I Used To Be A Babe

Does anyone know they're in their prime, when they're in it? I think not…at least I didn't. Back when I was twenty-something, I was fit and in the best shape of my life. I was a newlywed, living in San Francisco, and taking ballet classes two to four times a week. I won't say I was hot, but I was probably a good solid OK. One day, I got talked into going to a nude beach at Hagmire Pond in Marin County. I felt so self-conscious and, well, naked. It was truly not a good time for me, but I toughed it out. Rick, on the other hand, was in naked people heaven. I don't think it really mattered to him that most of the people at the pond should have kept their clothes on. Naked is naked, I guess. A few years ago we went back to San Francisco for the Bay to Breakers foot race. I parked myself at the halfway mark and people-watched while I waited for the family to run by. This race is famous for costumes, or the lack thereof. To pass the time, I counted naked people. I got up to about 80 naked men and 8 naked women before I stopped counting. As with the naked beach crowd from 30 years ago, most of the naked runners should have kept their clothes on. Not too appetizing on an early Sunday morning. I have never personally enjoyed nudism, and embrace my inhibitions. I'm convinced my birthday suit came with socks. I say the more clothes the better. Layer me up! The old bod is bigger and lumpier than in the old days. I now have the muscle tone of yogurt with fruit at the bottom. On the positive side, I think I am finally safe from having to spurn invitations to a day at a nude beach.