The Man Who Tried To Outrun A Giraffe

My name is Thomas Reed, and until my trip to Kenya, I had a rather high opinion of my physical fitness.

I ran five kilometres every morning, attended the gym three times a week and owned more sportswear than a professional athlete. My wife, Caroline, often complained that I could turn absolutely anything into a competition.

She was wrong.

I could turn absolutely anything into a competition and then insist that I had won, even when nobody else knew we were competing.

Our safari began beautifully. We spent a few days exploring Kenya, enjoying the landscapes and photographing wildlife. I was particularly excited about Lake Nakuru, where our guide, Joseph, promised we might see giraffes, rhinos, buffaloes and a wonderful variety of birds.

Joseph was an excellent guide. Patient, knowledgeable and blessed with a smile that suggested he had heard every ridiculous question a tourist could possibly ask.

He had not yet met me properly.

We were driving along a track when we spotted a giraffe standing beside a patch of trees. It was a magnificent animal, tall and elegant, with long legs and a neck that seemed to reach halfway into the sky.

Joseph slowed the vehicle.

“Look at that,” he said. “A beautiful giraffe.”

I leaned out slightly to get a better photograph.

“Remarkable,” I said. “They look rather awkward when they move, don’t they?”

Joseph smiled.

“They are surprisingly fast when they need to be.”

I looked at the giraffe.

Then I looked at Joseph.

“How fast?”

“Faster than you might expect.”

I should have left it there.

Instead, I said, “I reckon I could outrun one over a short distance.”

Caroline turned towards me.

“Thomas, please don’t start.”

“I am merely making an observation.”

“You are making a fool of yourself.”

Joseph politely pretended to be interested in a distant bird.

I continued.

“Obviously, it has longer legs, but I have better acceleration. Over fifty metres, I might stand a chance.”

Joseph finally looked at me.

“Thomas, I would not recommend trying.”

I laughed.

“Of course not. I’m not going to chase a giraffe.”

Those words would later become extremely important.

We drove on and stopped at a safe viewing point where several giraffes were feeding. Joseph explained how they browsed on trees and how their height helped them reach vegetation other animals could not.

I was taking photographs when I noticed one giraffe walking across the open ground.

“Look at that,” I said. “It isn’t even trying.”

Caroline sighed.

“Can we please enjoy the animals without you challenging them?”

I promised to behave.

For approximately seven minutes.

We stopped at another viewpoint, and while Joseph was explaining something about the surrounding habitat, I decided to stretch my legs beside the vehicle. I remained close to the guide and within the designated safe area.

Then I saw a giraffe moving briskly across a clearing.

Without thinking, I started jogging along the path in the same direction, hoping to get a better angle for a photograph.

“Thomas!” Caroline called.

I turned.

“What?”

“Stop running!”

“I am not chasing it!”

From the vehicle, one of our fellow travellers shouted, “Come on, Thomas! Give it a chance!”

That was all it took.

My competitive instincts woke up.

I increased my pace.

The giraffe, entirely unaware of the drama unfolding behind it, continued moving across the clearing.

I ran a little faster.

Then Joseph’s voice cut through the air.

“Thomas! Stop where you are. Return to the vehicle.”

There was no mistaking the seriousness in his tone.

I stopped immediately.

The giraffe carried on walking, apparently uninterested in the world’s most pointless sporting event.

The world’s most pointless sporting event.

I returned to the vehicle, where Caroline was waiting with the expression of a woman who had just discovered that her husband had been replaced by a particularly foolish teenager.

“What were you thinking?” she demanded.

“I was getting a photograph.”

“You were running after a giraffe!”

“I was running in the same direction as a giraffe.”

Joseph opened the vehicle door.

“Thomas, there is no need to test your speed against wildlife. We observe animals from a safe distance and allow them to move naturally. They can behave unpredictably, and we never approach or chase them.”

His words sobered me more effectively than any lecture from Caroline.

“I understand,” I said.

And I did.

The rest of the drive was peaceful. We saw more giraffes, spotted a rhino in the distance and watched buffaloes grazing in the grass. I kept both feet firmly inside the vehicle and took photographs like a sensible adult.

That evening, back at the lodge, we sat around the dinner table discussing the day’s adventures.

Our fellow traveller, a retired engineer called Peter, raised his glass.

“To Thomas,” he announced.

I looked suspiciously at him.

“What now?”

“To the only man I know who travelled thousands of miles to photograph African wildlife and nearly entered the Olympics against a giraffe.”

The table erupted.

Caroline laughed so hard she had to put down her fork.

I tried to defend myself.

“For the record, I never actually raced the giraffe.”

Peter nodded solemnly.

“Of course not. The giraffe declined the challenge.”

From that evening onwards, whenever I mentioned running, Caroline would ask whether I had checked the competition first.

I returned home with wonderful photographs of Kenya, including several of giraffes.

My favourite shows one standing elegantly in the distance.

Underneath it, I wrote a caption:

Lake Nakuru, Kenya. A beautiful animal. A very sensible distance.

I have since learnt that being fit is a good thing.

Being foolish is optional.

And if a safari guide tells you not to race a giraffe, take his advice.

The giraffe has been training for this its entire life.