-By Kerri Fullam

At 8 am on May 29^th, 2011, a general assembly of UCSD cycling and triathlon kits materialized through the mist by the Bike Shop. Yes, ‘mist’ is correct: a downpour of San Diego standards had been raging in the wee hours, threatening to hang on just long enough to soak the excited crowd before they even began. Thankfully the clouds retreated, realizing the determination they were up against. Among the helmets and cleats, one lone jersey stood out. Red polka dots labeled one Christopher Burnham as the gluttonous beast to beat. So who would it be? D. Quan with his mad gastric tactics? Bill – my quads are getting more grapefruity every day – Jones? The classy bow-tie-donning Nick DeNezzo? Or newcomer Rachel Marcuson? (Cuz we all know this girl broke the bank at Leucadia Donut shop for a random practice stomach-stretcher!)

After last year’s podium was introduced, the peloton took to the streets. Well-fasted stomachs were grumbling and legs were pumping. The leaders could almost taste the sweet success of needed calories as they neared the … wait for it … CLOSED Solana Donut shop! Wait? What! Who closes a donut shop on a sunny California Sunday?!? These guys.

Sarah Kavaler and her smart phone came to the rescue. Stage 1 would be a bit longer, but at least the Encinitas donut shop claimed their doors were open and their baked goods were gooey. They also claimed to have a lot of donuts. And by “ a lot’, it’s unlikely they knew what they were talking about. The decent of ravenous Tritons was about to prove what a lot really was.

Once arriving at Encinitas Donuts, Chris Burnham dug in. It was like a starting gun had gone off silently, because hands grabbed furiously for the most airy poofiness of sugar possible. No sense in eating heavy cake donuts. Who wants a rock like that sitting at the bottom of their gut so early in the race? Apparently Marcuson, because that’s exactly what she began shoving down her throat. Spectators mused about their reasons (cough*excuses*cough) for not competing. Kerri Fullam, resident vegan, could be heard saying something to the extent of “these animal products, man, they’ll just do me in.” Uh huh, sure. Future FDA nutrition liaison to the first lady, Remy Hitt, smartly retorted, “If you can handle processed sugar, you can handle scalded milk, egg, and shortening/lard. Wimp.” Well apparently more than just one of the SIO tri-umvirate had nutrition issues with deep-fried rings. Bill – my blood has gone straight to my stomach and I’m shivering like crazy – Jones decided a grand tactic was to pick off the coconut flakes. Why? Because it’s the fattiest fat of fats out there. (And eating a whole donut isn’t, by the way. Nom nom.) The group was beginning to smell as sweet as flowers. Bees were in search of the sugar. One landed ever-so-strategically upon Kerri for Bill to point out “it’s a B it’s a B.” Really? Thought they looked more like C’s. (At least half of you got that.) Once batch 1 was housed, a jersey switch was in order. Three people had already consumed 6 donuts (1812 calories minimum each). The power of pink defaulted (since girl donuts counted as 30 seconds instead of the more masculine 20 seconds) Rachel to first place and she sported the spots.

Onto stage 2. Super Donuts #2. (Appropriate? Clandestine? Coincidence? You decide.) A second layer of sugary goo was congealing on fingers and handlebars alike when Nick DeNezzo asked with a laugh, “Is it bad if my heart is already starting to hurt?” The nursing/EMT pair of power, Sarah Kavaler and Chris Burnham, jumped into action with potential palpitation explanations. Sarah also came to the rescue with steaming black coffee to boost the energy of those not having already reached glycogen super saturation. A new pink donut was available for this round, much to the appeasement of Bill – I want the jersey back – Jones. Because that’s exactly what said pink donuts did as they took over numero uno in his consumed confectionery caliber. At minute 10, eaters began to slow and a question swarmed the group: would there be one or two shops left? “Well,” replied rangy Ryan Graf, “only one….BUT…there’s a gravity section in store.” SOMEONE was reveling in having downward motion on his side because a belch of approval literally erupted from DeNezzo. Obviously a lot of hot air must have escaped, for down the gullet went another donut.

Onto quill gardens. First one down gets 4 virtual donuts! The non-eaters headed down first to judge the decent. Bryce Zaffarano started the sitting spectator section. SUCH a good idea for those still recovering from 70 miles the previous day. As it turns out, Mr. Burnham is better going up than coming down (that’s what she said). Only placing second, he earned 2 virtual donuts. With a total count now at 9, he threw in the towel and decided his speed would get him through the rest.

Close calls with cars confirmed those kids couldn’t keep close to the curb. Luckily stage 3 at VG Donut & Bakery saw all participants still in high spirits. For a bit, anyway. The sad remnants from stage 2 were ignored as lighter, though iced, long johns were fresh and the new favorites of those still left in the overgorged group. DeNezzo began to bend at the waist, unable to decide whether to ralph or to cry. Either way, he was diabetic by then. A sugar-coated digestive tract was in serious argument with the corn syrup concoction still in his hand. At least he was standing, though. Marcuson had taken to sitting while stuffing in the final fluffy fusion. Bill – I have a donut baby – Jones was still standing and smiling as if 16 (4382 calories minimum) of anything hadn’t passed across his lips. Bryce, Chris, and Kerri sat back in wonder while Remy decided, albeit its lack of Kashi’s 7 whole grains, to finally enjoy a single sweet treat.

The final stage: Torrey Pines. Or so the contenders thought. A detour turned into a table on the side of the road. But there were no donut boxes. There were gallons. Gallons of milk. Gross. More virtual donuts were to be gained in a final strategy to solidify the dead weight gurgling in bellies. Nick DeNezzo and Bill Jones felt like they had to. Someone forgot to tell them that dumping half of the 5 cups of milk down the front of oneself was within the rules. A cycling team member finally proved voracious enough: a 5-foot-2, 48-cm-bike-riding, 200 buck brute cycling team member, that is.

Now onto Torrey. No, wait, onto Calle de Oro. No, wait, at least it isn’t Expedition Way. (That would be mean.) What? People had school work to do? Another leg shouldn’t be in order? Guess not. Inside Torrey it was. While the leaders lined up in descending donut order, the rest rode the time trial hill slightly under time trial pace. Eh, who’s kidding, they rode up it pretty damn slowly. Then argued about the finish line. It ended up not being an issue. Barely had the judges settled in on each side of the line and photographers scoped out prime positions when Bill – I’m too fast for a camera to catch anyway – Jones roared through the finish line with an expression somewhere between intestinal fortitude and gut-wrenching determination. Was that the end? Everyone seemed confused. There was no one behind him. Maybe he left early. Maybe he threw in the towel, too, and just raced up the hill for the hell of it. No one could figure out where the rest of the pack was. Eventually Rachel and Chris rolled in to secure a full podium of triathletes. The rest of the pack trickled behind, sparkling cider was distributed to the winners (of which they sprayed the crowd to ensure equal sticky coatings for everyone’s kits), and gormandizing, gulous glory engulfed the group. Any camaraderie from the day capsized as the tri team Tritons were uninvited for 2012. Yeah. Sure.