For those of you who read my column on a weekly basis (and I thank all three of you kindly), you may recall my voicing a passionate disdain for physical activity. To directly quote my eloquent self, “Exercising sucks balls. Jogging is for masochists and people who hate themselves.” I am unsure of what this says about me—whether I suffer from self-esteem issues or have simply undergone a change of heart—but this weekend I took part in Madison’s annual Crazylegs Classic.
The five-mile race was going to be tough for a number of reasons. The first: I am by no means a runner, and while I have made a point over the last two months to spend more early mornings jogging around town, I have yet to reach the point where running feels effortless, let alone enjoyable, though I am unsure that second possibility exists.
Additionally, I woke up on Saturday with a sore throat and stuffy nose. An obnoxiously clingy bug has been making its way around the Cardinal office since the editorial staff’s return from spring break, and apparently the morning of my first race was when it decided to slap me across the face. Still, I had paid $35 to essentially get in my day’s workout, so I was not going to let what little money I have go to waste.
Having said that, I had a hard time reconciling with the fact that my dollars were not going toward some noble effort like cancer research or hunger relief, but instead the UW Athletic Department. Seriously? Of all the corners of campus, I have to assume the one that has the easiest time getting its hands on some cash is the athletic department. I tried not to dwell on this unfortunate reality for too long. Motivating myself to run five miles was already hard. Motivating myself to run five miles for the benefit of a department whose director publicly doubted the claims of a sexual assault victim was even harder.
My friends and I made our way up to the Capitol just before the race’s 10 a.m. start. It was there we learned the worst part of Crazylegs was not the running: It was waiting around for the damn thing to start. As you likely noticed, Madison was cold and rainy on Saturday. While those dreary weather conditions are less than ideal for running five miles, they are even less ideal for waiting in anticipation of running five miles. You know your circumstances are bad when running five miles seems preferable to standing around. While we joined our heat at 10, we would not hear the words “Your Crazylegs starts now!” until 10:45.
When we finally were put in motion, things seemed to be going well. Robyn was singing me on, my friend and fellow runner was setting a doable but challenging pace and running up Observatory did not result in my immediate collapse—always a plus.
But then there was the halfway point. As Kelly Clarkson’s “Stronger” blasted through my earbuds, I felt what I assumed was a raindrop of especially noteworthy girth fall onto my sweatshirt sleeve. I looked down to check, and found that it was not water than had fallen from the sky, but feces.
Literally, I cannot make this shit up. A bird decided while hovering right above me that now was the opportune moment to relieve itself. Perhaps I was drawing too much attention with my bright yellow sweatshirt, but the droppings actually managed to distract me from what a miserable time running is, and for that I am truly grateful.
As the markers for miles three and four passed by, the finish line somehow felt further and further away. As I ran past my apartment in the final mile, it took everything I had not to throw my hands up and proclaim, “Forget this. I’m making myself some cocoa!”
Still, as I crossed the finish line and felt the Camp Randall grass beneath my feet, my senior nostalgia overrode any type of exhaustion I could muster. It was one more accomplishment I had made throughout my college career, likely one of the last ones I will have. I have yet to fully sway from my position that jogging is the brainchild of Satan, but when you come in 7,612th place, you have to be at least a little proud of yourself.
Congratulate Jacqueline on completing Crazylegs by emailing her at jgoreilly@dailycardinal.com. Her last column will run in the Cardinal’s final edition of the semester, which will be on newsstands next Thursday, May 10.
