ABSTRACT
We are sat at a restaurant table, fi ve triathletes physically and emotionally spent after a grueling day of competition in Ontario’s sweltering summer heat. My body is slumped into a wooden Adirondack chair, with my remaining energy squarely focused on the volume of food I will consume in the next hour in the hopes of recovery. A waitress approaches us, trying to keep hold of fi ve supersize menus and a plastic jug of much needed water. Without a word or hesitation I shoot my hand out in a forty-fi ve-degree angle, clutching at the top menu. I snatch and open it midair and scan the entire appetizer and entrée columns. The time between the end of the waitress’ scripted recounting of the daily specials and my exuberant order for nachos, fi ve bean soup and a vegan shepherd’s pie could have only been measured in milliseconds. My friends, however, take much more time to decide. They always do. They comb over the selections, aggressively counting calories, macronutrient contents and the physiological consequences of the food for their bodies. I feel like apologizing to our waitress, who is dressed all in black and is now clearly thinking about the other customers and orders she must process, as beads of sweat pour down her forehead. They predictably order several jugs of water and the lowest calorie options on the menu. What they do next is both impressively disciplined and decisively pathological.
