Day 239: Running for my Life

The week before I left Nar'yan Mar, Russia, I was at a party on the first floor of the building where I was living. My host asked to see photos of my family (always take photos when you travel--people are as curious about you as you are about them) so I bounded up the flights of stairs to my apartment on the 4th floor. When I got to the top of the stair, there was a strange man wearing a yellow dog shopka--the traditional Russian fur hat. He stood smoking, leaning against the wall between the apartments on either side of the stairwell. There was a distinct sense of evil in his countenance.

I walked into my the entrance of my apartment and closed the door behind me. The entrance was lobby to two apartments, and the second door went into my living room. As I found my photo album, I heard the outer door open. Fear gripped me for a few moments, but I determined I would not be cowed by this man. I would not let fear rule my life. I walked out of my door into the stairwell with the man watching which door I was leaving from. Fine.

Perhaps I stayed too long at the party downstairs, because my host's middle-aged son and daughter were fairly lit by the time I left. "I love you, I love you!" said the man with the few teeth he had left, dangling in his mouth. I said my good-byes as politely as possible and shot up the stairs with the little man trying to chase me, proclaiming his love.

At the bottom of the third story stairs, a couple of young men sat, holding their hands up in a "Halt!" position. With the drunk man still following me and no time to try out my slow Russian explanation of why I couldn't stop, I grabbed the guys hand and moved it out of my way, continuing my run up the stairs--except that he had grabbed my hand with both of his and wrenched my thumb from my hand. Madness? Instinct? Genius? Not sure what happened, but I kicked him in the kidney. He let go of my hand. Both men were on their feet. I continued to run up the stairs--thinking only of escaping the little drunk man.

When I got to the landing, I looked back. Both men were right there--the hand grabber a couple steps back from me.

At that moment, in a clear, calm, concise voice, I heard the words, "Punch him." This part of the story is only like looking at old black and white photographs. I can see my clenched fist in my peripheral, right next to my ear, and I can see those men on the steps--stopped forever, mid step. The next photo is of hand-grabber, falling backward with his head thrown backward to the side. Next is a photo of the landing--close up, where I think I must have tripped tripped because I wasn't actually stopped on the landing, but on the step just before the landing. And then comes the moment of impossible and confusing detail--the crack in the glass of my photo album because I dropped it, the purple lines across the back of my hand that remained bruised for months after I got back to the States, the metal edge of the concrete stairs, the coldness of the cement under my knees. And again that calm, clear voice: "Scream."

I opened my mouth and let out murderous rapture. There was not a living soul in or around that building who did not come running to see what the commotion was. My two assailants departed, and within seconds, two more young men flew down the stairs from the floor above.

Four. There were four men to take me. I don't know where, I don't know why. But I know that that little drunk man, saved my life.

Within seconds I was surrounded by friends--strangers who cared enough to find me a blanket, wrap me up, escort me home. People who picked up my broken album and jewelry and brought it to me with an apology for it being broken. People who did not speak my language, but cared anyway.

The police came quickly and took a report, translated through Tatiana Ivonovna, my friend. I was never really alone in Nar'yan Mar after that. People knew and watched out for me.

Strangely, this experience made me less afraid to go to Moscow for a week on my own. Until that point, I'd been very nervous about it. It wasn't a cocky feeling that I could take care of myself, but a humble gratitude that I was being so fervently watched over.


Tonight, JE and I ran though the trails of Irvine-one of the safest cities in the U.S., if not the world. We met no one on the trail, all was safe and quiet. But emotionally, I really needed that run. When those demons of self doubt start tearing at me, running is a tremendous relief. Cycling, too, though it's harder to get the burn in my muscles. Not swimming--swimming in a pool is far too introverted.