Everyone's potbellied nudist uncle retires in Fremont. I've seen it. I've attended the Solstice Parade and seen hundreds of nethers splayed out on bike seats, sweating like half-priced hors d'oeuvres.* And I've cheered for them. It takes guts to ride a bike while nude; I imagine the road rash from crashing would rival most war wounds, which is kind of noble (right?). Running nude, on the other hand, is a stupid idea. No one looks good—their bodies bounce and undulate like so many beach walruses rushing for happy hour at Red Lobster. And no innocent bystander should be forced to watch that unless it's for a good cause. (For instance, nude running as a form of public punishment reserved for very special brands of assholes—like yuppies who steal imported cheeses they can afford to buy, or LaRouche supporters.) Nude running certainly shouldn't be an annual holiday event:

The Naked Pumpkin Run is scheduled for Halloween day at noon. Clothing is optional, although you do have to wear a pumpkin on your head. You have to attend a pumpkin carving party earlier in the day to find out the secret locations of the day run through Fremont followed by a night run around Green Lake.

The Fremont Universe blog adds that, "In past years, the Fremont runners generally choose to ignore any planned route and simply streak in different directions."

Running nude, and directionless, while wearing a fucking pumpkin on your head. In this weather. At night. This has got to be the worst "hobby" you could possibly undertake while nude. Right?

*I've also seen summer sunbathers stretched out along the canal with tea towels spread on their laps and zombies in tattered clothing—in July—flashing the odd green nut or nip.