by Rachel Smith (BFA ’10)

On a muggy Florida night, a handful of students gather in Turlington Plaza, the air abuzz with excitement. Within minutes, dozens more arrive, then hundreds. At 11:59 p.m., a student, clad only in boxer shorts, clambers on top of a table: The run is on!

Cheers of “Go Gators!” ring out as he shouts instructions to the crowd. At his command, the students strip to their skivvies, drop their discarded clothes in a pile and sprint toward University Avenue. They’re met with curious stares, snickers and honks as they pass the hordes awaiting entry at Gainesville’s midtown haunts, then head down 13th Street and back toward campus.

This spectacle was The Great Underwear Dash, and if you attended the University of Florida between 2005 and 2017, you probably remember the cheeky tradition. Held twice a year, the student-organized events attracted thousands of participants during their heyday and were renowned for collecting bags of discarded clothing for local charities.

Those who took part look back on the Dash as a peak UF experience.

“When you’re jogging past Century Tower in nothing but your Nikes and boxers, it’s just simple, pure fun,” dasher Anthony Davila (BS ’09) recalls. “The most rewarding part was collecting and donating bags of clothes to charities and local community groups.”

Even those who balked at dropping their drawers remember the Dash fondly. Stephanie Jones (BS ’13) recalls watching with curiosity and admiration from the sidelines. “For me. it was appealing because it was a UF tradition that supported a great cause,” she says. “I thought it was a fun way to participate in something and give back at the same time with my fellow Gators.”

Seventeen years have passed since the first race, which prompts the questions: How did The Great Underwear Dash get started — and why?

Here we remember the rise, and decline, of this once-beloved, sometimes infamous, tradition.

A Long History of Taking It Off on University Ave.

The origins of The Great Underwear Dash can be traced to an earlier student rite, now largely forgotten: the UF Pajama Parades. These began prior to World War II as a hazing ritual in which freshmen were roused from their beds by the cheerleading squad for an impromptu march down University Avenue. Over the years, the parade became an official freshmen orientation event, with the PJ-clad pep rally heralding the start of the football season.

UF freshman parade through the streets in their pajamas and “rat caps” in the 1940s. Photo courtesy of UF Digital Archives

The parades ended in the 1960s, but the urge to disrobe reignited a few years later when streaking took over colleges around the nation, including UF. The 1970s saw mobs of students stripping naked and running through campus as an act of rebellion. The fad infiltrated Gator sporting events and post-game victory parties for decades, including one notable event in January 2007 when a fan celebrating Florida’s win in the national football championship streaked naked across West University Avenue and caused a major traffic accident.

Birth of the Dash

The Great Underwear Dash itself was launched in 2005 — not by a crazed fan but by an adventurous UF art student. Beau Bergeron (BFA ’08) originally cited performance art, body art and body positivity as his inspirations.

“The idea of all my friends running around in their underwear was this great, crazy idea,” Bergeron told the Independent Florida Alligator in 2006. “I wanted to start a college tradition.”

Beau Bergeron started The Great Underwear Dash in 2005 while studying graphic design at UF. Photo courtesy of Beau Bergeron

That wish was his big motivation, Bergeron recalls today: “To create this sort of wild college experience that I wanted, that maybe you see in movies and TV shows … I realized I could try to make it happen.”

TheFacebook.com, as it was called at the time, was less than a year old, so Bergeron turned to sidewalk chalk, flyers and bookmarks to spread the word.

The messages he scrawled on the brick walls of Turlington Plaza were simple: a date, a time and an illustration of an underwear-clad runner that would become the Dash’s trademark.

About 75 students attended the inaugural sprint in April 2005, dropping their clothes on Turlington Plaza to retrieve later and charting a course north from the Hub to University Avenue, then east to 13th Street and back. The following semester, more than 500 participants showed up. Clearly, a new tradition was taking root.

Bergeron’s doodle of an underwear-clad runner became the icon for The Great Underwear Dash. Photo courtesy of Great Underwear Dash Facebook page

“The fact that it was so organic and grassroots — I think that made it so appealing,” Bergeron says. “You had to know somebody that knew somebody that was going to it. [Who] could give you the peace of mind that this was going to be fun, it’s not weird, it’s not crazy. It’s not something that fraternity or that dorm is doing, [it’s something] maybe everyone is doing.”

Charity Drives and Police Run-Ins

Early on, philanthropic-minded Gators suggested the Dash should support a cause. In 2006, junior Vida Tavakoli (BA ’09) decided the discarded clothes should be collected and donated to shelters in North Central Florida. More than 600 students joined the fourth dash and filled 19 bags with clothing.

With its growing popularity, the Dash soon attracted the scrutiny of university officials. Although UF Police were present at the first dashes, they just stood by to ensure everyone was safe. According to news reports, UF officials cautioned that participating students could face indecent-exposure penalties but provided little guidance on what those standards were or how to avoid violating them, short of not running. The Gainesville Police Department, which patrolled the run once it crossed University Avenue, was less concerned with indecency. As long as they didn’t interfere with traffic, dashers could “run their little hearts out,” Sgt. Keith Kameg told the Alligator in October 2005.

Students toss their clothes in a pile in Turlington Plaza in October 2012. Garments collected after the run were donated to local charities. Photo courtesy of Independent Florida Alligator

After two years of looking the other way, UF officials cracked down on the Dash in 2007, stating that since organizers had failed to obtain prior authorization from the Student Activities Office, the event was canceled. The police orders came hours before the fifth run was set to commence and were ignored by a crowd of nearly-naked students, who dashed off campus at midnight and onto the neutral territory of University Avenue.

Not to be thwarted, Bergeron devised a makeup run, dubbed The Great Underwear Dash 5.5, held a few nights later. Dashers adjusted their route to skirt campus and keep safely outside of UFPD jurisdiction, making sure to pause for a group photo in front of the UF Administration building before dispersing.

Despite occasional run-ins with UF officials and shirking the permit process for years, The Great Underwear Dash persisted under Bergeron’s leadership and soon returned to the original on-campus route.

“I really never wanted this to be a permitted, documented, official or semi-unofficial thing, period,” Bergeron recalls. “The outside-of-the rules quality of it made it what it was. The university can’t really stop hundreds of students that just want to go for a jog.”

Sports Bras, Thongs and Mankinis

Electrical engineering student and longtime participant Jorge Gomez (BSEE ’09, MS ’11) took over as Dash organizer after Bergeron graduated in 2008. By then, Gators had embraced the Dash as an outlet for personal expression and rebellion, and it was reflected in their attire.

While many dashers donned sports bras, boxers, pajamas or briefs, others raced in increasingly minimal and outrageous ensembles.

“Everybody’s kinda flying their freak flag anyway, so why not?” one student, clad in tighty whities, a Puerto Rican flag cape and a white cowboy hat, told the Alligator in 2009.

By then, UF had given its blessing to the event, with one caveat: no nudity. Organizers enforced the rule and hammered home the message on social media.

What could have easily become a hotbed of harassment instead maintained a focus on fun and self-empowerment—which was Bergeron’s original vision.

“I really wanted it to be very inclusive and body positive,” Bergeron remembers. “Even though there is a sexy, exciting quality to it, I didn’t want it to be sexualized either.”

“It’s exhilarating, and it’s not aggressive at all,” Gomez told the Alligator in 2008. “When people do it, they realize how fun it is.”

From F Book to Fizzle and Fade

Under the leadership of mathematics major Joshua Kelley (2009-13), The Great Underwear Dash reached the pinnacle of its popularity, attracting a record 1,000+ participants and receiving recognition as an official F Book tradition in 2009.

The Great Underwear Dash received recognition as an official UF tradition in the 2009-10 F Book, UF’s guide for incoming undergraduates.

Even as the Dash basked in its official status — on par with Gator Growl and painting the 34th Street Wall — student enthusiasm for the midnight runs started to wane in 2013. Reasons for its decline are unclear. Perhaps being an official event made the Dash less appealing to rebellious students. Or perhaps the student body as a whole had grown too studious for midnight underwear capers. Maybe the analog nature of the Dash no longer appealed to a generation that increasingly socialized online. Whatever the reason, the event continued sporadically for four more years, despite dwindling numbers and receiving little press attention. About 35 students took part in the last recorded Dash, led by Ciara Conol (BSISE ’19) and Dakotah Diaz (BSBA ’18, MIB ’19) in 2017.

At that final event, Diaz affirmed why the Dash still held appeal for some. “It brings people together,” he told the Alligator. “It’s a really big self-esteem booster.”

Over its 12-year run, The Great Underwear Dash attracted more than 4,000 participants and collected over 250 bags of clothing for local charities. Among the organizations that benefited from students’ giving were the Salvation Army, Goodwill, and St. Francis House, a homeless shelter located in Gainesville.

Five years after the last recorded Dash, it’s unlikely that any participants remain on campus. However, the tradition lives on in the memories of those who experienced the run in its heyday.