<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"><channel><title>Naked-Run on vo.rs</title><link>https://vo.rs/tags/naked-run/</link><description>Recent content in Naked-Run on vo.rs</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en</language><copyright>This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.</copyright><lastBuildDate>Thu, 04 Jul 2024 09:00:00 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://vo.rs/tags/naked-run/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>The Roskilde Naked Run: The Festival's Oldest, Barest Tradition</title><link>https://vo.rs/encore/roskilde-naked-run/</link><pubDate>Thu, 04 Jul 2024 09:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>https://vo.rs/encore/roskilde-naked-run/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;There is a moment on the Saturday of Roskilde Festival, somewhere in the sprawling chaos of the campsite, when a crowd thickens along a stretch of dirt track, a countdown goes up, and a few dozen entirely naked people take off running for a lap while thousands cheer them home. This is the Roskilde Naked Run, and it is the daftest, most good-humoured, most reliably Danish thing on the whole festival calendar. I have stood in that crowd more than once — Roskilde is home turf for me, the festival I keep coming back to — and I can tell you the run is exactly as silly and exactly as warm-hearted as its reputation promises. Here is where it came from and why it still, gloriously, happens.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>