Beach time

In the spirit of my upcoming trip, I'ld like to write about one of my favorite and most hated places ever: the Beachski.

I was 17 the first time I went to the beach with friends. It took me 17 years to come to terms with the fact that its okay if I don't look as good in a bathing suit as them.

I get the darkest back and the darkest stomach, but the palest sides because I'd rather bury my face in the sand than lay on my side and expose the world to what it looks like when gravity does its thang. I also have the quickest coverup-off, body-down-on-blanket transition time out of anyone, ever. And if you think you will ever catch me sitting up on a beach, in a bathingsuit, you are, well you are an idiot.

I love Nantastket beach, especially when its low tide because its SO low it feels like just miles and miles of beach. ...Except when I have to walk that distance down to the water. With each step I hate myself, and my thighs, more and more. And you want to just RUN down so you can hurry up and get it over with, but I'd actually rather drown than have people see me running in a bathing suit. One time, at the peak of my self-consciousness, I was down the Cape at a beach with my family and something blew away from our blanket. I was standing so my dad yelled, "Lani, go get it!" I just stared at him with a look of panic, but since he is not a man you argue with, all that was necessary was a louder, "go!" and I was off. But I still wasn't goign to run, Dad can yell as loud as he wants. I powerwalked down that beach with a few quick running steps here and finally caught up with the god damn napkin that thank god we caught. But this was such a terrible, embarrassing situation for me that I remember it and feel it's important enough to blog about. Like I just did. See, a few words back. Right dere.

Walks on the beach are great...with a coverup, obviously. Until a wave splashes you and now you've got just a tiny bit of moisture in between your thighs potentially turning a simple walk into the stroll of torture.

Nothing thrills me more than riding waves on a boogie board. And nothing embarrasses me more than having to peel my wet, heavy body off the wet sand I've been washed up on.

I have successfully escaped any situation that involves me being photographed in a bathingsuit, but to be honest, I'm very woried that streak may come to an end next week. I definitely have to learn the do's and dont's of posing in a bathingsuit ASAP. Arms down or arms on hips? Front leg bent or straight with back leg bent? Face forward, or turn to side? Suck in, but not so much that it's obvious. God, so much to take into consideration while remembering to smile normal. And when it's sunny, I really don't know how people come out normal in pictures. My attempt to look normal while smiling into the sunlight always results in my eyebrows rising as high as physically possible on my forehead.

I guess next week will be a test for me. A test to see if I can put all this self-consciousness, vanity and fear of not looking perfect away for 7 days and actually enjoy what could be the best week of my life. ...Either way, I'm hoping to have some stories for when I get back. At least one awful/funny thing has to happen after spending 168 hours on a beach.