Surfboard Breaking Challenge

"A challenge? Seriously? How am I supposed to compete like this?" Bridgette gestured to her gut spilling over her waistline and then immediately placed her hand back over her breast.

"For this challenge, your weight is going to give you an advantage." Blaineley turned and hollered, "Wheel it in, boys!"

The stage doors parted and a dumptruck loudly beeped as it backed inside. It stopped short of the stage and upended its contents all over the floor of the station floor. Said contents surprised and baffled Bridgette as much as it did the rest of the contestants.

"Surfboards?"

"That's right. 150 Surfboards, to be exact," Blaineley specified.

"You're not going to make her eat them, are you?" Lindsay asked.

"They wouldn't do that," answered Beth, though she didn't sound confident. "Right?"

"No!" snapped Blaineley. "Bridgette, would you step on one of these boards?"

Gingerly, the surfer obliged and stepped onto an orange-and-red surfboard. It cracked in two from her weight and startled Bridgette. A ding rang overhead as a scoreboard was lowered.

"1 down, 149 to go."

"You mean...I have to break all of these boards?" Bridgette gasped as if she was just asked to step on a puppy.

"That's right, so get to it, Thunder Thighs." A clock lowered beneath the scoreboard and flashed a set of red numbers. "You got five minutes. For every fifty boards you break, you'll get a point."

"What!?" Courtney screamed. "She gets to win three points but I only got one?!"

"Don't get your nuts in a bunch," silenced Eva. "There's no way she'll break that many. She'll be lucky to get to eight."

The timer started and Bridgette jumped onto another board. It snapped it like a toothpick and she shuffled to another with the grace of an elephant seal. Slowly but surely, the scoreboard dinged and more points were added. A few members of the audience groaned at the sight of Bridgette's quivering blubber. Every time she jumped, her belly rolls quaked and her cellulite-filled cheeks rippled like a raindrop hitting a pond's smooth surface. If her arm wasn't crossed over her chest, her breasts would be bouncing with the rest of her.

To her credit, Bridgette was doing better than Eva predicted. She was on her twelfth surfboard when she first showed signs of fatigue. Her breathing was heavier and her forehead glistened with sweat. When she reached the one minute mark, twenty boards had been broken and she was getting winded. Pausing to gulp down some air, Bridgette also took the time to figure out how to proceed. She just needed one point to tie with Gwen and Courtney which meant there were thirty more boards to demolish. As a surfer, it wounded her to destroy them but she had to put those feelings aside much like her enflamed lungs. Thinking about them only made her feel worse.

"Move it or lose it!" ordered Blaineley. "The audience didn't tune in to stare at your bubble butt."

As much as Bridgette wanted to smash a board over Blaineley's head, she was right. Bridgette couldn't slow down. She resumed stomping and sending splinters across the stage floor. Right as she leaped toward number 29, Bridgette fumbled the landing and the board slipped out from under her. She landed on her back and got the wind knocked out of her; earning her some gasps and ooohs from the crowd.

"Ooooh, that's gotta smart." commented Izzy.

"Are you alright, honey?" Leshawna called out.

"Yeah... I'm good. Not the worst wipeout I've had." Bridgette put her modesty aside to push herself off the floor but it proved to be harder than she imagined. It was like trying to pick up a punching bag resting on her torso. Her stomach blocked her vision of the audience and spared her the sight of their mixed reactions. But her self-confidence took a dive as the reality of her situation kicked in. She wasn't just fat, she was out of shape. Feeling the wood chips on her palm left her wondering if she would ever be able to surf again.

Sure, there were plus-sized surfers out there but the largest she heard was about 330 pounds. Bridgette was almost double that. How would she ever be to surf like this? How would she even lose all this weight? What would Geoff think once he saw her like this? Would he want to kiss a girl whose ass looked like a soccer ball made of dough? The deeper she sunk into depression, the more hopeless the situation looked. Especially when most of her vision was obscured by her encompassing flab and the entire viewing world could gawk at her every crease and fold. She wasn't sure if it would be better or worse if they could see between her legs. Both had horribly mortifying implications. On her fourth attempt, she finally performed a sit up. Her heart was racing and her stomach ebbed and flowed on her lap like the tide. Three minutes were left on the timer and everyone was rooting for her to keep going. But Bridgette questioned if there was any point left; believing that there was no way she could possibly win.