Running Men [ November 28, 2007, 8:23 pm ]

I had one thought when I looked out the window and saw a crunchy layer of snow blanketing the grass last week: Brule' Run.

Those two words mean absolutely nothing to any person who didn't attend NMU, but to those of us who not only went to school there but lived on-campus, it can invoke many thoughts. To me it means chaos, hilarity, bonding, much laughter and maybe little sympathy for the poor guys. Because, after all, any guy who has the guts to do laps around a courtyard butt naked after the first snowfall of the winter deserves a little sympathy. And a lot of credit.

When the first snowflakes fall from the sky every resident starts wondering the same thing. Will it stick? Will tonight be the night? Tradition dictates that once the first snow sticks for twenty-four hours, naked men will run at midnight.

Because this is not technically legal, the tradition is bound in rumors, whispers and codes. Word gets around by announcing things like "track meet" on bulletin boards and hall chalkboards. Upperclassmen pass the word to freshmen by regaling the tales of their firsthand accounts. Word gets around and we pray that the campus cops will stay at bay.

The first year I went, anticipation built higher than when any party had ever been announced. And preparation was nearly as intense except that instead of doing our hair and figuring out wardrobes, we spent the time layering socks, scarves and parkas then filling thermoses with tea and cocoa. Clusters of girls grouped around the courtyard, all eagerly counting down to the grand event. Once in a while a participant would stick his head out to see how cold it was. Each time, he'd make a face and then retreat into the warm stairwell where the guys huddled under blankets near heaters trying to capture the warmth.

Every time the door cracked, the outdoor crowd held it's collective breath. Would it start? Will the streaking begin? Each time it didn't a groan spread throughout and griping began about how f-ing cold each person was. But then...wait...the door's opening...

A flesh-colored blur emerged from the door. The heat evaporated into the air in a puff as the guys ran around the courtyard. Girls began screaming and cheering. Some jumped up and down. Others whipped out their cameras and attemped to capture the blur.

The guy-blur broke into individual pieces as they each realized that it was freezing and there was no way that they were staying out there for longer than they needed to. Sprinting turned into full-out runs as they veered for the end, none of them caring so much that their goods were on display but that their jewels may freeze if they didn't get inside stat. Guys clawed at each other in an attempt to get ahead and get back into the warm warm stairwell. Many were wearing hats or scarves (and boots because they may be dumb but they weren't that dumb) but their accessories weren't doing much to warm their exremities.

I watched, half in amazement, half in horror. Naked guys! Running in ten degree weather! One guy streaked past wearing Timberland boots and a red scarf. He looked both proud of himself and horrified of the effects the frigid air were having on him. As his bum and others passed me I began laughing. And laughing. Until the point that I nearly fell onto the crunchy snow from the hilarity of it all. One guy shot me a dirty look as he sprinted past wearing tiny gloves and nothing else. "No! Noooo! I'm not laughing! At you! Reallyyyy!"

And then as fast as it began, it was over. Three dozen naked guys sprinting around a courtyard does not a long event make when it's only ten degrees outside. They retreated to their rooms and I retreated back to my hall with my friends. My stomach hurt from laughing so hard and I couldn't feel my toes or fingers. One of my girlfriends couldn't feel the lower half of her body. But traditions continue on for a reason. Although it's goofy and maybe a little immature, it's a winter ritual at NMU. And the memories that come from it will warm me up for many more seasons to come.

Ciao, dahling!

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