It's just after Dolan in the city of Washington in the District of Columbia.

The sun peaks over the horizon, reflecting off the placid waters of the Tyber Creek, a tributary of the Potomac.

On the bank, a man prepares for a swim, removing his hat, his pocket watch, his jacket and

waistcoat, handing them to his man in waiting, a valley by his side.

Finally, stripped of his underclothing and stockings,

the swimmer, now stark naked, wades happily into the water and immersees himself, taking his first strokes into the slow-moving current.

I follow this practice for exercise, for health, for cleanliness, and for pleasure.

The man would write in his journal, explaining his routine as part of a whole morning regiment.

I have found it invariably conducive to health and never experienced from it the slightest inconvenience.

It is a simple but remarkable statement considering this man, this swimmer, is the President of the United States,

our sixth President John Quincy Adams,

son of our second John Adams of Massachusetts,

who every morning he is fit to do so

can be found down here at the river's edge,

skinny dipping, with barely a concern for public perception. The Oh, the,

the way.

The

And,

And

And

And

And And And And You You G

...