The Story of a Naked Mile
How I ended up on the front page of the national Namibian newspaper
The Naked Mile.
Of the 7,500 miles I’d be cycling across Africa, this was the one I most dreaded.
I hate being naked.
Don’t get me wrong, I think my body looks great…clothed. But being naked makes me feel, well, naked. Like driving without my glasses. At night. With all signs in Japanese.
But it was a “Tour d’Afrique tradition” that “must not be missed,” according to the staff, so I knew I’d need to come up with a good excuse.
Unfortunately, this was not the group of people to let anything get in the way of an adventure.
It didn’t matter whether they had days of diarrhoea or blood in their urine, or broken ribs or wrists, unless they had a broken hip (two did), a broken back (one did), sepsis (one), or malaria (one), nothing would stop them from getting on their saddle the next day.
One rider looked so beat up and worn down he earned the nickname Cancer John. Even Cancer John planned to do the naked mile.
In other words, the peer pressure to participate in something as lighthearted and straightforward as a naked group ride was immense. My excuses didn’t stand a chance.
When the day finally arrived, the other female riders and I rode off into the Namibian desert to find a place where we could disrobe away from the men.
It turns out, I wasn’t the only one dreading this day.
“Maybe we should keep our shorts on, for the padding?”
“The sun feels awfully strong today, I wouldn’t want to burn….”
“How do we make sure no one takes a picture of us?”
Finally Giselle, an Australian woman in her 70s broke the ice.
“Oh off with it, nothing to be shy about!” As she unceremoniously pulled down her bike shorts.
The awkward giggles turned into a photo shoot. One mile turned into two. Two miles into two hours, and before we knew it, we were waving gleefully at all the wide-eyed truckers who passed, horns blaring.
Around lunch time, we saw a resort with a sparkling, empty pool.
“Let’s do it!” Giselle dared us.
“I can’t imagine they want a bunch of naked women showing up and diving in.”
“We’ll never know if we don’t try.” She was already off her bike.
Following her in, I couldn’t help but laugh. Our 25-75 year old butts, covered in sores and bruises, had seen better days. After 3 months of non-stop camping and cycling, layering sunscreen over sweat over mosquito repellent over dirt over sunscreen over sweat over dirt…… we were looking pretty haggard. Still, to this day, I have never seen a more beautiful group of women.
Not only did they let us splash around, they gave us lunch and called the national newspaper to capture the delight. People recognized us from the blurred front page photo the rest of our way through Namibia.
I did the thing I hated, that I dreaded, and it turned out to be the most glorious day I’ve ever had. Giselle was right, I never would have known if I didn’t try.
Over and over again, I’ve found this to be true.
It’s so tempting, with the technology we have, to stay completely comfortable. With Google, I never have to risk a mediocre meal or an awkward conversation in another language or getting lost. With Amazon, I never have to risk venturing out in the snow, or buying something I can’t return. With Netflix, I never have to risk an hour on something that isn’t exactly what I feel like watching.
In our careers, we’re told to do what we love, but how often do we find that something we love still involves something we hate? (Like, every job I’ve loved that still expected me to pick up the phone.)
Or that something we love turns into something we hate? (Like, when a company I loved was pressured to IPO.)
You will never live in a world filled only with experiences you love. Whether it’s going on first dates or selling software, until we can learn how to do something we hate, until it becomes something we love, we’re bound to always be running from something.
As someone once told me “hate is just love disappointed.”
Jen, this was such a good essay. Amazing storytelling
Great work :)