Mike Martin, left, Anthony Carpio, center, and Cathy Wallace battle it out during the Knott's Berry Farm Boysenberry Pie Eating Contest at the Orange County Fair on Wednesday. (SCOTT SMELTZER, Daily Pilot / July 31, 2013)

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At the end of the table a hungry teen was eager to start and to my left a rowdy woman loudly expressed her excitement.

I wouldn't let them get me out of my zone. I was definitely in my zone.

The only thing I needed to focus on for the next four minutes or so was the boysenberry pie from Knott's Berry Farm in front of me. Well, half a pie.

Half pie, full pie. It didn't matter. I was going to devour it.

On Wednesday, seven Orange County Fair-goers and I sat at a long table atop a stage in the center of the OC Promenade. Hundreds of eyes locked on to us. We wore classy black trash bags to protect our clothes. This was going to be an epic pie-eating contest.

"I've never been in a pie-eating contest," Cathy Wallace whispered in my ear before we planted our faces into the pie tin. Her comment was followed by a deafening "Woo!" as she took photos of us.

As I stared at the pie glistening under the stage lights, I was reminded of the training I did last week.

Yes, that's right. I trained for this. Luckily for me, I had my colleague and pie-eating coach Lauren Williams to whip me into shape.

She told me to buy a pie and practice eating it without my hands. I couldn't find a boysenberry pie, so I bought a blueberry pie instead.

I brought it back to the office, covered my desk in newspapers and placed the pie in front of me.

My colleagues flocked to my desk when they caught wind of what I was doing.

Armed with their smartphones, they snapped photos and videos of me stuffing my face. I rolled my face in the tin, getting blueberry filling all over my face and makeshift newspaper bib.

Once the laughter subsided, I reviewed the game tape and took notes on how to better my technique. Now that I had the experience, I just needed Wednesday to roll around and unleash my pie-eating fury at the fair.

Before we started, Marshal Jeff gave us the rundown on the rules: no hands, no reversals and have fun.

With my face inches away from the boysenberry pie, I began to tune the crowd out with the exception of my colleagues, who cheered me on.

"Ready … Set … Eat!"

I plowed my face into the pie and started taking giant bites. It was much better tasting than the blueberry pie I bought from Stater Bros. However, the consistency was the same, so I was in familiar territory.

As I worked my way to the bottom of the tin, I found myself gasping for breath. I could barely breathe through my pie-filled mouth, and I soon found out that I couldn't breathe through my nose. It was clogged with berries, jam and crust.

That was easily fixed as I exhaled forcefully through my nose. I don't know where the nasal shrapnel went, nor did I care. I just wanted to win.

I received a boost of confidence when Marshal Jeff called me the "Kobayashi of pies," referring to the famed competitive eater from Japan. I was truly honored.