Don't Tell Me You're Afraid by Giuseppe Catozzella Read Free Book Online

side. He was joking, but I took it seriously, as always when it came to running.
    â€œAabe, I’m ten years old now.”
    â€œYes, and that’s another reason why if you win . . .”
    I didn’t let him finish. “I’m ten and you’ll see, when I’m seventeen I’ll run in the Olympics. That’s how far I want to go.”
    He started laughing.
    â€œAabe, I’m going to run in the 2008 Olympics, when I’m seventeen. That’s my goal,” I repeated that morning. “You’ll see.” I paused. “In fact, one day I’ll even win.”
    â€œSo tell me . . . where will the 2008 Olympics be held, here in Somalia?” he asked wryly, knowing full well that wasn’t possible.
    â€œNo. In China,” I said, still fingering the headband.
    â€œAh, in China. So you’re going to China, then?”
    â€œOf course, I can’t run in the Chinese Olympics from here, Aabe.”
    At that point he looked at me seriously. He’d finally realized that I wasn’t joking.
    â€œAll right, Samia, I believe you,” he said, stroking my hair. “If you’re so determined, then you’ll get there for sure.”
    Then he shifted in his chair as if to look at me more closely, for the first time seeing me with new eyes. “You’re a little warrior running for freedom,” he said. “Yes, you’re a real little warrior.” As he spoke he started adjusting the elastic band on my forehead. Our fingers touched. “If you really believe it, then one day you will lead Somali women to liberation from the bondage in which men have placed them. You will be their leader, my little warrior.”
    It was the first time I’d said that about the Olympics and also the first time it had popped into my head. I had never thought of it before. Yet as soon as I said it, nothing seemed more real to me.
    Aabe’s promise of a gift must have been enough to spark something inside of me that I didn’t even know I had. His words had officially sealed my heart.
    That day Alì took me to the start of the race in a wheelbarrow so I wouldn’t get tired. I tried to get out of it every way I could, but he insisted, saying he was my coach and that I had to do whatever he ordered. And so I arrived at the start on that throne.
    Alì had planned it all out: He left me there and rode a neighborhood boy’s bike up to the stadium to get there early and be waiting for me at the finish line.
    It was the usual seven-kilometer route that I had run a thousand times, not a short-distance speed race, which I was better at. But I was thin as a rail and weighed little more than a feather, as Alì said, so I had some advantage over the others.
    â€œYou have to learn to fly, Samia,” he kept telling me. “If you learn to fly, you’ll beat them all.”
    I was so light that if I learned to catch the wind I would easily be as fast as a rocket; that was his theory.
    At first it sounded silly, but then I thought more about it. Maybe he was right. I had to try to make myself as light as possible, direct my weight upward. And try to stay on the outer edge, so I wouldn’t have anyone in back of me and could let the wind push me from behind. Then, once I was out in front, it would all be easier. No one would steal my air.
    What I had to do was minimize the contact my feet made with the ground.
    I had to learn to fly.
    That day, when the starter pistol went off, I forgot everything.It had never happened to me before, but since then it hasn’t failed to happen, every time I’ve won. My mind was able to create a blank and focus only on positive things.
    On the day of my tenth birthday I realized that running freed me from my thoughts. And so, meter by meter, kilometer after kilometer, the skinny little girl was able to overtake the majority of the group and get behind the four fastest runners.
    In my head were