Cooper Young Fest is a little bit like Christmas. It's only one day (but there's fun stuff to do the night before), it only comes once a year, and it involves getting pretty sauced at what most people would consider an inappropriately early hour of the day. (Okay, so maybe it's just like Christmas at my house.)
This year I signed up to run in the Cooper Young 4-Miler, which is held the night before the festival all through the streets of CY. People decorate their houses and have parties, play music, offer free high-fives and generally just cheer on the masochists who chose to run four miles on a Friday night rather than stand in their front yard and drink whiskey. It was not only my first year to run this race, but my first time to ever attempt this distance. I've done 5Ks before, but those were last fall AND I'm a treadmill runner. I tend to think that for every road mile you want to run, you need to be able to run 1.5 to 2 treadmill miles.
Needless to say I was a teensy bit scared.
Luckily I had my friend and sorority sister Jennie to run with me. Well, her and the other 1,398 people running. Ready for the punchline? We finished in 50 minutes, never stopped once and let me tell you -- it felt EFFING AMAZING. After we got done (and got over our extreme disappointment that they'd run out of barbecue before we got to the front of the line), I said to Jennie, "I feel awesome right now! I WANT TO FLIP OVER A TRUCK!"
Turns out we decided to go get Central BBQ and Yolo instead. I mean, we'd just run four miles! We deserved to eat six dollars worth of fro-yo.
The next day I was up early so I could get myself down to the festival to help staff the Planned Parenthood booth. Throughout the day (every hour on the hour, to be exact), we held various and sundry games involving condoms, inviting folks from the crowd to see how fast they could put a condom on a wooden penis or see how big they could blow up a condom balloon. It was good, wholesome fun for the whole family.
I played announcer for almost every round of games, shouting out things about people going "head to head" whenever possible. At one point a couple of acquaintances of mine walked up to the booth, and I think what they said captures the spirit of the day best: "Elizabeth, you just never stop surprising me."
After my condom duties were done for the day, I wandered down to the music stages and began continued the very rigorous task of day drinking. By the time 7 o'clock rolled around, I had somehow managed to hand out many more free condoms and had gotten myself good and comfortably sleepy. But it was time to rally, because my cousin Colin was throwing a post-CY-Fest party at his CY-house, and I was going to wear my cowboy boots.
(I think my cowboy boots might actually quadruple my trouble chromosome. Or something scientific like that.)
Jennie and I stopped to get a case of PBR, unaware that Colin had literally filled his entire refrigerator with shiny, gold cans of Miller High Life. (Incidentally, being with someone when they first discover both a.) Miller High Life and b.) the fact that it is called the Champagne of Beers has to be a little something like watching someone's first steps. I will cherish that moment as long as I live. It was beautiful.)
There was karaoke happening on the front porch, which was ironic since there'd been karaoke happening at the booth next to us all damn day at CY Fest but with nary a good song in the entire selection. I think the only hip hop song on the entire list might've been "Baby Got Back." And I think we all know that's not how I roll on the karaoke mic.
But the heavens opened up for me, right there in Colin's front yard -- the guy who'd brought the karaoke machine had droves of songs and a veritable cornucopia of hip hop. I was able to open with the traditional fan favorite, Young MC's "Bust a Move," then transition into "Nuthin' But A G Thang" followed by Skee-Lo's "I Wish," before closing out with the crowd pleasing "Big Poppa."
And all this in cowboy boots, no less.
It was a glorious night. Mostly it made me want to install a small PA system on my front porch so that I could sit and talk to people as they walk down the street. This idea may have been inspired by the dude who rode his bike down the street during one of my songs, who I told that I liked his shirt. FROM THE FRONT PORCH.
(This also reminds me of this stout little white-haired dude who was in his front lawn during the 4-miler, talking into a megaphone, who I'm like 97 percent sure was actually trying to sell us something. That or convert us to scientology, I don't know, we were running.)
And after all this happened, I don't actually remember too many details about the part where I got hit by a bus. But I am completely certain that it happened, because that is the message that was relayed to me by my muscle tissue and internal organs the next morning.
OUCH, y'all.
cheers,
elizabeth
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