sal ganuth

They don’t believe what coach is telling them, “You’ve been slacking of late. A naked training session will focus your minds. Now drop your kit and get out there.”
A few minutes later, bare assed naked on the tarmac, on a cold November afternoon, they shiver as they lift the racing boat and take it to the water.
They avoid eye contact with each other as they get in, bare bums hit cold seats but they soon warm up during the training session, watched and cheered on by their student friends on the riverbank.
Amazingly, they perform a personal best.

They’re ecstatic when they return to the rowing shed. Still naked, coach lines them up for a celebratory team photo.
“Great job, lads. Really proud of you. Guess this means you’ve got a new team outfit.”
“What do you mean, coach?”
“You performed so well nude, in future races you will be nude.”
“You’re kidding, right? Coach?
“No. It’s totally legit. There’s no rules about kit in the book.”
“But nude? In front of all those crowds?”
The message hitting home, smiles turning to frowns as they realise coach means what he is saying. And that what coach says, goes.

A few weeks later, having trained and competed naked, the team qualified for the finals. It was a tight race, a lot of supporters from far and wide lining the banks of the river. Against all odds, the team won.

“I never had any doubt lads,” the coach said, “What did I tell you? Rowing nude did you good. You fucking went and won the finals. Now point your oars skywards. Just your oars, lads, nothing else, and let the official photographer take some photos. Don’t worry about all those phone pointing at you. You’re already all over the internet.”