One thousand Olive Garden Pasta Passes went on sale on Monday, September 8, at 3:00 p.m. The announcement was sudden, only showing up in news outlets that morning. I found out about the offer when my ex-girlfriend posted the story on my Facebook wall, in an act of heroism that forced me to question why I call her an “ex”-girlfriend.

The basic terms were thus — purchase a Pasta Pass for $100 and for seven weeks, the holder is entitled to as many free Pasta Bowl meals as he desires. Each meal comes with a choice of six pastas (spaghetti, angel hair, fettuccine, cavatappi, penne, whole-wheat linguini) six sauces (marinara, alfredo, meat sauce, five-cheese marinara, spicy-three meat, roasted mushroom alfredo), and four meat toppings (meatballs, Italian sausage, chicken fritta, shrimp fritta), with no limit on the number of plates or combinations that may be consumed in one sitting. Also included is the choice of soup or salad and unlimited breadsticks. Bottomless Coca-Cola brand soft drinks are provided for the holder and any other guests at the table, with the only charge being a suggested gratuity.

As I said, I don’t particularly like pasta. My typical entree at Olive Garden is Chicken Marsala, a no-go under these terms. The offer of soup, salad, and breadsticks was what really piqued my interest.

On multiple occasions in the past few years I have been completely broke and sustained myself for days on Olive Garden gift cards my mom happened to have lying around her house (apparently this is the standard Christmas/ end-of-year gift for elementary school speech pathologists). Zuppa Toscana, a welcome blend of “spicy sausage, fresh kale, and russet potatoes in a creamy broth,” has guided me through hard times with its own endless refills. Ultimately, I was sure I’d handle the pasta just fine, and hey, maybe I’d turn the experience into an article.

There were obvious cons. Olive Garden has never claimed its food to be particularly healthy. I could envision myself at the end of seven weeks, a walking insulin pump encrusted in sodium and grease. Normally I run five or six miles a day and can shed a cool 800 calories, but one week earlier I’d broken my foot and looked less a marathoner and more your aunt after she fell in line at Disney World. Oh, and I’d probably have to turn it into an story of some kind.

At 3:00 p.m., I, along with an estimated 500,000 other prospective diners, visited Olive Garden’s website. The obscene level of traffic was readily apparent — time outs, redirects, minutes-long load times. To continue charging head-first seemed as foolish as the actions of Helen Hunt in Twister. I could keep telling myself this vain pursuit was for science, but deep down it must be about filling some dark emotional void at the risk of Bill Paxton getting hurt. Even as I watched Cary Elwes get carried away by F5 winds, I entered my credit card information and strapped myself to the barn, awaiting confirmation. Minutes later, it came: “Congratulations on your purchase of one Olive Garden Pasta Pass.”

I had two weeks to prepare for the weight I was soon to carry, to ready myself physically, mentally, spiritually, and such-and-such. I didn’t do that. I did nothing. The one thing I did do was what any reporter does at the outset of a sensationalist article about too much food — I went to a doctor. Actually it was an urgent care clinic by trade, but I called up ahead of time and asked if they could handle a physical (they assured me they could). One hour later that physical consisted of a doctor listening to my heartbeat, asking how I felt (“Fine?”). Bless the patience of these modern day Dr. Quinns.