By Jessica Hatcher
As I take my place on the starting block, a hush sweeps around the spectators at the side of the swimming pool. A race is about to begin.
The Union Jack is emblazoned on my swimming cap and to my left - poised and at the ready - are two lithe and toned Germans. I am competing for Great Britain at an international swimming competition and it should be a great honour.
But I can't shake the feeling that there is something very, very wrong. For, apart from a silly stretchy hat, I am completely and utterly stark naked. And about to take part in the world's largest nude swimming gala in front of hundreds of total strangers.
So how on earth have I ended up in such a predicament? Isn't this the kind of situation that comes to people in their worst nightmares?
It all started innocently enough a few months ago, when I discovered the gala while browsing on the internet. In the name of journalistic research, I emailed the organizers to see if I could go along to witness it. It sounded unique to say the least and fun at best, and they agreed. Then, a few weeks later, they called me back. Apparently there was a lack of competitors in my age group. Could I take part?
I immediately got cold feet (and cold almost everything else). I am a competent swimmer, but I dislike competitive swimming almost as much as I do being naked in front of strangers (I've only ever stripped in public once - in a female communal shower after a yoga class - and it was fairly terrifying). Yet while the thought of parading my naked body in front of hundreds of people filled me with abject horror, I couldn't help but feel intrigued. Was I just getting worked up over nothing? And besides, I told myself, I've been summoned - my country needs me. And that's how I came to find myself poised on a block, wobbly bits and all, about to launch my bare body, fingers first, straight into 50 metres of frantic front-crawl.
The International Naturist Federation is about as important as it gets in the nudist world.
The global swimming championships were first launched in 1971. National teams from eight countries have come to take part: Great Britain, France, Germany, Spain, Italy, Holland, Belgium and Switzerland. Today, they are gathering at the Ken Marriott Leisure Centre in Rugby - oh, the glamour. It's only the second time in 17 years that Britain has played host.
They have hired an entire leisure centre because, as Andrew Welch from British Naturism tells me: 'We can't have "textile (clothed) people" wandering around.' It's a common misconception, I'm told, that naturists never wear clothes. It's just that they believe there is a time and a place to be naked, that's all. The day begins when I arrive at the centre and am met by Andrew. He jokes that we won't need separate male and female changing rooms today. I blanch at first, but then I see why.
Male or female, old or young, everyone disrobes without ceremony - most take off their trousers and pants first. I see every shape I've ever considered and more besides, yet no one apart from me seems to be doing anything different to what they were doing with their clothes on. Perfectly normal conversations are taking place all around me. An enormous man wearing nothing but a tattoo with the words 'There is no wealth but life' on his back asks where the pool is. I can barely look him in the eye - but then I don't know where else to look either.
I lock myself into a cubicle to get undressed, still clinging onto my towel as a last defence. I venture forward and peer nervously out. The German team are to my right. A youngish chap who a minute ago, when he was dressed, looked like a heavy-metal fan is now standing tall and proud in just a sleek silver swimming cap with the German flag on it. He smiles and says hello.
On my left, Bart, the Dutch swimming coach, is giving out orders to his team. I like Bart. I met him earlier at the teams' hotel. I asked him whether his team were looking strong. "Better than the Britons," he said eventually, "but not as good as the Germans." I smiled. The Germans. Very good at naked swimming, apparently. (Presumably in this case the rule should be: don't mention the 'phwoar'.)
The competition is taken seriously. People speak in reverently hushed tones of Tom Hummer, the 21-year-old German naturist who can swim 50 metres in just over 25 seconds.
This is nearly Olympic standard - the men's 50 metres freestyle record is currently 23.86 seconds. For the British team, it's not so much about the swimming, although many of them train regularly (in the nude). 'Anyone will tell you,' Andrew explains, 'that if they ever have to wear a swimming costume, they find it most uncomfortable.'
Each competitor belongs to a regional naturist club that either has its own premises or hires out a pool on a regular basis.
The leisure centre's 18-year-old 'textiled' lifeguard, Glen, tells me he was a bit scared when he first heard about the gala - 'I had a feeling it was going to be a bunch of people running around naked.' As Glen is talking, the enormous tattooed man walks past us, drops his goggles, bends to pick them up, and walks on. Glen's eyes are like saucers.
The windows of the swimming pool building are blacked out with curtains and bin bags so members of the public can't see in. Occasionally, shafts of sunlight break through. It is a beautiful day and I think for a minute what I wouldn't give to be frolicking outside - with my clothes on.
The large pool area is a hive of naked activity. A middle-aged man is whirling his arms around his head in a windmill-style warm-up routine (I won't tell you what the physical effects of this are). Another is stretching his hamstrings.
In the pool, people are doing lengths. I suddenly feel self-conscious. I still haven't removed my towel; I can't, for some reason. Yet being the only one not naked is making me feel even more awkward.
So I decide it's time. But how best to do it? Drop it to the waist first? Bare my buttocks before anything else? A rush of adrenaline takes over as, in the end, I whip my towel off like a plaster.
I'm naked! I feel exceedingly pleased with myself. My body feels like a suit of armour - my skin is doing the job my clothes used to do. And my body hang-ups have gone.
In bikinis, I'm forever sucking in my stomach and rearranging my breasts, but naked, there's nothing to rearrange. I suddenly feel much bolder and braver than I thought I would. 'That's better!' those around me cry. They pat me on the back. Annette from Team GB bounces up to me. 'Isn't it the most fabulous sensation?!'
For most naturists, the sensation is what it's about - the feeling of water on bare skin, a body free of ill-fitting clothes and rejoicing in the natural bounce of its bits and bobs.
I spot Tim, a 37-year-old property consultant, and take a seat by him, being careful to put my towel on the chair first (naturists always sit on towels).
'You can't explain naturism. You have to try it,' says Tim. 'It's about being free. Being naked makes me feel good. Swimming in the nude is even nicer, it's the most natural thing you can do. 'On the practical side, there's no soggy costumes and I find people are more friendly. Everyone interacts better.'
I thank Tim and march off down the pool with a new sense of pride. Occasionally my eyes wander to where they shouldn't, but people don't seem to mind. I think they understand that I'm a beginner.
I am pleased to note that, of all the male eyes in the pool, I don't see any lingering on me. Then, suddenly, the whistle goes. The races are about to begin. There is a tension in the air and I remember that getting naked is only part of the reason I'm here. I am competing for Great Britain in three races: freestyle, breaststroke (no sniggering please) and backstroke. The idea of doing backstroke naked initially filled me with horror, but now I am naked a bit of additional exposure doesn't seem too bad.
What worries me more are the people I am up against. In all three of my races (for females aged 25-29) it is just me, Marina and Mirjam.
It would appear female naturists are scarce in my age-group. Marina and Mirjam are both from Germany and look like proper swimmers - they have toned shoulders, pert breasts, flat stomachs and strong thighs.
I take my position on the starting blocks for the 50 metres breaststroke. The race is a blur. I finish third. Emerging from the water in a splutter, I hear a roar of applause from the British camp. I smile and wave up to my supporters enthusiastically - this naturism business is infectious. I have won a bronze medal for my country! I am grinning ear-to-ear.
I bump into Tim the property consultant again. I've been hearing rumours he's the star of the British team. He certainly looks the part; Tim is buff. He has been a naturist for ten years, he tells me. It began on a holiday in Croatia.
Croatians are even keener on naturism than the Germans - 20 per cent of Croatian tourism is naturist. Tim concedes that we don't really have the weather for it over here. I agree.
Tim's girlfriend, Rachel, is quiet. It turns out it's her first time being publicly naked, too. They only met in June. Tim told her he was a naturist on their first date. Apparently there was a long silence before she could reply. But she has an admirably open outlook: 'It's like anything - you can't give an informed decision until you've tried it.' I ask how she feels. 'I feel very safe here. Everyone is very respectful.'
A packed lunch is served in the canteen. Mary and Stephanie, the uniformed leisure centre staff, are behind the counter serving drinks. From the safety of their Slush Puppie machine, they tell me they were at the British national nude swimming gala earlier in the year as well.
They are smiling and giggling and I am smiling and giggling back. It really is difficult not to smile when you or the person you are talking to is completely naked.
By the end of the day, I have won three bronze medals. The British declare it a great victory. Since I came last in each of my races I disagree, but find I am too swept up in their enthusiasm to care.
The President of British Naturism, Angela Russell, has spent the day sitting behind a laptop computer at one end of the pool, studiously typing data into a spreadsheet.
She is a large lady with breasts like giant spaniels' ears who is both charming and highly efficient.
Angela tells me, at first glance, the Germans are the overall winners, the Brits have come second, and the Dutch third. This is good news. Tim bounds up to give me a hug. He has won a gold for butterfly. I hug him back. And then I remember that I am naked. It's very strange - I hadn't expected it to be something I would forget so easily.
Julie, one of the catering managers who served our lunch, tells me she might like to try it, but only if there was no one else there she knew. She raises an interesting point - naturism seems to be good for meeting new people.
There is something about being naked that means you are obliged to be friendly and welcoming. When all your defences are stripped away and you don't have the identity of your clothes to hide behind, all you're left with is exactly the same as what everyone else has.
As I'm leaving the pool area, I stop for another quick chat with Glen the lifeguard. I wonder how he found it. 'Not too bad. I quite enjoyed it actually,' he says, grinning. And then he pulls a face.
'They're quite open though, aren't they?' I follow his line of sight. A round bellied Irishman is lolling open-legged on a plastic chair at the side of the pool with a benevolent expression on his face.
The Irishman sees me looking, gets up and walks over. 'I've had one of the best days ever,' he tells me, a teary look in his eye. I nod, because part of me really has enjoyed casting off my 'textile' skin.
As I'm heading back to the changing rooms, I bump into Andrew from British Naturism and he invites me to another swimming event they are hosting next weekend.'You should come! There's even going to be a naked disco.' My gulp is audible. I may have swum for my country, but a disco? I'm a little too well upholstered for that.
