Monday, July 06, 2009
Sports, "Hunt's Grunts"

Au naturel

 

By Hunt Archbold

One never likes to begin a column with a correction on the previous week’s ramblings. But, alas, here goes a second serve attempt: The great tennis champion Roger Federer is not from Sweden, as was written haphazardly, but Switzerland.

Why get those countries confused? Swedes are IKEA-loving, vodka-drinking, Volvo-making, ABBA-listening folk from a phallic-looking land mass that borders the Baltic Sea. They’re also identified with a semi-comprehensible Muppet who enjoys tossing utensils around in the kitchen and singing “Bork bork bork.” Landlocked Switzerland looks like no body part, and is home to a bunch of punctual bankers who like to make chocolate and drink absinthe.

And whereas the Swedes are all about gettin’ nekkid, because, well, they’re a bunch of nudists, the Swiss—well, not so much. You might recall that last spring, a controversy over naked hiking in the snowy mountainous range of Appenzell, Switzerland came to head when the citizens of that conservative Swiss Alps town voted overwhelmingly to ban nude hiking because they were tired of bumping into hikers (mostly Germans) who enjoy experiencing nature au naturel.

Of course, before the fig leaf and forbidden fruit, Adam and Eve were both “naked, and felt no shame,” according to a verse in Genesis. People have been doing the nude thing since the beginning of time, and naked sports have been around for millennia. For the Greeks, athletic prowess was a corporal gift from the gods; therefore, it was befitting that the Olympic Games should be carried out naked (except for chariot racing).

People run, ski, skate and do everything else naked, and there are a slew of such accomplishments listed at www.nakedworldrecords.com, including one chap who has skydived more than 300 times sans suit (but with parachute). The American Association for Nude Recreation refers to itself as “the credible voice of reason of issues relevant to nude recreation,” serving the more than 213,000 individuals who enjoy being in the buff while playing volleyball, among other things. 

To some, Dawsonville means the Elliott family of racing, but some folks rev their engines a little differently, and to them, Dawsonville means going bare, as it’s the home of the Paradise Valley Resort & Club, which touts itself as Georgia’s premier clothing-optional resort.

My friend Madge (not her real name) worked as a professionally licensed massage therapist there six or so years ago, when the facility was known as Hidden Valley, and her stories are hysterical and disturbing—she vividly recalls weathered, aging, unattractive men running around starkers and tossing a frisbee.

Madge is a cutie, and back then she was 22, so of course she was constantly hit on and invited to join in all kinds of perverted stuff (which she refused). The good folks there ultimately couldn’t stand the rejection and politely asked her to not come back; it seems, as Thin Lizzy sang, she was “driving all the old men crazy.” And apparently a couple of the women, too.

But that’s all in the past. I’m not calling out the folks at Paradise Valley or Peachtree Presbyterian, or anyone else, for that matter. I hear you, hairy nude guy, when you say that naturalist sports develop a healthy body, that self-esteem is enhanced by absorbing the all-natural sun and blah, blah, blah. Hey, I’ve done my share of streaking, played golf in my birthday suit, and smacked a tennis ball around in the buff. But that was years ago, and the idea of hanging out at a clothing-optional tetherball court these days—well, let’s just say I won’t be making the annual Paradise Valley Fig Leaf 5K run anytime soon.

Still, during this, the 33rd annual National Nude Recreation Week, I wish the best of luck to all those at Paradise Valley and across North America who will be attempting to set a Guinness World Record for the most people skinny-dipping simultaneously. That’s right: Thousands of swimmers wearing only a smile will band together on Saturday at 3 p.m. in a statement of uniform nakedness, and—you know, I do enjoy skinny-dipping; I mean, who doesn’t? It’s so natural. So if I’m at my local swimming hole on Saturday and decide to ditch my trunks … well, I have always wanted to be in the Guinness Book of World Records.

Happy times … and I said, “Don’t look, Ethyl,” but it was too late; she’d already been mooned. SP