Color Run Los Angeles 2012
There’s something about waking up at 6 a.m. on a cool Sunday morning, having an early carbs-heavy breakfast, and donning a crisp, white shirt you know you’ll never be able to wear again.
There’s nothing like starting the day before the sun is officially up. While everyone snuggles under thick and warm sheets, you’re out there, braving the heavy traffic in Irvine, CA and battling it out for parking space.
What could be more delightful than running five miles while people around you, most of them you’ve never even seen in your life, throw non-edible candy-colored powders at you—most precisely, at your sweaty arms and legs, your defenseless back, your esthetician-tended face, and your expensively beautiful, Keratin-treated hair.
Ordinarily, of course, you’d get them back with a powerful punch-and-kick combo you’ve learned from the most recent Jackie Chan movie you saw. Or maybe with just a hysterical distress call to a nearby police car, which is, no doubt, a safer but equally bold measure. No judgment is being made here.
But today is not an ordinary day. You’re unusually color happy. In fact, you paid $35 so you, your family, and everyone you loved so dear will be (color) treated this way. The dirtier you get, the better you feel. You treat each color like a battle scar. And you suddenly see pink and purple in a cooler, edgier, and less faggy light.
Today you feel utterly bold and shameless. You feel like running for five miles while colorful fairy dusts swim in the air around you, and partly into your facial holes. You feel this burning desire to roll like an obedient puppy and make powdered angels on the ground. You feel like seizing this day like a child spoiled rotten by his or her rich parents, with so much joie de vivre and reckless abandon.
Today, you’re initial thought is that, it’s the closest thing you have gotten to your childhood dream of living in a house made of cotton candy. Or of playing up your face with your mother’s expensive makeup and look like Freddie Krueger or Chuckie’s bride. And of finally throwing something on your friend’s face even if it doesn’t exactly hurt. It’s the thought that counts—and in your mind, her face is cringing with pain. Just kidding.
Five miles, of course, is no way to train like an Olympian. But then again, you’re not an Olympian.
And besides, it isn’t about the run, it’s more about the colors.
And spending such a ridiculously fun time with friends and family.
And looking ridiculously dirty and sticky right after.
Our idea of fun has indeed changed.
What happened to spending the whole afternoon on the couch watching Sunday cartoons?
Ah, those simpler times.
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