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Kristin Arola
Dancing in |
Nobody ever believes me when I tell them I ran the Naked Mile. Yes, I, the picture of health, shucked my clothing and followed a wasted herd of frat boys through Ann Arbor - and I'll never do it again.
I faintly remember that ominous last night of class two years ago. My roommates and neighbors in Mosher-Jordan decided they were going to run. Agreeing to hold their clothes for them, I proceeded to alter my chemicals and color in my Sesame Street coloring book until midnight rolled around. Suddenly, I found myself amidst a room of drunken peer pressure: "Come on Kristin, everyone's doing it" - and if your friends jumped off a bridge, would you do it too? Probably.
Unfortunately in my cloudy state of mind, I thought, "hmmm, uhhh ... OK." Big mistake. Reaching the corner of South University Ave. and Washtenaw Ave. and seeing the colossal flock of nakedness is something I will never forget. Yet the mass of white baseball hats should've clued me in that I was in the wrong place.
Getting naked in a crowd of nudity was not a problem until those wandering hands started coming my way. While I am sure the Mile is a different experience for men than women, being a female participant is definitely not a bowl of cherries. Running - OK, walking - down South University Ave. single file is quite an adventure. The guy behind me kept managing to put his hands where I, quite frankly, didn't want them. But that didn't bother me nearly as much as the comments yelled from the crowd.
"Look at the fat one!" I heard some 300-pound drunken bastard yell in my direction. Granted, my state of mind did not help, but his words reverberated through my head. "Keep running!" I told myself, "don't pay attention."
But it's hard not to. It's hard to ignore the cameras placed at crotch level, it's hard to ignore the audience members grabbing your chest and to this day, it is still hard for me to ignore the voices yelling, "Yo, you're a fat bitch!"
I wanted to scream, "Sorry I don't fit your ideal of beauty - I don't see your lazy ass baring all to Ann Arbor and running through the streets!"
Instead I ran - ran from the voices, the cameras, the ignorance.
Reaching the 'M' in the center of the Diag (the only time I stepped on it my whole freshman year) one of my roommates and I stopped running, lit up cigarettes and walked the rest of way, trying to ignore the bullshit surrounding us.
I made a snap decision to never run naked through Ann Arbor again. Yet some of my female friends continue to run - even after their own terrible experiences. One friend was blocking people's cameras with her hands when a guy proceeded to slap her across the face. She screamed, "He's a tough guy, he hits girls!" and ran away. But it still boils her blood to this day. Another friend fell during the Mile, got a concussion, and nobody helped her. She had to stumble home on her own. It sure is great to feel the love that the Mile emanates.
The Naked Mile should be a fun celebration of the end of classes and if people weren't such idiots, I'm sure it would be. More power to you, my fellow women, if you choose to run, but realize what you are getting yourselves into. And audience members, until you get naked and run along with the participants, please shut the hell up - and leave the camcorders at home.
- Kristin Arola can be reached over e-mail, fully clothed, at arolak@umich.edu.