At the horrific hour of 5 a.m., the alarm clock interrupts our much-needed slumber. Are. You. Kidding. Each of us roll, quite literally, out of our beds, the freshmen in their dark dorms and townhouses, the sophomores in their silent sororities or houses, and the juniors and seniors in their cozy (read: dingy) Collegetown apartments and homes. We shuffle into our respective bathrooms, bleary-eyed and beaten, stumbling on the masses of empty Gatorade bottles and Wegman’s pasta cartons strewn across the room, evidence of the wild night of heavy hydration and excessive carbo-loading. We struggle to put clothes on properly (sweatpants first, THEN then shoes) and hobble outside to pick up other teammates or to wait for our ride.
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