Sore Thighs, Scavenger Hunts, and San Francisco
Yesterday, I spent the entire day in San Francisco with my dorm, doing the most bizarre of bizarre things. We split into pre-assigned groups and my six-membered group (named the Premarital Sextet) walked for an hour from the Caltrain station to Fisherman’s Wharf. Along the way, one of our group members shook hands with a stranger through the fly of his pants, we serenaded an innocent-looking, hands-holding couple with an enthusiastic, pre-coordinated chorus of “A Whole New World,” and we asked passer-bys to sign our petition to end all petitions. We picked up a girl dressed as a Swiss yodeler for one of our college advisors and asked a complete stranger if we could walk his dog. One of our group members proposed to a pregnant woman outside Tiffany’s (we had to stay true to our name), and we tried to ask a Berkeley alum to hold a sign that said “BEAT CAL” (he refused). Outside an aquarium, we held up signs asking “WHERE’S NEMO?” and stopped tourists to ask them where we could find him, and at the entrance of a wax museum, we protested the treatment of wax people. Unfortunately, another group completely outdid us and stormed through the crowd holding up signs that read “WAX PEOPLE ARE PEOPLE TOO!!!”
After spending some time at Fisherman’s Wharf (where a seagull attacked my friend and stole her Subway sandwich), we headed towards Lombard Street. We walked up the constant 45-degree incline to the curviest part of the street and my thighs completely died. Once we hit Lombard, my friend cartwheeled her way down, blocking traffic as she did so. It was genius.
Then we headed towards Chinatown, where we had to walk up another 45-degree incline for 20 minutes. And as we walked until our quadriceps had turned to solid steel, someone had spray-painted a wall with the exact thought that was frequenting my mind:
All-in-all, I had a fantastic time in San Francisco, and got so much exercise that I woke up this morning with aching inner thighs and hamstrings.