Buck Neked

Yes, it has been too long since I've updated this blog with another fantastically interesting story of my embarrassing life. This one, however, is one for the memory books, or, the scrapbooks if you will. Can you imagine the joy that would come out of keeping a scrapbook of the most embarrassing and inconvenient moments of your life? I guess that's what teenage girls' diaries are for though right?

Are you there God? It's me, Period Polly.

Onward and upward.

So, once upon a time, as I've mentioned in my "Stacey" essay below, I spent a semester abroad living in Grantham, England and living in an over sized English Manor house that was turned into a University. Judging from the outside appearance of this building, you would think you were going to Hogwarts, or a "castle" as so many eager young students label it on their facebook photo albums. The interior, however, with its minimal furniture, monotonous dorm rooms and defaced, graffitied piping leaves something to be desired. Dumbledore would know how to interior decorate, especially with the revelation of his homosexuality. Girlfriend would at least put up some warm toned drapes and not skimp on some cute Persian rugs. But I digress...

At this University, there is an unspoken (or entirely spoken, let's be real) tradition of what is called, "the naked mile." This is supposed to take place on drunken nights, where the students will run from either the entrance to the manor, or the end of the mile long main road leading up to the manor, completely in the buff. Sounds fun, right? Sounds downright crazy, sure. Sounds erotic, naturally. Either which way, like so many one night stands, it sounded like a good idea to me...at the time.

My first "attempt" (yes I said attempt) at the naked mile occurred no more than 3 days after arriving to Harlaxton College in the end of August, when the weather was still warm and nothing was at risk of appearing less than impressive in the bitter winter cold. As my friends and I were walking back from the closest pub to school, conveniently at the entrance gates to the Harlaxton grounds (where the mile in question began) my friend, and professional over sized Olympian, Nick Steen, saw my inebriated state and used this to his advantage.

Nick: Hey Riley...you know what you should do right now? You should totally run the naked mile.

Riley: What?.....Really?......O-FUCKING-KAY!!!! HOLD MY PANTS!

(at this point, while my back is turned, Nick takes a picture of me disrobing, which he will still use as blackmail to this very day)

And off I go.

Now this was the first weekend everyone arrived to school, so everyone was entirely down to party, and had been at that same pub this evening. This resulted in me, and my penis, making many cameos in about eight different couples' walks home. All to which I would shout out, "ALOHA!" "COMING THROUGH!" "LEFT.....LEEEFFFTTTT!!" "I KNOW RIGHT?! IT'S ALLLLLL REAL, TOO!"

After about half way, I had just passed a couple and was making my way through an unlit part of the run, when I turned my head back around to see how far away I was from the nearest couple, and made the one naked mile fatal flaw. I was not prepared for neither speed bumps, nor pot holes.

Now, entering this school and whispering with your friends about the naked mile and when you'll actually complete it, you hear stories about stories that Lauren heard from Ben who heard from James that once a girl broke her foot while running the naked mile, or that some boy fell off the bridge into the stream that passed under the mile long road at a certain point. And everyone laughs together at these strangers' inconveniences and shameful attempts at a nude jog in the middle of the night.

It was because of this that as I stepped into the pot hole on the other side of the speedbump, and my ankle rolled as my entire weight fell upon it, that life suddenly moved at a glacial pace, and I was suddenly crumpling/flailing in slow motion with the one thought circling around my head...

(spoken in slo-mo voice)

"IIII CAAAAANNN'T BEEEE THIIISSSSS PEEERRRSSSOOOONNNN"

Thanks to man's natural inclination to protect the source of his offspring, I luckily rolled the bottom half of my body into a ball while the entirety of my body weight fell upon my right ankle, and my upper body crashed onto the gravel road beneath me, hands and face first.

I lay there in shock. My first priority was checking to see if everyyythiiing (wink wink) was intact. Score. I contemplated my next move...do I keep running? Am I broken? Why is my foot numb? Should I roll into a pond and kill myself now? But before I could think of a logical thing to do I heard voices coming up behind me. Luckily I had my boxer briefs crumpled in my hand. I threw them on and in my state of bodily shock, sprinted back to my dorm room, sat in my top bunk bed, and observed the blood spewing from my palms. As I got up to go find a band aide I collapsed due to my newly broken foot.

Now, This wouldn't have been as big of a deal as it was, except the next morning was the entire school trip to London, where everyone saw me boarding and exiting the bus on my new antique wooden crutches. Now, I'm all for going vintage in Europe but this wasn't the accessory I had in mind. And what made it all the more poetic was that i couldn't even grip the support handles because my palms were still bleeding.

After finishing my pb&j on a lunch break bus stop on the way to London, the Headmaster of the college, walked up to me and my crutches, patted my back, and said..."gotta watch out for those potholes next time."