Part 1

Theses and honors aren’t the only expectations of Harvard students. While the academic institution is famous for its scholarly pursuits, its pupils also have a less-publicized naughty streak. Centuries-old tradition dictates that all undergraduates must complete three tasks by senior commencement:

1. Streak in Primal Scream, a biannual naked run the night before the first day of finals.

2. Pee on the statue of John Harvard.

3. Have sex in the stacks of Widener Library.

I decided to tackle all three during my first year – in 24 hour’s time.

Unnecessarily ambitious? Probably. But I’m an overachiever who couldn’t resist being able to claim bragging rights to the big three as a mere freshman. Few students manage to complete all three tasks by graduation. Putting a 24-hour time cap on my mission would make the victory of completing it even sweeter.

Primal Scream occurs only twice a year and I’d opted out of the nippy naked run in January. Therefore, my mission was limited to the 24 hours following the spring streak.

I realized in the process of recruiting a running partner that my goal was unusual among female students. None of my four suitemates planned on participating in Primal Scream – ever (some cited future political ambitions as an excuse). I figured sending out a mass text message wouldn’t be the most appropriate manner in which to ask someone to strip with me. Unable to secure the company of another girl, I enlisted my male best friend as my cohort. He promptly found four guys to join us who were equally gung-ho about the night’s festivities.

Having once witnessed Primal Scream, I had an idea of what I was in for. While students were technically naked at the run, they were adorned in other ways. Some wore Mardi Gras beads, sunglasses or sombreros. Many used markers to scrawl shout-outs and irreverent messages on their bare chests and cheeks – leave it to Harvard kids to view Primal Scream as a PR opportunity. Before displaying my goodies for the Cambridge community’s consumption, I not only donned my favorite set of turquoise jewelry but also expressed my affection for three absent friends via ink on skin. I was sure I’d break out the next day but if I was going to sprint naked, I figured I might as well make a statement.

When midnight rolled around that fateful night, my friends and I congregated with the other would-be streakers and stripped down by Holden Chapel – the ironic default meeting place in the middle of Harvard Yard. We made our way through the classmates, friends, photographers and tourists who comprised an audience eager to see Harvard students in a different light. It was slightly nerve-racking but I was in the company of friends, so the shared endeavor wasn’t nearly as intimidating as it would have been solo. We nude students whispered hushed tips among each other – “Careful rounding corners…no sudden stops…look out for roadblocks!” – donned last minute props (for some guys, this meant socks over their members) and started to chant “Olé!”

As I began to process the chaos, a horn blew and the crowd surged ahead, erasing my worries as I saw no choice but to run. I began the quarter-mile sprint alongside hundreds of other students. Sexy it was not. People were more concerned with avoiding awkward back-to-back bumpage than with sneaking glances at each other’s goods. I was initially self-conscious about those in the crowd who might see me. But as my pace quickened I realized that I didn’t even care if anyone caught a glimpse of me. I was exhilarated and liberated by the crowd’s collective adrenaline and the wind on my skin.

I was out of breath and clearly out of shape at the end of the three-minute run but felt less stressed and more pumped than I had in days. Communal nudity had boosted my mood. The clock was ticking, I had two remaining goals to plan for and I couldn’t think of a better way to spend the night before a final.

To be continued…

Read Lena’s blog http://sexandtheivy.com/