I figured getting paid to spend a whole day eating McDonald's would be a bit of fun.
But let me tell you - tucking into what felt like an endless, Olympic-sized buffet is just about as far as you can get from a ‘happy meal’. So, what exactly did I have to tackle?
Last year, to celebrate the start of the 2024 Paris Olympics, I attempted to step into the world of Olympic swimming legend and six-time gold medallist Ryan Lochte. Granted, swimmers don't actually wear shoes, and given the food overload I was about to face, squeezing into his Speedos was definitely off the table.
The towering 6ft 2in American claimed he earned his medals - including two golds and two bronzes at the 2008 Beijing Games - while living off a brutal diet of McDonald's morning, noon, and night. So against my instincts, I dived headfirst into what quickly spiralled into a ketchup-soaked horror show.
Breakfast
Two sausage and egg McMuffins, two bacon rolls, one breakfast wrap, three hash browns, and a fruit salad
I used to feel a rush of giddy excitement as a kid when the golden arches above McDonald's came into sight. That familiar buzz of fast-food anticipation. But stepping into the Sydenham Maccies in south London, all joy vanished. After all, I was here for business, not pleasure.
My first mistake of the day, apart from agreeing to this in the first place, was taking my breakfast to go. I typically don't eat before noon, and thought I'd give my stomach a bit more rest before the madness began. But all that really did was cut short my desperately-needed recovery windows - and turn my eggs into a rubbery mess!
By 10am, I began with the bacon rolls. For a fleeting moment, I felt a spark of joy flutter through my tall, pseudo-swimmer-like (if I squint hard and pretend I’ve got abs) 6ft 5in frame. It didn't last. The hash browns were a nice crispy reset after all that bacon. No issues there, so I moved on to the McMuffins.
Immediately, my gut started to rebel. The egg had turned gluey and clung to my throat like overcooked pasta tossed at a wall. I don’t even enjoy eggs. Why had I signed up for this again?
I picked up the pace - trying to cram the food in before my body could protest. I knew I needed rest soon, because lunch wasn’t far off. The idea of doing a few laps in a pool after this? Hilarious. Especially when (checks notes) I had another five burgers to go.
Lunch
18 Chicken McNuggets, one double cheeseburger, one Big Mac
With my gut feeling like it was stuffed with insulation foam, I delayed the next round until around 3pm. It turned out to be even heavier and greasier than breakfast. The nuggets went down fairly easily, but I was nearing max capacity.
Halfway through the double cheeseburger, I felt an unsettling heaviness, like a lead weight was attached to my waist by a chain soaked in cooking oil. Relish started dripping like a ticking clock - splat, splat - from the bun while sweat trickled down my brow. I was in trouble.
I didn't finish that cheeseburger until 4:15pm. Across the table, the Big Mac sat there menacingly. I had to stop for a break. That was my second mistake.
It wasn't until just after 6pm that I summoned the will to confront the Big Mac. By then, it was about as cold as the look my partner gave me when I told her about this venture. But the clock was ticking and another meal loomed, so I ploughed ahead.
I downed the Big Mac in three bites. Yes - three. Pushing the pace edged me closer to the finish, but sapped what little energy I had left. My thoughts were cloudy, and my stomach felt like it had a soaked burlap sack of coal sloshing inside. I was woozy, drained, and desperate for mercy. Every fibre of my being yelled 'Stop or we're ejecting everything!' But in the name of dumb dedication, I told myself to suck it up.
Dinner
18 Chicken McNuggets, two double cheeseburgers, one Big Mac, one portion of fries
By the time dinner rolled around, I was sweating grease, oozing sauce, and physically falling apart. But with the end finally in sight, I felt a flicker of resolve.
I waited until 10:35pm (my third mistake) to start the final - and worst - round. That left me less than 90 minutes to crush the rest. I tried spreading the burgers out over time, but it barely helped. I felt like a human grease trap.
At 11pm, I'd only managed one burger and a few fries. Nowhere near enough. I pushed harder. I inhaled half the McNuggets, then tackled the other two cheeseburgers as my arteries wept. Every chew was an ordeal. The burgers tasted like oil-soaked dish sponges and the fries were limp beyond hope.
Glancing at my phone - 11:48pm. Still to go: one Big Mac, six nuggets, and half the fries. It looked impossible. But then came a surge - like Will Smith clapping Chris Rock. I wasn't giving up.
I balled the fries into a wad and shoved them down. Then came the Big Mac - gone in four giant chomps. My stomach was churning like a broken washing machine trying to find room for more. I felt horrible. But I had to finish.
By 11:58pm, all that remained were six nuggets. But I was on the verge of bursting. I crammed them in. Finally, I was done but the challenge had taken its toll and underlined something very clear: I am not an Olympic swimmer. And based on this experience, I never want to become one.
