Streak for Tigers

So tonight I did the ZSL ‘Streak for Tigers’ run, and it was…well, it was surprisingly sweet. I rocked up late (damn you, stupid meeting!) and without mobile battery (damn you, stupid phone!), so I already felt pretty naked, even with my work suit still on.

It didn’t help that I had to walk through a sizeable crowd of my fellow streakers in order to reach the registration desk. They milled around in their masks, and their foil blankets, and their body paint – but most of all, they milled around stark (bollock) naked, and happy with it, while I sweated and apologised my way between them.

I got undressed upstairs in the pavilion, quickly and with more apprehension than I’d anticipated. Did I then nip to the loos and have a few stern words with my cock, to make sure it understood its responsibilities? I couldn’t possibly say.

I’ve run marathons, and half marathons, and fun runs of various lengths, and they all follow the same initial formula: get changed, stuff your kit into a drawstring bag, hand it in to a cheery young attendant, pace nervously around a designated warm-up area…and tonight was no different. The changing area was suitably soulless and the structural integrity of the drawstring bags did not inspire confidence, but the ZSL staff members were incredibly professional, friendly and non-judgemental; they made me and (I suspect) a lot of other people feel more welcome and less absurd than they might have done.

The same was true of my fellow runners. In fact, between the free shots, the gingerbread cookies, the music and the camera phones, the mood was pretty demob-happy by the time I wandered back down and joined the throng. And that’s when it hit me…

Go into a pub. Go into a bar. Go into a posh members-only restaurant, or a working-men’s club. Go into a leisure centre or a private gym. A supermarket, a department store. A hairdresser’s. A bookie’s. Your local chippy.

Go into all those places, and you won’t find as diverse a group of people as I found today. Old, middle-aged, young; tall, short; skinny, athletic, average, chubby, fat; able-bodied, disabled; male, female. Different classes, different ethnicities, and everywhere I looked, just a tremendous amount of goodwill. Nudity is a great equalizer, but in a more relaxed and less juvenile way than a lot of people assume, which is why I quickly realised that I was among friends.

By the time they ushered us down to the start line, and encouraged us to get rid of our foil blankets, I was completely at ease. People were taking photos on their phones, dancing around arm-in-arm, laughing and joking: it was as if we’d all forgotten that we were naked, and just wanted to get out there and run.

The ‘course’ was 350m long. I did four laps. Some people did more – a lot more. I spoke to one chap, midway through my third circuit, who had done 12 laps the year before, and when I looked down on the zoo afterwards from the balcony, fully clothed, I saw him still trotting around, waving at what was left of the crowd.

In our registration packs, we were sent tiger masks and told that it was fine to wear them, but of the 150-200 runners, I’d say that fewer than half decided to exercise that option – I certainly didn’t. Instead, once the curtain opened, we just ran: ran, and walked, and chatted, as we might have done in another park, on another summer’s day, in running shorts and vest.

Because in the end, that’s how absurd our attitude to nudity can be. We allow small patches of material – a bikini, a pair of boxers – to dictate how we feel about the human body, and to assuage our shame about seeing…or being seen. Sure, it’s context-dependent – what’s appropriate in a members’ gym might not be in a school changing room – but it’s also more universal than most people are willing to acknowledge, and tonight reminded me of that. From an early age, we’re taught that nudity is bad, and I would love, LOVE for that to change.

Tonight I walked, and ran, and smiled my way around London Zoo for, ooh, about ten minutes, and I’d have happily spent another two hours just hanging out, chatting to my fellow streakers. I wish we could have had a few beers together while naked, or gone to see the tiger cubs without getting dressed first.

We did get dressed though, and most of us did it with adrenaline still pumping through our bodies. I was surprised at first by how many people I met who took part in the same event last year; by the time I left the Zoo, I was already looking forward to my next naked visit. I hope to see a bunch of you there next time too.