The town I'm in has this strange tradition. Well - strange for anyone else, but any tourist who'd even just pass by would know that we aren't just any other small town in God Knows Where, Idaho.
It happens in a tent, every five years, red and white stripes with a large wooden sign noting the arrival of our very own Harvest Festival. As any festival would, there was a weighing in competition for livestock, pumpkins, melons, gourds - anything you'd find in an American farm. But here in Idaho, all we grow is wheat, potatoes and corn - tomatoes and other vegetables in gardens, pigs and cows as livestock.
The truth is, we never weigh in any of that.
So, what do we weigh in then?
~~~~~
I was only 6 years old when I saw the first champion 'hog'.
Martin Williamson of the Williamsons, he became the undisputed champion for another 13 years, beating his own record for so long that I'd almost thought that the competition had already gave up on it.
Today, though, his victory would be snatched by someone 13 years younger than him.
Martin was the first to go, as announced by the host of this little show. I knew the person who rolled him in with his mobility scooter - his father, who'd lost his first competition, retired himself to help grow his own son. That was one similarity in his and my family.
My stomach growled. The summer heat was unbearable. Sweat trickled down my forehead, the handkerchief I was given at home was already soaked when we'd arrived at the tent - my dad apologizing for the broken AC as we rushed to the event. All I said was that there better be a feast prepared after this.
"I'm sorry, Alex, the rules say that you can't eat anything for the day until you get weighed in." My mom said. I knew what the rules were, yet my food-addicted mind couldn't comprehend it. It felt like an eternity as I saw the numbers climb up below Martin Williamson - the same 689 lbs as 5 years ago. He's getting rusty.
~~~~~
(5 years ago)
I knew that it should've been my older brother. The fucking coward ran for college the moment my parents declared that we'd be going into this competition with one of us instead of Dad.
They put me in my bedroom, with a half-gallon sized bottle filled to the brim with a gross cream, probably heavy cream, pork lard and butter in one big mixture. Luckily for me, I didn't have to stay in my room doing nothing all day - the Internet existed and my parents were more than happy to let me stare at two or three monitors all day. The only condition was that I had to be stuffed to the brim with this gross mixture all day.
I was already chubby, thanks to the already-present culture of junk and fast food all across the town, and it somehow had fit my tastes perfectly once I got used to the thick texture.
I grew through my 9th grade, the doctor giving me a visit every 3 months to make sure I kept up with my strength training. Yes, even fattening needs exercise. Unbelievable, right?
My belly grew, first over my waistband then my crotch. I found out that being fat meant that I no longer could satisfy myself. I found out I had tits that would only get bigger. I realized my butt grew and I needed a new chair. My thighs grew and every other underwear I have had at least a new hole in them.
I realized that 250lbs would only be the start.
~~~~~
The next guy was about my age, but had already gotten stuck on a wheelchair of his own. His belly cascaded downwards, huge man boobs propping his saggy arms up. The three staff members on the stage placed their hands on his arms, and heaved his body up. Soon, he reached the platform for weighing, resting some of his weight on the two railings next to him.
He might've been lighter than Martin, but he definitely looked fatter - counting in height and all that.
The people clapped along with the announcer. They then cheered for Martin, before the host told the crowd that this competition was not over yet. Martin hadn't won yet. And he will not win this one.
I sighed, pulling out my phone from my breast pocket - I would put it somewhere more secure, but it was the only place that I could reach it from. In fact, the tailor didn't even make pockets for this new pair of pants I'm wearing - which unexpectedly already had holes appearing, despite looking like one pant hole could fit a whole human.
Just looking at my clothes made me feel how fat I was - and I had become very fat in these last 5 years.
~~~~~
When the first few weeks passed, I was surprised that the huge meals that my parents gave me no longer felt so overwhelmingly filling.
In fact, at the 2nd year mark, it was beginning to feel like I wasn't having enough. My belly had grown to an unimaginable size - sure, most folks around town are in their 400s and 500s, but I've only grew the last 300 lbs in these two years. Even to my parents, it was unbelievable how big I'd became.
I initially tried to take care of my room, but as I grew bigger, it turned out to be almost impossible even with my strength training. I had to get a brush and bidet to clean myself. Shoehorns and other aids in case I wanted or had to go outside once in a while. My mom bought me a cane for my 17th birthday.
The day I turned 18, my parents weighed me in at the barn, and I turned 600lbs at that exact birthday of mine. That night, I left the local McDonald's with a pigsty - it turned out that my parents reserved a whole feast for me to finish. I ended the day crashing into my bed, full on food coma before I woken up, realizing the bed frame had snapped.
~~~~~
The third participant was me.
My mobility scooter powered itself, so as I moved towards the stage, my mom walked behind me with a smile, before the staff took over as I parked myself right next to the cattle scale.
"Tell me, Alex, are you ready to know your weight?" The host said with a strangely southern accent.
I nodded quietly.
"Alright. Let's stand you up."
I took out my cane, while one of the staff pulled me up with my other arm. The first try failed, my entire body jiggling like a water bed as I slammed back down onto my mobility scooter.
I stood up again, and this time, my back cracked and my legs started to strain as I dragged them onto the ground, before the sheer mass of my belly pulled me forwards - that was where my cane came in.
"C'mon." The host said. I shuffled awkwardly to turn towards the scale, the staff member still having a strong grip on my half-blubber arm, with most of his hand sunk down into my flab. I steadily waddled, again dragging my legs, sweat dripping down my neck, the heat of the sun radiation down my body as I felt my shirt stain with all the sweat, my fat bouncing against each other, arms struggling to balance my entire body.
It took an entire minute to move me from my scooter to the scale.
The host excitedly looked at the screen behind me, counting upwards dramatically as if an advertisement was going to play in the next second. Soon, the numbers landed at 781.91lbs.
"Folks, this is a new record for the festival."
I began to pant and wheeze.
"Can-- can I sit down now?" I said.
"Of course, of course, the new champion needs his rest, don't ya?"
I was too tired to feel joy for this sort of victory. If anything, it was more of my parents' win - just as the host congratulated them, before giving me a wide grinning smile and a wink. All I wanted was that huge feast they'd promised me.
After another three participants - all of whom could already be awarded with participation awards just by eyeing me and them - it was time for the awarding ceremony.
Thankfully, I was given a gallon of coke and ice cream right after my weigh in.
When we brought home the golden medal pinned to my sweat stained shirt, I knew my parents were planning more for me. I knew that 780lbs was just the beginning.
