Personal Narrative On The Beach

Nathan Shie

11/7/2017

Sure, that looks fun Ah, camping! The feeling of waking up to bird calls, looking up to see the rising sun and blue sky, and… and having to use the restroom really really badly in the cold, dry environment. Don’t worry about me, the zipper on my sleeping bag only jammed twice this time, and I only tripped once. It was a relatively great morning, by my camping standards. After walking down the gray trail of rocks and sand, and passing the trees and greenery on either side of me, uphill there and back, of course, I started to feel my stomach ache for food. Fast forward an hour to 6:00, and guess what? I am still here, stuck in the same predicament. By now, James, Katrina, Annika, and Everett had woken up and had all

There are nods and mutters of assent from the huddle of bodies. I nod along, too, like the speed of the river doesn’t bother me. Of course, I can’t swim, but I am relatively athletic, so I’m not too worried about the river. Finally, one of the parents wakes up and makes buttermilk pancakes and chicken apple sausages for breakfast. I quickly shove my paper plate into my face, downing three sausages and two pancakes with peanut butter before anyone has seconds. Everett comes out of the buffet line with a stack of, like, ten pancakes with syrup drowning each one of them. The tower rises so tall that the syrup has time to gain momentum while falling down the side of the pancake stack and splash on his plate. He walks over to where I’m sitting, while I discreetly lick my fingers without anyone

I hop into my sleeping bag, close the zipper so no one can see me, change out my double layer of thermal pants and sweatpants for swimming trunks, and hop back out. The weather has gotten slightly more pleasing, and the clouds have drifted off. I throw the T-shirt off and replace it with a rash guard. Finally, I slip into my sandals and turn around. My friends have already switched into their Speedos, the boys with super tight, super fast trunks, and the girls with streamlined one-pieces. I look down at myself and see flappy trunks and a loose balloon of a rash guard, already questioning whether or not I should