We’ve all thrown down the gauntlet — a phrase that roughly means to challenge or confront a foe. A gauntlet is a heavy armored glove developed by medieval knights, who literally would fling their gauntlet down in front of their opponent, which was an insult that had to be answered with fisticuffs, or, if you will, by taking up the gauntlet. I love the word fisticuffs, which is exactly what it sounds like — using your fists to cuff another person around or otherwise engage in pummeling your opponent. “Engaging in fisticuffs after throwing down the gauntlet” sounds a million times better than beating the tar out of someone.
Recently, an archeological dig in Switzerland unearthed a well-preserved armored gauntlet from the 1300s near Kyburg Castle near the Swiss-German border. Looking at pictures of gauntlets, they couldn’t have been comfortable to wear for a long time, and on hot days out there on the Crusades, would have baked your hands. It seems that Swiss knights were just as forgetful as we modern warriors when it comes to losing our gloves. Before the recent polar express in January, I found three gloves, none matching, stuffed into winter coat pockets. I have no idea how the others wandered off, perhaps they are hiding out with all the mismatched socks in an alternate universe. Perhaps some archeologist 500 years from now will find them buried in debris and display them in a museum.
After metal gloves fell out of favor, leather and other materials were used to create heavy, protective gloves for the fighting man, as well as the working man. Metal workers and welders needed protection from hot metal and abrasions. In the west, leather gauntlets were worn by ranchers and frontiersmen. Long lace gloves, while not protective, are sometimes worn by brides even today.
Today’s throwing of gauntlets is metaphoric, of course. No one wears armored gloves anymore, and we don’t directly fling them at the people who have insulted or dishonored us. Today, most of our beefs are handled with muttering side glances, hand gestures of various kinds, a beep or two of a car horn, and other indirect indications of displeasure. Perhaps the boldest among us will directly confront the object of their annoyance, but given the many unknowns, most of us will handle things by not handling anything. Unfortunately, there are also those among us who pick up a weapon and settle things more permanently.
The latest throwing of gauntlets around here has been at the festering potholes caused by the freeze/thaw/freeze/thaw cycle that is all the rage here in Indianapolis. I have run the gauntlet (another kind of gauntlet that has nothing to do with iron gloves) on many roads, and can honestly say that I have felt insulted and have been dishonored by that terrifying kathunk-kathunk as my car’s tires hit what used to be pavement. If you drive, you know. If you don’t drive, you’ve probably overheard some pretty spicy language barked out by angry drivers who just ran the gauntlet of a series of kathunk-kathunk-chunk and popped a tire or broke some very expensive part of their vehicle. The kindly folk who put your car back together after one of these encounters will be able to retire nicely on all that cash, and the overtime paid to the other kindly folks who patch and repatch parts of our fair city will, I hope, fund their comfortable retirement in a warmer place with no potholes.
The non-glove term gauntlet comes from the Swedish word gatlopp, meaning a lane course — a form of military punishment where a man ran between two rows of soldiers who would strike him with sticks or other non-lethal weaponry as he passed by. To run the gauntlet. metaphorically, is to be tested in a public trial while your foes attempt to whack you around. So again, every time we set out in our vehicles during pothole season we are running the gauntlet as we weave around trying to avoid pain and suffering.
Whether you are running one, throwing one, or wearing one, gauntlets are a painful way to avoid pain.