Stalking the Tiger

Stalking the Tiger

When stalking a tiger you would be best advised not to move too quickly, not to surprise the tiger. In the fine balance of risk to reward, approaching from the front is a bad idea. You should never say aloud, “Tiger! I am stalking you now!” The tiger won’t understand you, and your companions will only chortle pityingly as you go to your doom.

At 42, I am neither particularly young, nor particularly old. My body isn’t what it once was, but it is far better than it will be, and so I am inclined, even obligated, to pursue fitness, to stalk it like a tiger in the brush.

Let’s not even consider what guidance might be gleaned from the popular, tiger-stalking media. That’s no way to approach a thing like this, a tiger I mean. Having seen the beast a few times doesn’t make it easier to find once we get older. It requires patience, discipline and sometimes luck. When we were young, we thought we were smart and strong. Now that we’re older, we see how lucky we actually were. We caught the tiger easily then, but not because it is easily caught.

HarvardMy right calf hurts. I can’t explain this, the asymmetry of it. I met some friends at the Harvard Stadium the other day, to run the stairs, all in pursuit of the tiger, and maybe it’s the case that pushing off on my right foot led directly to the build up of lactic acid in the attached calf, or maybe it’s true that the right cleat on one of my pairs of bike shoes is ever so slightly forward of the left. Or perhaps, the tiger has simply deemed a cyclist’s hubristic galumphing in running shoes a clear breach of tiger stalking etiquette.

When I have rushed the tiger, head on, all full of determination, anger even, I have only been mauled, laid low and chastened. Left to marinate in the pain before dragging myself up off the couch to return to the slow, careful stalk. This the main difference between my body at 32, and the one I occupy now. My younger self could hurl headlong into the hardest workout I could conjure. I could go from zero to hill repeats, recover and ride long the next day. I could ride in the morning, run in the afternoon. Soreness was a soothing companion rather than a harrowing harridan.

Now I know to approach slowly. Building up. Recovering. Budgeting time. Planning ahead. Even if I normally ignore this hard-earned wisdom, leap from my obvious hiding place, and grasp desperately for the tiger’s tail. He strikes a ghoulish, feline smile as he eats me alive.

Again.

 

 

 

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7 comments

  1. August Cole

    The tiger is fiercest around its cubs, isn’t it? The cubs are inspiration and limitation intertwined. They take our time but give us back eternal joy. The best part is they don’t really know how fast you are … but they sure can see how hard you try.

  2. Pat O'Brien

    The natural intelligence of the body tells you where the tiger is and how to avoid provoking it. All you have to do is listen. That and forget the numbers and treat competition as play time.


    1. Author
      Robot

      @Pat O’Brien – The “natural intelligence of the body” strikes me as the physiological analog of “common sense.” Both, equally uncommon.

    2. Pat O'Brien

      Isn’t that the truth? Thanks for the post Robot. It was entertaining and thought provoking at the same time. That is uncommon as well.

  3. Michael

    Growing up, I learned to approach wild animals without ever looking at them directly. Wander around, looking at other things, keeping them in the corner of your eye, as you slowly approach. Works on horses too. But on large predators? Watch Kirosawa’s Dersu Uzala to understand more about the tiger.

  4. Full Monte

    As I stare 50 square in the face and take stock of my riding at this point of the summer compared to years, decades previous, I’ve decided I can no longer hunt tigers. I now put the sneak on squirrels. Rabbits. Ferocious robins.

    My days mano-a-maneater are over, but I’ll keep turning the pedals over, best I can.

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