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Naked Volleyball

Through the trees to the right is a view unlike anything any of us has ever seen: a swirl of naked bodies and volleyball nets, sprinkled with bobbing white balls. It’s like one of those computergenerated movie scenes in which the hero lands on another planet and stumbles upon a mass congregation of inhabitants praying to a different god. Or performing some unknown ritual. Or playing nude volleyball. We are in another world.

As I shed my threads, I’m not as concerned about how my body looks as I am about the sight of my underpants.

The camp was founded in 1961, back when there was an actual naked volleyball association called the Tri State League, made up of real-deal squads from Penn Sylvan (Pa.), Sunny Heights, (N.J.) and Pine Tree (Md.). The league led to White Thorn’s hosting of the inaugural Super Bowl, in 1971. What started with five squads is now a 70-team event. Whatever we might think about naked sports, this is serious naked sports.

We’ve arrived just in time for the opening ceremony. The evening is crisp, but that doesn’t stop the two flag-bearers from performing their duties in full glory. Nor does it stop last year’s champions from parading around the clubhouse lawn in nothing but socks and shoes. The team goes by the name Tiki Tomba, and its members look less like nudists and more like athletes. “I thought the volleyball was going to be crappy,” says Carol, eyes wide with shock. “But these guys look like players.” We find out later that almost all the Tiki Tombas were on the East Stroudsburg University volleyball team.

From the moment we rolled into camp and noticed that the weather had put the clothing back in clothing-optional, we expected not to have to get naked until our match the next morning (Rule No. 1: If you’re playing, you’re naked). We also expected to be able to practice some before having to show off our goods, so to speak.

But when the opening ceremony wraps, the White Thorn brass asks us to take the court. We’ve requested a spot in the all-male AA level, the tourney’s highest division, but given our estrogen-laced roster, the powers-that-be are dubious that we’ll be able to hang with the Tiki Tombas of their world. They’re afraid someone will get hurt, maybe take a 110 mph heater square in the face. I tell them these women are pros; if anybody’s going to get hurt, it sure as heck won’t be one of them. In any case, they want us to face the music. I feel like a pole dancer on amateur night.

Turns out, White Thorn has had trouble keeping the participation of a certain national sports magazine a secret. As we stand beneath an inky sky on the green asphalt of Court 1 — White Thorn boasts 11 outdoor courts — the buzz of the lights gives way to the buzz of spectators. Hundreds of bodies that moments earlier weren’t there line each side of the playing area. Many are clad (they’re nudists, not stupid) and curious. “We’re on a stage,” says Michele. “Everyone is waiting to judge us.”

Sensing we’ll chicken out, a topless woman, who had been warming up with others on the other side of the court, crosses under the net, introduces herself and cajoles us into huddling up with her. “We’ve been dying for you ESPN guys to come,” she says. “See all those people? They want to see a game. Just one, just for fun.” Then she turns to Carol, who’s dressed in sweats and a tank top, and yanks off her shirt. Game on.

We end up playing not one but two games, in varying degrees of nakedness. Noah, who had conquered his demons as soon as we parked the RVs, plays completely naked. Greg wears shorts. Carol is half-clothed, Michele fully so. “It was freaking cold,” she says later. “Plus, I was too concerned with playing well.” So am I, which is why I keep my T-shirt and shorts on. But during the first game, all I can think about is an insight shared by a White Thorn vet: When you’re around a bunch of naked people and you’re the one wearing clothes, you feel like an idiot.

By game’s end (we lost), I realize he’s right. And as I shed my threads for the second game, I’m not as concerned about how my body looks as I am obsessed by the sight of my underpants. When you anticipate that your skivvies will be on display — maybe you’re headed out for a romantic dinner, or maybe you’re Soulja Boy — you dress accordingly. Preparing for a naked volleyball game isn’t one of those times. I hastily yank off my shorts and sagging, moth-eaten daddy briefs in one fell swoop. Out on the court, readying myself for the start of play, I quickly realize how exposed my backside feels. The serve receive position is similar to the classic ready stance of most sports: wide base, knees bent, butt sticking out. Mind you, I’m in the back row, which puts my keister that much closer to the watchers. You know the gem about the sun not shining on a specific spot of the human anatomy? It holds true for me, but only because it’s night.

Part of what makes volleyball a great nudist pastime is that the game itself requires no physical contact. Problem is, no sport features more high-fiving and ass-smacking than six-on-six volleyball. Every single point is a slap-and-tickle fest waiting to happen. When you’re clothed, that is. When you’re naked, slapping and tickling doesn’t come so easily.

But winning overcomes everything, even on planet Naked. Especially on planet Naked. In its all-out party environment, winning is the drug that shatters the ice. In each of our first four games of Saturday’s pool play — all close losses — our interpoint interaction never goes beyond mild high fives and the occasional fist pound. Although we’re comfortable in our own bare skins, a collective self-consciousness infects our side of the net. But in our fifth game, a miraculous, come-from-behind win against a stacked team we have no business beating, all propriety gives way. We are the Ohio State Buckeyes, only instead of stickers on our helmets we have handprints on our butts. Greg, riding a mix of ample rumpus and inspired play, is by far the most decorated among us.
2009.10.16 / no responses / Category: Nudist Events
Foreign Runners at Sopelana’s Naturist Race 2009

The already traditional naturist race of Sopelana will take place on Saturday 19th on Barinatxe nudist beach located between Sopelana and Getxo towns in Biscay, Basque Country.

Its current edition will count on international presence, given that 3 British, other 3 French, a Italian, an Irish and a German have joined the popular nudist competition.

The 5000-metre (3.107 miles) nudist race takes place on compact sand when the tide is low.

A trophy will be given to the first three of each category, although there will be presents to all the participants reaching the finishing line.

Despite the registration deadline finishes on Thursday 17, participants still can join the race on Saturday 19, just before the competition starts.

Naturist race
2009.09.19 / no responses / Category: Nudist Events