Chapter 1:  Origin Story

There are multiple ways to obtain a deep seated trauma in your childhood years.

Mine started with Soviet gymnastics.

When I turned 6, Dad decided I must do sports.  It was one of the cornerstone axioms of the Soviet system: a proper citizen needs to be physically strong, mentally resilient, and ready to serve as (an unproblematic) nut in a never stopping machine.  

Survival of the fittest was the name of the game; bearing pain without complaint – a top praised virtue.

So I walked into an austere, freezing gym on a grey winter morning in my Siberian home town, and was immediately told by a bunch of unsmiling adults that 6 is too old.  The ligaments should be stretched regularly – preferably, starting at 2-3 years old.

To make a point, a coach stood over me and pressed on my shoulders with their whole adult body weight to force me do a full split right there on the spot.   When I yelped, they pushed harder.  For them, it was a test if I knew how to submit.  For me, it was a no thank you.  By then, I had already tasted the violence of the outside world. And I knew I wouldn’t excel at taking it on the chin, with a mandated smile plastered to my face.

So I took my things and walked out of there, giving my parents a one-man performance at home, dramatic enough to free me from going back there ever again.

But my Dad wasn’t going to let it go.  As a (juvenile delinquently inclined) youth himself, his life was given meaning and structure by sports.  Boxing, basketball, volleyball, biathlon and handgun shooting, no sport was too challenging to him.  That’s where he thrived, exercised leadership and what helped to keep his demons at bay.  So naturally he wanted that for me.  Except our demons were from different species – but neither of us knew it back then.

Shortly after the gymnastics fiasco, we made a deal that I will try something more “mild”.  And I would not be allowed to quit that sport, no matter what.  


So one fateful morning he dropped me off at the town’s swimming pool where I joined, unbeknown to myself, a future Olympic reserve youth team, for many years to come.

What followed was a slow simmering, soul scarring, brain altering saga that shaped my whole relationship with sports for the rest of my adult life.  And not until this very ripe age of Too Adult To Carry This Trauma Around did I start to unpack what happened then, and what we are going to do about that now.

This is the multi-chapter story of that unpacking, as I’m preparing to compete in my first open water race this summer, the Hellespoint/Dardanelles event in Turkey of 4.5km from Europe to Asia.  

Days to race:  30

#DardaDiary