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Published: July 31st 2009
<<...Continued Sunday: Day 2 I looked out the window at a beautiful panoramic view; a city that shone with luscious light the day before, a city now shrouded in dark grey clouds. It was raining in Seattle and I rolled over on the couch, fully clothed, and reach out for the table. I felt for my phone, grabbed it and checked the time: 5:54am. In fact, it was pouring. And it was this serene rhythm that awoke me from a deep state of unconsciousness, one infused with the very essence of sleep, yet inhibited by alcohol. And I felt it. It was like a ramrod had just smacked me around. My head was spinning. My body weak. The butt, crotch and areas between terribly sore from the previous day’s
World Naked Bike Ride. Here it was; 6am in the early morning and I had to be up in one more hour. I was not sure how late the night lasted before passing out; immobile by booze, laughter and companionship, but apparently I crashed (and crashed hard) on a friend’s couch. Now roused, I decided to send a quick message to my fellow nudist adventurer:
6am and raining… not sure I’m up for this.
Dropping the head back down, I closed my eyes.
One more hour of sleep. Damn… The phone vibrated. Evidently, he was up or thinking the same thing as the dark gray matter of air particles, water molecules and ether hovered like a spaceship. Yesterday was beautiful. If only it were the same.
Forecast says good. We’re still on. The message was not at all what I wanted to hear. I closed my eyes, listened to the rain one last time, and passed out.
By 7:30 I was dressed and out the door. My Green Steed of a bike was there waiting for me, and if she could have spoken, she would’ve laughed at the sight of me: asleep, hung-over, and splattered with paint as if I had fallen overboard and just washed ashore. Crusty blue bands encircled my legs, arms and neck. I’m sure I looked ridiculous.
I rode through the streets, surprisingly dry after the brief showers, and parked myself in Fremont.
“Buenos!” I blinked, walking through the door of an apartment. Nathan, Shallon and their friend Jessica sat in the living room with coffee, juice and grub.
“You’re still painted!” They laughed.
I rolled my eyes and thought about last night. “Um… I kinda forgot about it.”
Shallon kept smiling and reminded me; “I’m sure others didn’t.”
After the World Naked Bike Ride I met friends and drank and kept drinking, but there was a very responsible incentive. We were preparing ourselves for the screening of
Pee-Wee Herman’s Big Adventure at the
Fremont Outdoor Cinema. I could not watch this sober. I would’ve cried out of shock, awe, fear and complete confusion. So I drank my worries away and paid the price (and was about to at the next level).
I helped myself, carefully ate, and then we were off.
Nathan, Shallon and I drove east to Issaquah, turned off I-90 and then disappeared somewhere into the hills. Winding the quiet country roads, Nathan stopped at a discreet sign with the acronym
FS. Into the woods and beyond into infinity. It was a weekend during
National Nude Recreation Week for new, unimaginable endeavors. I was not feeling ready for this one.
Something was off besides the weather. Nathan, Shallon and I looked at each other, smiled a few twisted turns and shrugged. Outside it was cloudy, almost misting. We registered, paid our dues and then got our things.
“Well,” Nathan pondered. “Hot tub?”
“Oh god yes.” I replied.
Two hot tubs and the addition of our three bodies filled them up. We stripped down, showered off and sunk in.
“What’s wrong with you?” It was a big grizzly man with a white beard and a badass bandana wrapped around his forehead. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing.
“Um, the paint right?” And I thought he could have been referring to a number of conditions. “You know of the naked bike rides?”
He nodded. Pairs of eyes stared at me.
“Yeah. It was fun.” And thus began the topic of nudity and nude adventures. What else to talk about at the
Fraternity Snoqualmie Park Forestia—a.k.a. the Issaquah Family Nudist Park?
The 18th Annual Bare Buns Fun Run on July 12th, 2009. We were warming our bones for a jaunt up Tiger Mountain. We were warming our bones because it was 61 degrees outside. And there were a lot of old folks wandering around as if it we were in Florida. The hot tub was helping.
In conversation, I discovered there were not just one or two nude events of running and sprinting and jogging and biking. No. This was a lifestyle and I happened to be sitting near a fellow who fully embraced such liberation:
National Nudity, Global Unity! There are such runs entitled
Fig Leaf Fall out of Dawsonville, Georgia;
The Skinny-dipper Sun Run in Texas;
Dare to Go Bare 5K back there in Lutz, Florida;
The Trail of Tears deep in the woods of Oklahoma (think John Boorman's 1972
Deliverance);
Bare As You Dare Cross-Country (Texas again); and the most frightening of all…
The Running of the Nudes overseas in Pamplona, Spain (not sure if bulls are included?)
With the thought of the last run, I was feeling quite comfortable. Yesterday was preparatory, and today is preparatory for… who knows what. However, this light conversation in the melting pot of the tub, as my hangover slowly faded, was getting me amped. What a life to live, all in the nude!
It was time. I was naked. Nathan and Shallon were naked. And about 150 other runners were naked, including the 200+ naked family, friends and spectators cheering us all on, supporting our bulging endeavor. Let me reiterate:
Lots of nakedness! And then we were off like a Dominatrix crack of the whip.
Jogging nude is one thing. I can’t quite comprehend why or when such individuals would do it alone. Particularly from the male perspective, jogging with no support upon the loins is not at all comfortable. It is not skinny-dipping with strangers in the hot tub. It is not awkward like naked bike riding. It is not arousing as if lying beside the warm curvaceous body of your lover. It is none of theses things: exciting, awkward or erotic. Plainly, running, jogging and/or sprinting in the nude are painful. It is having one of the most sensitive parts of your body being crushed between two pulsing machines. It is having your life sucked out of you as the lower abdomen is slapped repeatedly, socked in the stomach by a whiffle-ball bat. Think of naked trampoline-
ing at high speeds. Reckless abandonment. And for a woman, I think the upper half of her body would feel quite the same.
So, the blaring horn and thus the stampede. It’s strange to be running naked, and even stranger navigating a sea of nudes on a narrow dirt trail. My eyes were at the ground, watching for roots, ruts and butts. The junk in each trunk was loose, bouncing along the road, and as I looked down, then up, down, then up, I began to run a little harder. The distractions were too much. I needed space. I needed air, fresh mountain air… not the recycled kind.
There were men. There were women. There were boys and girls. Grandparents and babies. It was insane:
Disneyland Gone Wild. I reached an open stretch. My stomach was queasy from the alcohol in my veins, as well as from various penile thrashings. My inner thighs were bruising. It felt like I was receiving the worst case of blue balls. But I kept running. I kept sprinting, passing people, getting an open road ahead of me were I received that feeling of speed when a driver overtakes a juggernaut on a one-lane highway. I did not want to see any more butts. I wanted to see that finish line.
Up. Turn around. And then down. There were about ten runners in front of me. The rest of the 140 participants saw me down, whichever part they wished to stare at; my unfortunate package, my sweaty body, or my red face. Maybe all of it. Needless to say, I never thought a finish line would be so tempting. At 23 minutes and 06 seconds I crossed that goal with more naked people cheering and shouting:
“Strong finish!”
“Nice form!”
One older woman ran up to me holding up her crinkly thumb, “You did it! You beat them, all of you!”
Yes. The pain and the suffering. The throbbing dull sensation in my lower midsection. It was all worth the 9th place overall finish, coming in second within my age bracket. One of the finer nude activities of my life… Wait! I take that back.
In the hot tub, I rested my bones, the muscles and joints, those pieces of flesh and tissue. An hour and a half passed and folks were still lingering across the line. People were lounging about the grounds of the nudist park; eating, swimming, playing games and guitar. Undeniably, it was cold, practically misting, and a group of three adolescent girls were showering… together. I kept my eyes averted. The discipline. There must be some respect here. Sure enough.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” boomed a voice. “Congratulations to all you beautiful sweaty nude racers for a fantastic event.”
Cheers. Claps. The low bemoans of
Yes, yes. Thank you. “Now time for the awards ceremony.”
Awards? Like I said, from July 5th - 12th during National Nude Recreation Week of ‘09 was a time in the space of my life for many new endeavors. I enjoyed the World Naked Bike Ride and its vibrancy under the sun. I considered the 5K up Tiger Mtn. to be something I will never forget, and most likely, repeat in the future. However… awards? In the nude?
“2nd place in the 20-29 male age bracket:
Cameron Karsten!” The announcer sounded facetious, daring me to appear.
I turned to my naked compatriots and gave them that look:
Never.
“What are you doing?” Nathan protested. “Get up there.”
“I don’t need an award for this.”
Shallon shook her head at me. “Cameron,” she paused. “I thought you were different.”
Period. That was enough. I moved. I pushed my nakedness through the sea of flesh, when rubber meets pavement, and climbed the podium. And as if in slow motion, I was handed my award. It was a small placard with a modest drawing of four pairs of varying butt cheeks, similar to the many I saw throughout the weekend. My photograph was about to be taken. I posed nonchalantly. Then, like a freezing clock, I turned. Like molten lava. My mind stopped. I was in the act of cliff-diving. This was exposure. This was vulnerability. This was standing in front of a crowded park of naked people, not at eye-level, but upon a podium, holding an award and trying to be modest.
I’m sure the smile I gave was that of a shrew; feeble, meek and pathetic. Then I disappeared. The Bare Buns Fun Run up Tiger Mountain. Driving down into the city, back into a seemingly cold, rigid, boring civilization, I came to an understanding:
This was preparatory. This was just the beginning. You might be asking what’s next?
My psyche ponders the Running of the Nudes, and I realize I have a long way to go, mentally and physically. Somehow, some way, there must be a method to ease the discomfort.
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Dennis
non-member comment
Oh Myyyyyyyyy
Laughing with tears. Great Account of the Experience. Cheers.......