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Super-Eating and Super-Drinking are growing sports, in every sense of the term; higher-profile than ever before, contestants and events alike are now attracting sponsorship, a devoted online following and even sporadic television coverage. The amount of professional Eaters and Drinkers is ever-increasing, as are the number of contests, and the demands associated with them. It is estimated that the number of major cities hosting contests at least annually has now outstripped those holding marathons. For what is still considered a niche sport, a total revenue of around $500 million annually isn’t bad going at all, and neither is the fact that this figure has been increasing year-on-year for the past five. The main growth, however, has been in the girth of the competitors; the official Eating and Drinking records now lie at a staggering 46.4 lbs and 38.2 gallons respectively. And of course these are timed records, with unofficial records resulting in reports of planet-sized girls with over 150 lbs and 100 gallons in their bellies – although not simultaneously... yet. For the uninitiated, the rules of Super-Eating and Super-Drinking are simple; 30 minutes to eat as much as possible, whoever gains the greatest weight wins. I would be the first to admit that I am entirely uninitiated and largely ignorant of this gobsmackingly, almost unbelievably inflatable world and I was even more surprised when Melanie Carpenter, a contest-winning Super-Eater from London, England agreed to afford me a glimpse into this strange stuffing reality. The following blog is intended to be a no-holds-barred, warts-and-all account of a realm that is often viewed as unlikely and alien, or at worst little depraved, or even deviant.

I meet Melanie for the first time in a four-star hotel, just prior to a world-famous Super-Eating contest taking place in downtown Budapest, no doubt knowingly selected for its ironic value as capital of Hungary,
“The Budapest competition is very important,” Melanie emphasizes as we talk briefly in the hotel lobby, having greeted me politely if somewhat nervously on an intermission from her preparations for the upcoming contest, “A good showing here can really elevate your status and get you noticed,”
We exchange words quickly, Melanie’s unfamiliar accent all alien vowel sounds to me and arrange to reconvene in the evening shortly after the contests’ conclusion, with the start just hours away. Melanie hurries off to continue gearing up for the competition later, commenting when I ask what she will actually do in the run-up to competing,
“Not a lot. It’s like the night before an exam,” she smiles tensely, rubbing the back of her neck and giggling at nothing, “If you don’t know it by the night before, you’ll never know it – and if you aren’t ready to eat the day of the contest, you’re pretty certain to lose,”
She looks unremarkable from anybody else in the bustling reception, dressed as if ready for a workout in a white vest top and navy tracksuit bottoms with her shoulder-length blonde hair tied unfussily behind her head as she apologizes for her anxious demeanor,
“This is the first time I’ve ever really spoken to a journalist, never mind let one follow me,” she explains, before excusing herself hurriedly. We shake hands briefly and Melanie quickly disappears into the crowd of people in the lobby, everyone having somewhere to be or something to do. Nobody gives her a second glance as she nimbly skirts through suited businessmen and harried vacationers and rounds the corner leading to the staircase.

Some hours later at our arranged meeting time of 11pm, I spot Melanie approaching from some way off, in a guise unrecognisable from just a few hours ago. Anyone who happens to be crossing the peaceful foyer in late evening doesn’t just give her a second glance, but stop in their tracks and gawk with mouth unashamedly agape. Melanie Carpenter might as well have walked off the face of the earth earlier, as I’m now confronted by her Super-Eating alter-ego, the WWE-style sobriquet she and most other eaters use during contests. Now I meet ‘Plenty O’ Room’...

‘Plenty’ approaches slowly, struggling under the weight and bulk of what I later learn to be a 38.4 lbs belly, taking the form of an enormous round midriff jutting out alarmingly from the front her slight frame and rippling with each step she takes. The 28-year-old walks barefoot on the tiled floor and wears a loose pair of tan-colored shorts, with the front button unsurprisingly undone and her bulging tummy engulfing the zipper entirely. A voluminous, tent-like t-shirt fails to cover even a small portion of Plenty’s stomach, stretched tightly over the very top of its extensive upper hemisphere leaving the majority of her globular gut to wobble freely, its edges extending beyond her sides and obscuring most of her thighs. Her spherical tummy sits relatively pertly on Plenty’s body for its astonishingly capacious contents, but its jiggling lower half gives away the burden of her day’s eat bloating her belly outwards and slowing her agile gait. Completely unprepared for what confronts me in the guise of Plenty’s tremendous transformation, all I can do is stare as the graveyard shift receptionist does, craning her neck and gasping at what has just entered the hotel. Aware of my utter speechlessness, Plenty smiles knowingly, a warm but drained expression on her face as she comes to a halt in front of me, her belly eventually ceasing its wobbling as she encircles it with her arms,
“Quite a transformation since this morning isn’t it?” she says with a raise of her eyebrows as I stare into the voluptuous dark of her navel. Now realizing how ridiculous the public meeting place I had naively arranged for our interview is, I stand immediately from one of the cushioned wicker chairs in the foyer’s corner and suggest we speak in a hotel room. My stunningly rotund guest graciously agrees and we set off for her suite together, Plenty chatting flirtily as she heavily pads her way there, a marked contrast to her previously meek demeanor,
“Just ‘cos we’re going to my room don’t get any ideas,” she jokes “I doubt I could fight you off like this anyway!”
The young woman beside me is most complimentarily described as petite, her head barely approaching my shoulder height at a diminutive 5’ 3” and clearly struggles with her heavily swollen form. She has developed a pronounced waddle in order to carry her burgeoning tummy, stepping arduously from foot to foot in a manner which would be painful to watch without Plenty making amiable light of it. Indeed, she doesn’t complain about her extensive load even once, choosing to air grievances on other subjects,
“I really wish they gave us bigger t-shirts or bath robes or something at contests, this thing is so tight,” she sighs with a reconciled smile. Her gripe is understandable, as despite it barely even covering a third of her massive stomach, it’s clear that her t-shirt is virtually bursting at the seams. And upon closer inspection, the button of her shorts is missing, presumably having popped off at some point under the strain of the mammoth meal bearing down upon it,
“To be honest at this point I usually strip completely,” Plenty suddenly informs me as she bustles into her room ahead of me, “But since you’re here I won’t do; I saw some nice robes in the bathroom I can change into since I have guests. Though I can’t promise anything tomorrow night!”
‘Tomorrow night?’ I ask, confused,
“Yeah, after the contest tomorrow. I doubt I’ll be able to fit into anything anyway, I’ll probably be ready to explode by then. But I’m surprisingly attractive all bloated and naked!” she winks. I have to immediately confess to Plenty my complete ignorance of the two-legged nature of the Budapest Super-Eating Contest, which she seems bemused by, but patiently explains anyway, appearing to forgive my embarrassing lack of knowledge. What emerges straight away, for those who haven’t already divined, is the Budapest contest’s unique aspect; it’s set over two days. There are individual day prizes, says Plenty as she fills me in on the finer details, one being that the overall winner is the Eater whose combined days’ totals are the largest,
“That’s Budapest’s challenge, and why it’s so crucial to do well here; it proves you’re the real deal, you’ve got the belly to win two consecutive days’ contests,” she explains, “It’s a real world stage to make a name for yourself on,”
That seems more of a danger than a challenge, I interject,
“It’s only as much of a danger as there is of a marathon runner collapsing halfway through. If you can’t eat any more, you can’t eat any more. Simple as that,” she calls from the bathroom, where she can be heard peeling the skintight t-shirt from her expanded body and re-dressing in a bath robe. But surely a marathon runner only knows they can’t run anymore when they collapse; up to that point they believe they’re competing,
“There’s never been a case where a girl has ate and ate and ate until she exploded, I personally think that’s impossible. You compete until you feel you can’t compete any more, it’s the same as any sport,” Plenty says, before smiling, “Anyway you can’t put me off of this thing, I’m booked in to compete tomorrow and that’s the end of it. I can take it!”
Lifts part of the white bath robe she’s been donning to once again bare her soft, bulbous belly and gives it a jovial, reassuring pat. The fluffy, towelled gown manages to clothe Plenty more fully than her previous attire, which she pitches across the room and onto a chair. However even this usually swathing garment doesn’t reach her naval from any direction, running out of length with which to conceal her giant tummy just over halfway down her broadened front and also failing to meet in her middle. She cuts a vaguely preposterous figure with the far-too-small robe plastered thinly across her rotund belly and lashed around her impressive girth by its cord, tied in a comically small bow across the sizable gap where her belly skin is plainly visible.
Covering up with the gown as fully as possible, but still with masses of her bloated flesh protruding from beneath the material, Plenty settles heavily down at the top end of the bed. Stretching her legs down it in the half light afforded by the lamp, we talk through the day’s competition,
“I was pretty satisfied with my performance, everything went to plan,” she beams, “I came fourth overall so another good day tomorrow and I’m on for a top three finish!”
The news that there are three girls nursing stomachs even bigger than Plenty’s somewhere in this very city is startling, and something I hadn’t even considered,
“There are three basic strategies in Budapest,” my suddenly thin-seeming host informs me, “Go all out the first day, go all out the second day or pace yourself on both days. There are variations on that and it can get a lot more complex but that’s as simple as I can put it. I think at least two of the girls above me were going for a first-day strategy. The leader after round one today was packing 44-odd lbs, I think,”
In the face of such stringent competition, I ask if Plenty O’ Room expects a win overall tomorrow, or where she sets her sights if not at the top of the leaderboard,
“I’m not experienced enough for a win, but I can definitely go top five overall this year. A few top names have ducked out of the two-day contest this year in favor of the single day events. My target for tomorrow is third, but five and above I’d be happy with,”
I assume then that Plenty has ‘plenty’ of previous experience in the Budapest contest?
“Yeah, I’ve been [a professional Super-Eater] for about two years and came to Budapest for the first time last year. Came 33rd. Not bad for a first try,” she smiles with a cock of her head. I sense, however, that she feels that this was in fact a poor first try by her own standards, and it seems possible to me that her motivation for returning this year is to dramatically improve her previous showing. I decide to press her lightly on the topic, asking about her motivation,
“Again, Super-Eating really isn’t that much different to any other sport, you just endeavour to do better than you did last time,” she shrugs, “To be the best you can be at what you’ve chosen to do. Yes there are cash prizes, and as much as every competitor needs those to stay professional and live comfortably, it’s about bettering yourself. It’s a form of empowerment I suppose,”
It’s interesting that Plenty cites empowerment as a form of motivation, so I ask her exactly how she does feel empowered by Super-Eating?
“I feel empowered in the same way that I’d imagine a boxer feels empowered; when they’re the stronger and they’re standing over their weaker opponent down on the canvas. The difference with Super-Eating is you’re bigger, not stronger. You’re physically bigger, fatter than your opponent,” a smile spreads across her face as she enthuses, “When I win a contest and I’m fatter than my competitors; they can’t eat any more, yet they’re smaller than me and I’ve got more food in my belly… It’s just like knocking someone out!”
She giggles good-naturedly as she demonstrates a right-cross to emphasize her final words, which is somewhat hampered by her giant belly pushing upwards from her seated position, encroaching on her arms’ reach. I ask Plenty if losing a contest has the converse effect, upon her ego or upon her sense of power. After thinking for a few moments, the Super-Eater answers,
“For me personally it doesn’t, but that’s not to say all Eaters feel that way,”
Sensing there is more to this than her conspicuously clipped answer lets on, I ask her to elaborate,
“You just sort of take the defeat and move on, hopefully learn from it. You’ve got to remain philosophical, as long as you have the maturity and the experience to do so,” she offers, “When I first started out and I lost, I was more focused on myself. I felt like the size of a house and I was ready to explode. It didn’t really occur or matter to me that there was a girl a few meters away twice my size strutting around like nothing had happened,”
What was her feeling at the end of today’s contest, since she wasn’t the biggest, but hadn’t lost?
“Yeah it’s always odd at the end of day one,” Plenty giggles, referring to the particular challenge of the Budapest contest, “Even the winner had a great eat at 44 lbs, but didn’t celebrate because we know it’s all to do tomorrow,”
At this point Plenty shuffles arduously to the side of the bed until reaching a sitting position on its edge, a difficult process under her newly-gained weight. Her pendulous belly sits quietly gurgling between her widely spread legs on the soft sheets for a few moments as its contents gradually slosh to a halt. Panting slightly before sucking a quick breathe in and heaving herself to standing with a grunt of effort, Plenty straightens troublesomely before facing me,
“Phew! I really wish there was a bit more of me to carry this sometimes!” she smiles, cradling her stomach like a mother-to-be carrying an unimaginable number of children, before informing me, “I’m getting into bed soon but you can stay and talk for a while,”
After preparing for bed she bashfully asks me to turn my back, taking off the robe and slipping between the bedsheets as I do so. From what I can tell unsighted she takes a long time to locate the knot in her gown’s cord on the distant face of her bloated belly, before quickly unhooking it and allowing her relieved garment to spring from her fattened frame,
“I couldn’t stand wearing clothes any more,” she calls to me, wriggling entirely under the sheets, “Ask any Super-Eater; I’m sure we’re all like that,”
Her smirking face emerges from the top end of the duvet seconds later, followed by her hand from which she throws her underwear onto the chair to join the rest of her underwear. Catching sight of my nervous glance and imaginably-blushing face as I look over my shoulder at Plenty, she grins doubly wide,
“Yes I am nude now. But don’t worry, I’ll stay under here,” she says, squirming to the top of the bed and resting her head on the pillow, “I told you, you’ll have to wait ‘til tomorrow to see me undressed!”
Lying on her back, her belly makes a mountainous and somewhat distracting bulge in the bed covers, but she thankfully turns on her side, accompanied by a muffled slosh from her brimming belly. What are her hopes for tomorrow?
“Not to burst!” she laughs excitably. Is her aim to match today’s total?
“Last year’s winning total was 89 lbs in all, but I’m told that’s like the second-biggest total since Budapest began. I reckon this year’s winning weight will be closer to 80, so I’m on course to go close if I packed away another 38.4 tomorrow,” she muses, “Realistically though, I doubt I can manage another 38.4, but we’ll have to see what happens. Super-Eating is all about adapting to the competition. There’s no point in blowing yourself up to 40-something lbs when your nearest competition is only on 20,”
A question suddenly forms in my mind that I try to push down; it’s a blindingly obvious question to ask, but once it’s there I simply can’t think of anything else. My curiosity gets the better of me and a mischievous smile crosses Plenty’s face as I sheepishly ask, what’s the biggest you’ve been so far? I suspect gets this all the time, and she’s been waiting all night for me to ask her just that,
“The most I’ve packed away in a contest was only a few months ago. I really wanted the victory but I was getting pushed so hard that I just had to keep piling it away. I ate 44.8 lbs, so just shy of 45. Second place was 43.2, so it really was that close. That was probably my proudest victory so far, it was such a great contest. But God I was stuffed! I couldn’t touch my belly button I was so fat!” the smile on her face only increases as she continues, “The biggest I’ve ever been? Well, that would be telling! But put it like this, I wouldn’t have even come close to fitting through that door!” she points at the room’s sizable entrance whilst ruffling the sheets to give her nonetheless impressive belly a comforting pat, “Oooohhh just thinking about it makes me feel full!”
Well fuller than she is already, I would imagine. I decide, given the late hour, to end our interview on that note and give Plenty O’ Room… well, plenty of room. Arranging to meet her after tomorrow’s contest in the hotel lobby and then again relocate upstairs to this room for another interview, I ask just before leaving how she’s feeling about the following day’s competition,
“I’m looking forward to it, I can’t wait! It might well be my biggest eat yet, it’ll be good to really stretch my belly out, see how much it can handle!”
Unwilling or unable to hoist her inflated frame out of bed, we exchange stilted goodbyes and I leave the room, turning the lights out upon my exit as requested by Melanie.

I ended the day by debating long and hard with myself whether to accompany my interviewee to the following days’ contest to see firsthand what goes on at such an event. I eventually decided against this however, mainly because I felt I could barely even imagine what would happen there, much less accurately describe proceedings, and also partly because I felt it would be more interesting to first scratch the surface second-hand. From when ‘Plenty’ first waddled into view, through sitting in her room as she answered my questions, I stared semi-hypnotized at her giant, jiggling gut and knew I couldn’t journalistically evaluate a Super-Eating Contest at this stage. But perhaps to follow Melanie to her next Super-Eating contest after further interviews would gain me a better account of the world of the Super-Eater. If she would allow me to stick around that long; who knows, I might even wind up as her biographer.