IT’S the tenth anniversary of iconic documentary Super Size Me – where
American filmmaker Morgan Spurlock ate just McDonald’s for a month.
The dramatic results on his health and well-being caused a backlash against
the fast food giants, who went on to ditch their Super size meals and
introduce various healthy options to the menu.
A decade on, just how far has the corporation come – and how unhealthy is its
food for the 68million daily customers in 119 countries?
To find out, I spent a week eating only food sourced from the ‘golden arches’,
ordering from across the revamped menu. Here’s how I got on …
Day One
I start my McDonald’s diet with vigour. My breakfast lasts barely five
minutes, and I’m confident I could have polished off two. This week is going
to be easy.
I’m more satisfied by my lunch – which leaves me feeling bloated for much of
the afternoon. Probably something to do with the half-litre of Coke my meal
was served with.
An equally sized goblet of Fanta accompanies my dinner as, like Spurlock, if
staff ask me if I want my meal large, I have to agree.
I don’t mind, though, as I can’t get enough of the fries, and it’s what I’d do
normally anyway. I’m McLovin’ it.
Day Two
I wake up early, my stomach groaning – despite the amount of food I’d scoffed
on Monday, my body still wants more. I’m gagging for my next McDonald’s hit.
When that first bite comes, it is sensational – the hit of pleasure seriously
close to being sexual.
It’s something that happens again at lunch.
But, though I experience that initial euphoria while eating, it’s followed by
an almost immediate slump.
My head feels fuzzy and, already, I’m having issues concentrating. A stale
taste lingers at the back of my throat constantly, encouraging me to replace
it with the taste of fresh – well, ish – fast food.
By 4pm, I’ve already had more than a man’s recommended daily allowance, but
I’m far from bouncing with energy and enthusiasm.
Instead, I feel lethargic and very tired, and end up going home straight to
bed after dinner.
Day Three
Despite crashing into my bed feeling like a broken man, I wake up feeling
fresher than a chicken nugget – and hungry enough to devour about thirty of
the things.
As I commute to work, though, I notice that I’m sweating profusely, and my
usual walking route has caused a stitch. That’s never happened before.
The same happens on the return journey – so much so, I have to shower when I
get home.
And I’m so disoriented that I accidentally throw my change down the toilet. An
expensive way of ‘spending a penny’.
It doesn’t matter how many times I brush my teeth, I can’t escape a furry
feeling they’ve taken on from all the sugars I’m consuming.
Day Four
I achieve a McDonald’s first after spying a poster by the till, encouraging me
to “try a hot apple pie with your breakfast”.
I might be an advertiser’s dream, but I’m helpless to resist.
As with previous days, I notice that I feel freshest in the morning –
presumably because I have a break of more than 12 hours without McDonald’s
overnight. From lunch onwards, the McDonald’s malaise strikes.
I’ve got heartburn, I feel dazed and, weirdly, ache. Even stairs are a
struggle.
The only positive I can cling to is that I’m doing an hour’s walking each day
– double the minimum exercise recommended by the government – albeit to and
from McDonald’s.
At dinner time, crisis strikes. There’s been a power cut and my carefully
planned food diary is in turmoil – I’ll have to make do with whatever’s left
ready to go.
So I’m given a cheeseburger, a quarter pounder, a large coke, and a pack of
fish fingers. Bizarre.
Day Five
Horror or horrors, I’m now matey with the staff at McDonald’s – little
surprise after 13 consecutive meals there.
As I collect my breakfast, the manager asks if I want my “usual” – which he
takes to be the pancakes – and his colleague cheerfully bids me farewell
with a “see you at lunch”.
They clearly assume I’m the world’s biggest enthusiast for their Monopoly
game. Sadly, despite collecting around 100 stickers over the week, I scooped only
the bottom prize – a cheap phone case.
Of all the places to be a regular, McDonald’s isn’t one that prompts much
pride.
Especially this one. A short walk from my office, it’s my choice solely
through convenience.
With outdoor tables only, set against the backdrop of a busy road, the grey
and dirty location serves as an apt metaphor for the way I’m feeling.
The last time I binged on something so unhealthy for so long was Freshers Week
at university.
It doesn’t help that everywhere I look there’s someone eating a banana.
But within an hour of wolfing down my McMuffin I’m starving again, and return
to McDonald’s for elevenses. Two visits in two hours. The same person serves
me, and the shame is overwhelming.
Being Friday, I have a date night planned with my girlfriend – but her face
drops when I reveal the destination for our meal out.
I reassure her that loads of people are dressed up at a McDonald’s
drive-through – they’re just usually drunk in the back of a taxi.
It turns out to be a not-so happy meal, which sets the tone for the night – my
head’s spinning by the time I get home, I’m knackered, my sex drive has
gone, and I’m so gassy that I sound like an out of practice brass band. My
lucky girlfriend.
Day Six
To lift me out of my doldrums, I opt for some healthier choices – ordering
porridge for breakfast, while trading my french fries for a side salad at
lunch.
There isn’t much encouragement to do so, though. The server never queries what
side you want with your meal – it’s assumed you want fries – and the chain’s
famous Monopoly promotion actually offers more reward for taking the
unhealthy route.
For a wrap meal with salad, you get five stickers – opting for a large fries
gives you almost double, nine, while a medium fries gives you seven.
I also shun fizzy drinks, ordering a tea – which I’d never normally have – and
water with the two meals.
By dinner time, though, I’m absolutely ravenous – my body is crying out for a
‘proper’ McDonald’s, so I break the glass on the Big Mac, which I’d been
saving as a treat.
I’m so eager to wolf down the chain’s signature dish, though, that it prompts
a blistering row with my girlfriend. I’m so hangry – angry because I’m
hungry – that I snap at her for parking too far away from home. I’m furious
that my food is going cold. At least I have my food to comfort me.
Day Seven
My last day is such a struggle. Even the euphoria felt at eating the food has
now gone, and it’s just a countdown till the experiment is over.
When I look in the mirror, I can see the difference – it looks like I’m in the
early stages of pregnancy.
I’m not saying I was especially ripped before, but there’s a visible impact –
not only am I feeling short of energy, I’m now riddled with insecurity, too.
It doesn’t help that it’s Marathon day in London, and my local McDonald’s is
along the route – guiltily scoffing fast food as hoards of super-fit runners
stream past is a real low point.
What happened:
In seven days I put on seven pounds – a staggering half a stone in a week. I
also gained two inches around my waist, and my alertness dropped by around
20 per cent.
I experienced daily slumps after lunch, where I’d feel lethargic, detached,
and not at my best.
The only thing that lifted me from this malaise was biting into a Maccys.
The diet affected my fitness, getting a stitch on my usual walk to work; my
sex life, where my drive and performance was lessened; and my mood, having a
blistering row with my girlfriend on Saturday night because I didn’t want my
McDonald’s to get cold while she faffed about finding a parking space.
I also experience regular heartburn, get very sweaty very easily, I’m very
gassy and a constant stale taste sits in the back of my throat – which I
could only escape by wolfing down more fries.
SUPER SIZE STATS
Total calories: 21,625
Total fat: 893g
Total saturated fat: 243g
Total salt: 61.7g
Total sugar: 1,127g