Columbia Women’s Cycling Kit (photo: twitter/ultimo_km1)

Total-Take-Back.

I took German in high school for the following reasons:

1. When it came to meeting my foreign language requirement, my school offered two choices: German or Spanish. I’m pretty good at hocking loogs but I can’t roll an r to save my soul.
2. I wanted to understand what the Amish were saying about me in front of my back and German was as close to Pennsylvania Dutch as I could get.
3. I enjoy the Chicken Dance.
4. Herr Miller was the bomb.

Typically, I can spot a German from a mile away. Call it a sixth sense (or stereotyping or whatever). Germans wear whatever the hell they want. They do whatever the hell they want. And they say, pretty bluntly, whatever the hell they want. I admire that.

For instance, while I might struggle with wearing socks and sandals – Germans rock the look.

Rock on. (land-der-ideen.de)

Though I might second guess a haircut like this:

German heartthrob Bill Kaulitz.  (coolmenshair.com)

A German wears it like a badge of honor.

They are bold.

Not my favorite Olympic look, but kudos for putting it out there. I mean, c’mon, our sweaters weren’t much better. (AP Photo/Petr David Josek)

They can drink.

Prost, meine freunde! (dmarge.com)

And they must have a sense of humor.

I’ve got nothing. Maybe peed my pants a little… (AP Photo/Markus Schreiber)

One of my favorite experiences with the German culture happened on a small lake beach in Italy. It was just full enough with locals that we could almost reach our neighbors. However, we had a little space where I was. I think it was just me and my friend, and maybe another couple copping a squat down the way. Three Germans walked up with their beach bags and backpacks. I knew they were German instantly. Though they may not have been donning their lederhosen and dirndls, they had the look. The look I’d come to denote as purely German that summer.

I’d been in Italy for a month by this point so I’d come across many Europeans of all shapes, sizes, styles, and ornamentation. I got pretty good at guessing from which country someone hailed. The clothes, bags, shoes, and strut were their dead giveaways.

They set up camp, threw off their clothes and headed to the water. They threw off all of their clothes. I knew it was Europe and I’m no prude, but the thing is – we weren’t on a nude beach. In fact, my friend said it was actually illegal to be nude where we were.

So we watched in awe as the Germans represented their people to a T. Bold non-conformists that wouldn’t give two cents for anyone’s thoughts. Their skinny pasty naked bodies splashed around in the lake for a bit, then they hopped back out and took a seat on the sand. That’s when each of them cracked open their edition of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.

It takes courage to get naked and read Harry Potter on an intimate beach with total strangers. So here is my attaboy to the folks who beat to their own drum with a special nod to a culture that bangs their drums all day.

What country would you give a shout out to for going against the grain?

At the University of Michigan, the legendary Naked Mile took place on the last day of classes each school year.  I say “took” place because, as I understand it, the Naked Mile is no-more (thanks overly sensitive fun-killers).

Observing my first event, I saw things I will never forget; specifically, a naked man on a unicycle waving sparklers around.  My thought was “I want that to be me!”  Not the naked unicyclist, but a participant.

With sparklers!

Fast forward to the last day of classes my junior year when I suddenly remembered “The naked mile is tonight!” After much begging and the promise of booze (I’m sure at least a couple students ran it sober…maybe even three or four), I convinced my friends Melanie and Christina to run it with me.

The plan: go the bar, drink lots, go to the run, strip, run (yes, I’m using that term loosely), party (probably put clothes back on somewhere), go home, have memories to last a lifetime.  The reality: a weeee bit different, have memories to last a lifetime.

Before the run we wanted to hit the bar but it was full, so we ran to the market, picked up some peach schnapps and vodka and headed back to my apartment where we proceeded to drink all of it within 30 minutes. 30 minutes after that, I realized I was too fat to run naked.

I went over to my exercise ball and proceeded to do sit ups.  I kept repeating, over and over “Gotta get in shape for the run!  Gotta get in shape for the run!” (I was later informed that I was drunk off my ass.)

Getting fit for the Naked Mile.

I was then kindly reminded I could not get in shape in 15 minutes.  So Melanie, Chris and I wrote “Go Blue!” on our stomachs and “Kiss this!” with an arrow pointing down to what would be our naked buttocks, and we headed out the door.

As we made our way towards the start of the run, suddenly, I was down. I somehow sprained my ankle.  How could this happen?  There was no hole in the ground.  There was no rock to step on.  I was walking in tennis shoes, for goodness sake!  I couldn’t let this injury mar my opportunity to show my school spirit.  I didn’t really feel any pain anyway (yay peach schnapps and vodka!), so the three of us proceeded to the start, stripped down, and prepared for our mile of glory.

Best. Night. Ever.

The Aftermath:

My ankle was swollen and I could barely walk on it for days.  I also had to explain to the College Professor, for whom I babysat, that it couldn’t have been my face they saw on the news with countless others during coverage of the run.  I also had to convince the little girls I sprained my ankle “running.”  Best. Night. Ever.  A solid NO-TAKE-BACK