Nude Naked

or, Just Skin

T he number of times I have either walked out of, or almost walked out of a studio with no clothes on has surprised even me. One day while in mid-conversation with my straight workout partner, I pretty much walked out of the locker room wearing only my skin. Because for me, being nude is not a big deal, and that comfort level is not by accident. If you have read some of my earlier writings, you may have noted that up into my teen years I was pretty shy with my body. Before I was pushed out of my comfort zone, I’d wear very loose clothing and always, always swim with a t-shirt and run with long shorts.

Sports for me have never been that hard; that being said, when you are shy and have never been taught how to throw a baseball you tend to gravitate toward individual sports such as swimming, distance running and the like.

Puberty for me hit almost over night and early. I had gone from nothing to OH WOW within months. Shy to start with and being raised in an almost CULT-like, conservative home, I had zero self-confidence and a sub-zero ranking of body image.

With my first year of junior high under my belt and running daily after school with my new best buddy, Nick P., I had begun to come out of my shell. We not only shared the same first name, but also the gift for gab, though that gift only came out when we were alone. Nick P. and I both tended to be quiet around others. When we were out running, we seemed to just talk the miles away. Both sharing stories of life, school, and just nothing of any real value, we enjoyed one anothers company. Nick was my first real, close friend.

That summer Nick and I both signed up to attend a week-long summer camp centered around distance running. Nick P. had hazel eyes, short straight light brown hair and a bit of a year-round tan. It wasn’t a dark tan, but it did darken a bit in the summer just as the hair on his arms lightened.

We arrived at camp and settled into our cabin. The day was warm and we had planned to “get our miles in” just before dusk when it was cooler. Looking over the printed schedule, Nick discovered it was now open swim time. As we were standing in our cabin alone, and–like always–talking about nothing and everything, without missing a beat, Nick stripped down to skin and put on his blue speedo. I had seen speedos before on swimmers on TV, and I wanted one of my own, yet I could never actually think of owning something so revealing. Coming from what some would call “white trash religious kooks” I could just imagine the comments I’d get from my family. Wearing a ball buster speedo would have been hell on earth and my mother would have probably removed it from my possession under the guise that it was a bit sinful. Heck I had gone from wearing normal fitting shorts to loose everything after my fathers one comment, “Son I can tell what religion you are through your shorts” Hell I had no clue that it was not normal for a 13yo to be packing about 7 man inches.

I put on my green swimming shorts and a t-shirt and walked with Nick P. to the beach. We kept talking about the same nothing and everything, but I couldn’t help but be amazed that he had the guts to walk across camp in that little blue speedo and running shoes with towel in hand.

Standing next to Nick, I could tell he was waiting for me to pull off my t-shirt, as we had both already taken off our shoes. Until that day, I had never swam in public without a shirt, nor had I ever taken my shirt off in front of Nick. I just knew that saying Oh I burn easy, so I wear a shirt swimming, would not cut it anymore. Not knowing he was doing it, my best buddy had just pushed me out of my comfort zone into a place of unease and thus a place of growth. I would learn from that day on to do that for myself, always trying to push myself out of what is safe and into a place of growth.

“…last one in…”

We ran into the water and I had a blast. Truth be told, after the initial few moments I had completely lost track of the fact I was not wearing a shirt.