Chin-up in the Dirt 26

There's a tree near where I was staying, a branch low enough to grab. I remember thinking I'd look ridiculous doing a chin-up with no clothes on. Then I did it anyway.

The dirt was warm under my feet. My palms went around the branch and I pulled, and for a second the only thing in the world was the burn in my arms and the sound of my own breathing.

That's the part I keep coming back to. Not how my body looked — how it worked. A body that hauls itself up is a body that's alive, and I forget that too often.

I've been naked online for a while now. People assume it's about showing off. Sometimes it is, I won't lie. But a lot of it is the opposite: I want to remember this body is a body, not a display. It sweats, it strains, it gets dirt on its back, and none of that needs an audience.

The chin-up became a little series. I'm up to twenty-six now, which is where the number comes from. Each one is a small argument against the idea that a naked body has to be polished or posed. Here it's just me, gravity, and a branch.

I don't have a tidy lesson for this one. I just like the picture. I like that it records effort instead of performance.

— Will