By Cassidy Jones
My alarm goes off at seven on a Saturday morning. I hurry and turn off the annoying music I set as my alarm, thinking to myself the night before that the happy music would be a fun way to wake up. It definitely isn’t. I roll out of bed, throw on my running shoes, and pull my hair into a messy ponytail.
Today I’m doing my first real run—a 5k—and I’m terrified. I’ve hated running my whole life. I always thought people who claimed they loved running were lying to themselves and the people they told. However, since coming to college, I’ve been running three times a week, and I’ve started to kind of like it. This was also the Color Run, so I figured it would be worth the sweat.
Of course, I see everyone I’ve ever met as I walk to the starting line. I try to fix my hair to look a bit more presentable. Nothing works, and I accept that everyone can see I’m an amateur runner who just barely woke up.
The run itself wasn’t too bad. I kept up with my friends the whole time and there were free snacks at the end. But when the colors were dropped on everyone, the cloud of colored powder was overwhelming. Next thing I know I’m spitting brown powder and I can’t see anything around me. The air eventually clears and I cough, scrambling to find my friends after losing them in the haze.
We take the classic color run photos to prove we finished the race as I’m trying to get the colored powder out of my contacts. I learned my lesson that day: running sucks.