Miami Quarterly

Issue date: 10/19/09 Section: Arts & Entertainment

It’s a matter of pride. A test of endurance. A battle of strength. It takes teamwork, an unnerving commitment and a minimum of $70. It is CJ’s 14-Day Club.

The club is elite. No bribing of money, a slutty sister or a PhD can get you in. Its members only include the most dedicated of all Miami University students - dedication that rivals that of a professional athlete, a world leader and an overzealous first-year pre-med student. Combined. Those that join this almighty band have overcome adversity and defied the odds.

For 14 consecutive days they blow off group meetings, half-ass quizzes and make up excuses to ditch chapter. Priorities thrown out the window, they trudge their way uptown to the shady alley between Jimmy John's and the U-Shop - yes, freshmen, there are bars there. They ascend the treacherous stairs to their left, push through the vomit green door, only to be greeted by the smell of stale beer and God knows what else.

As a proud new member of this absurd club I can attest to its difficulty. Everyone thinks they can do it.

These words eventually escape the mouth of every initial membership seeker. But what you come to find out is that it's not about the drinking - it's about the journey. It's about walking there every single day. Rain or shine. After a full day of beer Olympics or the night before your first major communication exam of the semester (sorry Mom). It's about swallowing that last lukewarm drop of beer out of your third Natty bottle of the night.

I didn't attempt to conquer this battle alone, which would have been both cocky and foolish. I began with fifteen others. Brighteyed and na've, we filed through the CJ's door together at 9 p.m. on the dot that first Monday night of classes alongside hundreds of other membership seekers. Full of senior year excitement, we drank our drinks, socialized with other hopefuls and giggled as the bartenders rocked out to Pink Floyd behind the bar while pouring Mongolians. It was day one and we couldn't imagine not making it to the end. We couldn't fathom bitching out of the single greatest thing we'd ever done in our college careers. We vowed to stay loyal to our team and support each other through the good times and the bad.

Two days later we were down to 10. Having been pulled away by homework and "prior commitments," we were forced to leave our fallen comrades behind. Day seven was the worst. It was a Monday (Sunday's are days of rest) and we were coming off of a particularly exhausting weekend. My body ached and our spirits were low. Sporting nothing classier than Hanes Tagless Tees and basketball shorts we managed to will ourselves to make it to the alley. Tears filled our eyes that day as we barely made it through our three mandatory beers. We lost three good team members that day.

Somehow after that seventh day things started to look brighter. We made it halfway. We could see the light ahead. The end was in sight.

The next seven days were, dare I say, enjoyable. We began to bond with the others remaining and knew bartenders by name. Each drop of beer began to taste like victory and success.

Before we knew it day 14 arrived. From my original team of 15, only seven of us made it. And as we sat in our usual corner booth, we stared at each other in disbelief. We had at last made it to the other side, and it felt effing great.

While it may not be something I brag to my future grandchildren about, I will certainly always feel proud of my accomplishment. I did what many have sought to do and only a few have ever done. I will never be able to walk by that dark, dirty alley without my heart feeling nostalgic for the greatest 14 days of my college life.

Now if they would only put my name up on the wall before I graduate…

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