If you’re the sort who finds their motivation for a weekend 5K flagging somewhere between “fun run” and “why did I sign up for this,” Spartanburg County may have the one variable you haven’t tried: removing your clothing entirely. Not metaphorically. Quite literally—sneakers on, everything else optional. According to a report from The Post and Courier, the Carolina Foothills Resort is once again hosting its Buck Creek Streak 5K, an annual tradition where the “clothing-optional” policy is exercised with a zeal you won’t find at your local turkey trot.

“You Can Go Anywhere and Do a 5K, but…”

Is it really a streak if it’s not in the name? As The Post and Courier reports, this year marks the 11th iteration of the Buck Creek Streak, a race whose participants, as board member Tom Crowder explains with a kind of deadpan logic, “can go anywhere and do a 5K, but you can’t go anywhere and run a 5K naked.” It’s not a dare so much as a statement of existential athletic fact. The resort’s 92-acre grounds, buffered by woods and peach orchards just north of Strawberry Hill USA, have become a kind of unlikely pilgrimage site for runners who, I can only imagine, have a very relaxed relationship with chafing.

Notably, the event is setting records—The Post and Courier details that 161 registrations have been tallied so far, topping prior years. If you’re wondering about the logistics: yes, first-timers are common, and yes, people apparently come back. Crowder emphasizes that many try it once, declare it “a great time,” and adopt it as a new tradition. (Presumably, the post-race pictures are for very select group chats.)

More Flowers, Less Fabric

As The Post and Courier describes, the Carolina Foothills Resort itself seems to play into one’s expectations of what a nudist retreat might be—but with more flowers and fewer New Age crystals. The grounds are carefully trimmed and colorfully landscaped; the community boasts not just cabins and RVs, but a pickleball court, minigolf, and even a DJ booth. It’s a setting that is, one suspects, designed for idiosyncrasy and inclusivity rather than spectacle.

Verna Eller, a longtime member featured in The Post and Courier, recounts how a chance roadside conversation led her to the resort, where she wound up finding both a community and, eventually, a spouse. It’s the sort of story that’s both singular and entirely plausible for a place that prides itself on being “without a doubt the most amazing group of people you’ll ever want to meet.” Is this the Mid-Atlantic’s best accidental meet-cute generator? The evidence piles up.

Body Positivity, With Bonus Stickers

A popular misconception about nudist—or as some members prefer, “naturist”—communities is that they’re always suffused with a kind of risqué energy. As The Post and Courier notes, member Cheri C. (last initial only, stigma being harder to wash off than sunscreen) explains that the reality is much more about acceptance and equality than anything salacious. The reminder is necessary: the 5K (and the lifestyle) are not a euphemism. It’s less “Eyes Wide Shut,” more “Everyone’s Welcome Clubhouse.”

Cheri’s story, recounted in The Post and Courier, highlights the community’s spirit in perhaps the most literal terms: after her double mastectomy, she returned from lunch to find friends all sporting smiley face stickers in solidarity after she wore some herself. It’s strangely wholesome, in a way that makes you wonder if mainstream running clubs could ever match that brand of open-hearted camaraderie. What other 5K would so openly embrace all body types, scars included, and make nakedness feel more ordinary than extraordinary?

Al Gilewicz, a director for the American Association of Nude Recreation’s eastern region, shared with The Post and Courier that nudity is, paradoxically, the great equalizer; sans wardrobe, you’re as likely to be stretching alongside a CEO as someone whose sartorial investment doesn’t extend past socks. Maybe that’s the secret of the unexpectedly earnest atmosphere that seems to pervade these races around the country—Gilewicz estimates at least a dozen to two dozen nude running events exist nationally, with some regions hosting such traditions for as long as thirty years.

Naked, but Not Unregulated

For those envisioning total free-for-alls, the Buck Creek Streak comes with boundaries—both literal and bureaucratic. The Post and Courier specifies that all participants must pass a background check, a standard prerequisite for any visitor. The registration fee covers lunch and a day pass to the resort, but “clothing-optional” only goes so far: in a detail highlighted by The Post and Courier, pools and hot tubs have a mandatory nudity rule—no cheating with swim trunks.

As for the risk of being made the unwitting star of some viral sensation, the event is entirely private; public exposure is limited to sun and song, not Snapchat.

The Unintentional Sociology of the Streak

On the scale of odd local events—the ones that pop up in newspaper calendars more often than TripAdvisor—this particular 5K is an oddly robust window into an unexpected subculture: part fitness challenge, part community potluck, and part celebration of radical vulnerability. The Post and Courier’s reporting makes it clear: it’s a twist on the everyday that makes you think—between the pickleball court and the rolling lawns, maybe a few boundaries are worth a second look (though maybe not all of them).

Is this the future of running—or just a uniquely Carolina offshoot of humans’ endless appetite for the novel? Whether you’re motivated by curiosity, camaraderie, or just warmer tan lines, it’s the kind of story that, even after years elbow-deep in the archives, still stands out for its blend of earnestness and eccentricity.

So, about that naked 5K you were planning—turns out, you’re far from alone. And, apparently, you’d better register early. Just don’t forget your shoes.