed extra ray of heat on this street corner in Oxford, N.C.

I scan down the line of contestants. They’re starting to feel it, too. One of them has already dropped out. A woman wearing a Harley Davidson shirt says she’s ready for some real heat, but it’s clearly a defense mechanism. No one is immune to the pain from this blistering pepper.

No one except 60-year-old William Smith. He’s the bald-headed contestant in a motorized wheelchair offstage. As I pace around the stage and fidget my hands, William seems perfectly content, showing no signs of discomfort. When he receives his third habañero, he holds it like a piece of candy, as if he cannot wait to eat it. I receive mine and study it with intense scrutiny. Where Williams sees a treat, I see a ticking time bomb.

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As an average-sized guy with an average-sized appetite, I never gave much thought to entering an eating contest. But when I heard about the Bailey Farms contest, I knew that I had a shot. I’ve always loved spicy food and I have a pretty high tolerance for pain. Plus, the contest was only in its second year, so I expected that it wouldn’t have much of a following. I couldn’t even find official results from the first contest, so it had to be winnable.

And unlike most of my previous contests, this one required little training. It mainly consisted of eating Thai food, my practice orange habañero, and watching YouTube videos of other morons eating habañeros. Unlike most of the people in those videos, however, Bailey Farms did not allow its contestants to drink milk during the contest. All that would be allowed onstage was a single bottle of water, which any true pepper eater knows will only spread the pain around the mouth.

In one video, a college-aged guy ate nine of the orange devils. If he could do that with milk, I imagined that I could at least eat three or four without milk. I figured that would surely be good enough to win.

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The Chile Pepper Eating Contest is actually just a sideshow at the North Carolina Hot Sauce Contest. In its inaugural year, the contest was held inside Stovall’s Gifts on Main Street. Now in its fourth year, the North Carolina Hot Sauce Contest has grown so big that Oxford shuts down four streets to accommodate all the vendors vying for the honors of top sauce.

The Chile Pepper Eating Contest might be on a similar trajectory. When I arrive at noon, a representative at the Bailey Farms tent answers the question that had been on my mind for some time: How many habañeros did the winner eat last year? Actually, there were three winners. After eating two habañeros, they all decided to split the winnings. Perfect. I can easily stomach three, maybe even four habañeros.

Now I just need to meet the competition. It’s a diverse group of 10 people including two women with ages ranging from lower-20s to mid-60s. I do my best to gauge their determination, asking several of them how they like their chances. All of them seem equally fearless. One of them even introduces himself with the nickname Straight Diesel.

Moments later, I’m standing onstage and the emcee asks me to introduce myself. Upon telling the crowd that I am from Raleigh, I hear a few screams of support. Then it hits me. I’m not just doing this for the $300. I’m representing my hometown. And I even have fans.

The contest begins with a Red Fresno pepper and a jalapeño. They’re spicy, but barely even a shadow of a preview of what is to come. All 10 of us gobble them down with little hesitation.

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With my third orange habañero in hand, I start to think twice about this contest. If I had been here last year, I would have been talking about a truce. Instead, here I am with eight other contestants. One of them picks up a trash can and nearly vomits, but only manages an offering of spit. He’s going to be fine. And so is the rest of the field. I consider folding when I hear my fans.

“Do it for Raleigh! You gotta’ represent!”

I can’t let them down. I pull the stem from the habañero and stuff it in my mouth, nearly gagging. The pain is present throughout my entire body. My fingers and toes are tingling. I’m struggling to breathe.

I hope to look down the row of contestants and see that someone else pulls out. They don’t. Oh well, what’s one more pepper going to hurt?

I bite into my fourth pepper and go to work—and I do mean work. The orange habañero is small compared to most peppers, but it’s starting to feel like I’ve got a pepper farm in my mouth. And I feel like I’m licking the sun. And I want to vomit.

After I finish it, I look at Carie, who’s filming me from the crowd. “Mind over matter,” she says. I try to tell her to look at William, but she has a bad angle. From my perch onstage, I can see him clearly. If he was eating candy in the second round, now he looks like he’s added ice cream to his feast. Except that it’s not particularly tasty ice cream. He almost looks bored and he still hasn’t flinched a muscle or broken a sweat.

Suddenly, I have a brief moment of clarity in my pepper-induced state of delirium—William came here to win and he will not be denied. He must have a steel-lined gut and no taste buds. Whatever his secret, however, there is no way he’s going to lose and no way I’m going to beat him.

I look down at the next habañero. It will be my fifth. I think about the misery I’m already guaranteed to experience later on the toilet.

I decide to leave the stage.

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The smartest thing I do all day, besides exiting the contest, was probably stashing a bottle of chocolate milk in a backpack that Carie was wearing. After I leave the stage, I bolt for the backpack. Chocolate milk never tasted this good. Even as a kid. But each sip only provides brief moments of relief. Fortunately, it’s enough to help me keep my mind off the pain so that I can steal a seat on the ground near William. During the next 20 minutes, I watch him methodically eat his peppers while the field of contestants gradually dwindles to one other—a lip-ringed 20-something wearing a tie-dyed shirt named Randall.

By now, they’ve each eaten about 10 habañeros. I say about because everyone, even the emcee, has lost count. In an effort to end this madness, the emcee starts issuing time limits of 10 seconds per round. William eats his in 5 seconds and waves his hands as if to say, “Could you please make this harder?” Randall appears to be violently ill, but he presses on.

In an effort to wrap things up, the emcee hands each contestant a Naga Jolokia pepper (also known as the Ghost Pepper), an Indian pepper that is five times hotter than an habañero. (Until recently, the Ghost Pepper had been recognized as the hottest pepper in the world. That title now goes to the Infinity Chili, a pepper grown in England.) To be fair, they’re each given a full minute. Again, William looks unfazed while Randall looks like his head is going to explode into a million pieces.

The emcee gives them the option of splitting the money. Randall appears ready to accept a deal, but William doesn’t even consider it. Round 13, supposedly, begins and ends. Again, the emcee asks if they’d like to split the money. The crowd, now possibly worrying that they may witness someone die in front of them, nearly begs them to split the money. William won’t have it.

Finally, in Round 14, Randall can’t take it anymore. He spits out his pepper and William takes three $100 bills from the mayor of Oxford.

William rubs a tissue underneath his eyes. His first sign of weakness all day is a tear of joy.

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Later, after William poses for pictures and has an interview with a local paper, I ask him about his secret. Does he have a bionic colon? A robotic stomach? What?

“I’ve eaten hot peppers all my life,” he says. “My heart’s in good condition. I was born in Arkansas and raised by Mexicans.”

Despite a lifetime of unintentional training for this contest, William nearly made a crucial mistake. When he arrived in Oxford, he realized he was missing something.

“I forgot my (false) teeth,” he says. “My wife had to go back home to get my teeth.”

I’m not sure he needed them.

Postlude: For those of you wondering what the hours and days after a pepper eating contest are like, I can assure you that it’s obviously no picnic. With the proper preparation, however, it’s not the end of the world. The night before the contest, I asked my local pharmacist for some advice. “I don’t think they make anything for that,” he said. But he did recommend that I take some Tums before the contest and grab some Pepto Bismol for the next day. I also picked up a box of wet wipes. Those things are lifesavers.

Me with pepper eating champion William Smith.

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My competitive eating career started and ended in disappointment today.

After six rounds, including four fiery orange habañeros, I did my stomach a favor and quit the Second Annual Bailey Farms Chile Pepper Eating Contest.

And I’m glad I did.

The winner (William Smith from Henderson, N.C.) wasn’t crowned until after an additional six rounds of habañeros and three rounds of ghost peppers, which are the hottest peppers in the world.

I almost stayed in the contest for the seventh round until I stole a glance at my fellow competitors. Three of them had already dropped out and only seven remained. Many of them were obviously affected by the heat. Like me, they were nearly crying and sweating. And then I looked down at William, who was offstage on a motorized wheel chair. He was completely unphased, as if he had just polished off a pint of Ben & Jerry’s instead of a handful of hot peppers. That’s when I knew I didn’t stand a chance.

Check back tomorrow for a full update, including video of the contest.

For now, I need to go swallow a carton of Tums.

Training for my next event, a hot pepper eating contest, has taken me to a new level of discomfort.

Against my better judgment, I gave myself a preview of the final round of the contest by eating an orange habañero. If you’ve never tried one, imagine swallowing a box of fireworks.

Better yet, just watch my reaction.

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