Very few of them-by my informal survey-had ever run a race before of any kind. The place was packed with people, mostly young, mostly drinking, and mostly naked. Louis on the Saturday of the race, and not just because of what I was wearing (and not wearing) under my sweats. Still, I was nervous when I walked into Syberg's bar in St. I was raising money! Lots of it! Anything to make that needle move! In response to many lewd suggestions as to what underwear I should wear, I offered the choice of wardrobe to anyone who donated $500.and was amazed, and more than a little worried, when somebody took me up on it. Over the course of my single week of fund-raising, I began tracking the thermometer-style money graph on my fund-raising site like it was an indicator of my value as a human being. I started tweeting out appeals for donations, offering to post pictures of myself running in only my underwear when I met my $1,000 goal, and then, when that goal was quickly reached, I offered to not post the pics if my next goal of $2,000 was met. But if I was going to raise money, even for a lark, then damn it all, I would raise some money. Like a lot of self-serious runners, I secretly sniff at "charity runners" as people who can't qualify for a demanding race, or who need to sign up with some slick Team In Training-type training program rather than grinding out the miles on their own, as God intended. cities, plus Sydney, Australia, with thousands of participants trying to reach a $1 million goal. Four Valentine's Days later, in February 2013, the race was held in 17 U.S. running community, and on February 13, 2010, more than 600 people swarmed Capitol Hill, a mass of jiggling, goose-pimpled bare flesh, raising $10,000 for the foundation. Valentine's Day? Great! So: red underwear.īobby told me they expected about 50 of their friends to show up that first time in Washington, strip to their skivvies, and then do a guerrilla sprint on the sidewalks circling the Capitol. They needed a holiday to link it to.MLK Day? No, not quite right. All three were runners, so they thought of a fund-raising race, but then said to each other, "Why do another 5-K? Nobody remembers a 5-K!" and came upon the idea of running a mile in their underwear. On New Year's Eve 2009, Bobby was talking with his friends Chad Leathers and Brendan Hanrahan about doing something for Chad's younger brother, who was afflicted with NF. Having run countless marathons, half-marathons, 10-Ks, and 10-milers, a "mileish" run in my underwear on a cold winter's day seemed like it would be, at least, a significant change of pace.Īnd that, according to race cofounder Bobby Gill, was the entire point. With a weekend free, I cast about for a race and came across the 4th Annual Cupid's Undie Run, a national fund-raiser for the Children's Tumor Foundation, which is devoted to fighting neurofibromatosis (NF), an extremely unpleasant genetic disorder. I had gotten into this, as I usually do, without much thought. I grabbed at my nose, swore, hitched up my red boxer briefs, and chased after him. Then the starter, such as she was, cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, "Go!" and everybody started running, except for me, because Braveheart decided to rally the 300 nearly naked people behind us by waving his sword, which whacked me hard in the face. I waved my arms around, trying to stay warm but trying not to hit anybody with the cupid's bow and arrow I was holding. Louis in my underwear, next to a guy dressed as Braveheart, without a shirt but with face paint (blue) and sword (foam). It was 2 o'clock in the afternoon and 30 degrees out, and I was standing on Market Street in St.
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