There once was a time when I would wake up on Marathon Monday to my roommates mixing margaritas in the kitchen, messing it up, and ditching the mix for straight tequila…at 8 a.m. The day would be spent playing Beer Pong, doing shots and dancing to Kelly Clarkson and Shakira. Passing out at 1 p.m. was always expected, but so was rallying an hour later.
So you can imagine my disappointment when I found out I had to work (work?!?! seriously?!?!?) this year during the Marathon. As I left my apartment for the T at 8 a.m., I nearly called in sick in order to follow the 30-or-so 20-year-olds cramming into the rundown BC house down the block from me. I also almost stepped in throw-up a block later, but that couldn’t take me out of my memory cloud. Me and the other two people making our way downtown on the C-line Monday morning were clearly reflecting back to our college days.

