Mist rises over the lake as the pre-dawn full moon catches wisps of fog. Birds begin their morning chatter as the eastern sky begins to glow orange, lighting the low peaks of the Pocono-mountain landscape. Dew covers the ground, bending blades of grass with the weight of droplets. And nearby, 1,000 people are lined up to crap¹ in port-o-potties while others rub anti-chafe cream² between their ass cheeks and I begin to encase myself in the membrane of my wetsuit.
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