The Longest Breakfast of My Life

I stare at the clock and shake my head.

Then I look back at my plate of food. This is my breakfast:

Breakfast Pudding

• 2 frozen bananas
• 3 scoops casein protein
• 2 squares high cacao chocolate
• small amount of almond milk

Also

• 4 pieces whole grain bread
• 2 Tbsp almond butter
• 2 Tbsp favorite jam spread

It’s my first official meal of this experiment and I’m only halfway done. It’s taken me 20 minutes to get this far.

20 minutes is a long-ass time to eat breakfast.

(Follow along by downloading Nate’s nutrition plan.)

Of course, I knew before I started this experiment the food would be a challenge. But I only thought about the amount of food and fitting it all in my stomach. I never considered how long it’d take me to actually eat it.

The first two pieces of toast went down easily, thanks to the jam. Yesterday at the grocery store I splurged on five-dollar jars of peach pomegranate and strawberry brandied apricot preserves, and I’m glad I did. I had no idea something as simple as jelly had reached top culinary levels.

Anyway, just 20 minutes ago, I was excited. Giddy, even. I snapped a photo of my breakfast with my iPhone and sent it to some friends.

But now. Now the giddiness has stopped. Now I’m just a man who’s in the middle of a shit mission. I probably look depressed.

I look at my girlfriend, Richelle, who just finished her breakfast of two scrambled eggs, a small side of bacon, and some fresh fruit.

She’s frowning at me, so I look down and frown at my plate.

I still have half a bowl of Breakfast Pudding and two pieces of toast to get through.

Are you sure you want to do this? she asks.

Yep, I say. It’ll be good.

I don’t want to admit I underestimated how hard this would be.

She gets up and starts washing dishes, so I soldier through the rest of my breakfast, force-feeding myself in silence.

18 minutes later, I’m finished, bringing my total breakfast time to 38 minutes of chewing and complaining.

I raise my arms triumphantly over my head, but Richelle has already finished the dishes, packed her lunch, and gone to work.

I’m alone in my victory.

I slide out of my chair and start walking across the room to my office when I’m suddenly overcome with the urge to vomit. It’s not a “sick to the stomach” feeling, the usual rumble that accompanies the flu. It’s a feeling that I’m packed to the brim, like there’s no room left in my stomach.

I walk over to my desk and sit down to work. Maybe writing will take my mind off my stomach. But it’s so distended I feel like an Ethiopian baby on one of those Save The Children commercials. I sit a good 12 inches back from my desk to accommodate it.

I look at the clock.

It’s only 9:00 AM and I’ve eaten more for breakfast than some people eat in an entire day. Hell, I’ve eaten more for breakfast than some people in less-developed countries eat in an entire week.

That makes me feel extra bad.

And I still have two more meals to get through before the day is over.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?