Oct. 5 started out like any other Friday. Wake up, throw on an polo, grab a muffin for breakfast and drive over to school. Little did I know, this day was going to be like no day ever before. Per the usual, I stop at my locker and grab everything I’ll need for English and deliver it to the room. When I stepped in, Ms. Adaway offered me a glass of Dr. Pepper. Me, in one of my weaker moments, accepted her offer and enjoyed the room temperature soda. In what wasn’t so much a moment of weakness but more of a moment of stupidity, I came up with what I assumed would be a brilliant idea that would secure my stellar grade in the class.

“Ms. Adaway, if I drink this whole two liter bottle by the end of the period, will you give me bonus points?” I challenged.

In response to my absurd question, Ms. Adaway made a mistake by responding, “Sure.”

Now Ms. Adaway and I don’t know each other all that well, but I’d bet my bottom dollar that she assumed that I’d give up halfway through because my stomach hurt or I just didn’t think it wasn’t worth it for just a few measly bonus points. But for me, it was less about the bonus points and more about the principal of the challenge. In my mind (and likely the mind of anyone else who’s ever done anything stupid) if I didn’t complete the challenge, I would be be known as a wuss or a female dog. Little did Ms. Adaway know, Momma didn’t raise a female dog. So in response to her acknowledgement of the challenge, I appropriately responded, “Bet.”

Then, it was on.

15 minutes in, about half way through the bottle. Feeling strong.

Then, the doctor was in, and he was not messing around.

I started sweating, profusely. My legs felt heavy and the bags under my eyes grew much lighter. The cola started to taste less and less like its original form as I either got used to the carbonation or the beverage grew flat, I couldn’t determine which happened first. I was about to give up, but then I looked at my friend Jaren, and just the thought of him uttering, “that ain’t it chief,” shook me to my core. I couldn’t accept defeat and be a wuss for the rest of my life. Slowly but surely, with two minutes left in the period, I reached the bottom of the bottle.

My stomach felt like a swamp, and like our president, I desperately wanted to drain it. Then I was hit with the feeling that I both feared and desired.

“Ms. Adaway, I need to empty the tank,” I whined as I dipped out.

With every step closer to the bathroom, came a body blow that would knock me out quicker than Cat Zingano tapped out against Ronda Rousey.

Into the bathroom I went. I’ll save you the gorey details, but the muffin I had for breakfast… well you figure it out. I was a new man, but my journey with the doctor was not complete. There were many consequences that would later be realized with my dance with the devil. My face broke out worse than it ever had before. I felt disgusting and greasy all day. Not only was my face dotted with tiny pus volcanoes (I’m still paying for that), but my teeth were in genuine pain. Biting into my peanut butter and jelly sandwich at lunch was more painful than getting your braces tightened. Seriously, it was that bad. My arms and legs felt like Jello, but at the same time, they were really heavy. It was like there was a rubber band attached to all of my limbs and if I extended one of them too far from the other, I would reach a point where I wouldn’t be able to move at all.

Not only were there physical tolls, but mental tolls as well. I had the sugar crash to end all sugar crashes. Everything seemed really bright and groovy, then all of a sudden, it was just blah. Everything anyone said to me ticked me off. My friend asked me if I wanted a cookie at lunch and for some reason, I wanted to punch a hole in the wall. The worst thing about this all was that I really wanted a cookie too, with a big ol’ glass of milk.

I digress.

If you ever need any justification as to why you shouldn’t drink two whole liters of Dr. Pepper in one sitting, then please, let this be your saving grace. It will be the worst decision of your week.