Have you ever had one of those days?  No, I mean the one where you think nothing can go wrong.  On that Sunday, early in November, I could not have asked for a better day.  It started with brunch, mimosas and sun, followed up by watching movies, lounging around and Trader Joe’s runs with good friends in Berkeley.  How was I supposed to know how my day would take a turn?

Heading back to San Francisco that late afternoon I could not have anticipated what happened next or how I would react.  Walking past the crowded bus stop I should have noticed the man turn to walk ahead of me.  I must have looked an easy target; iPhone in hand, headphones in, and a box of pumpkin macaroons in tow.  I had walked this street thousands of times since moving to SF, sometimes even dozens a day, and at times much later than this.  The sun was still setting and days light had still not yet come to rest.

He seemed out of place in his attire, but I told myself to think nothing of it.  I was racial profiling and felt guilty.  I glanced up from my phone to witness him turn into a doorway ahead of me.  I couldn’t help but think if I crossed to the other side of the street, then and there, I would be contributing to some sort of discrimination and somehow appear racist.  I don’t know why these thoughts skipped over my mind.  I should have allowed my personal awareness and gut instincts kick in.

Walking past the doorway now, a sense of relief passed over me.  I was a mere 20 paces from my front door.  I would be home.  I would be safe.  Just then, a hand jets over my shoulder and attempts to jerk my phone from my hand.  Already with a tight grip I didn’t let go.

I had heard attempted mugging tales from friends.  If at first they don’t succeed, they’d take off, booking it in another direction.  They’d lose the element of surprise.

SURPRISE!  A full forced right hook to the side of my head by the second assailant.  I fell back, catching myself, but losing grip of my phone.  The two men darted off, holding up their pants along the way.  You’d think I’d back down, head inside and count myself fortunate my injuries could have been worse than my pride and a bruised temple.  But no, those schoolyard instincts took over.  Adrenaline, pure adrenaline took hold of me.  I was not startled, no pause for recovery like I should have.  This was not my first hit taken.  This was not my first fight.

But hold that thought.  This was not a fight.  This was not two kids in a parking lot settling a stupid disagreement.  Why was I even in that mindset?  The only thing going through my head was, “I wouldn’t let it be that easy for them.”

Some animal instinct took hold of me. Before I could even fathom what just happened, what I was doing, or the possible consequences, I darted off after them.  Turning the corner it was easy to catch up.  I was not the 225 lb. videogame nerd I once was.  Running every day for fun, the speed that came from within me seemed as natural as breathing.  With every leap forward, another step towards my goal.  What was I thinking?  The answer is hard to admit but easy to see.  I was not.

In my last lunge forward I let out a yell, I can only describe as primal… or insane.  Probably not the smartest thing as the mugger with my phone now turned and was aware of my pursuit.

Fighting isn’t how you picture in the movies.  There are no clean punches or splatters of blood across the sidewalk.  It closer resembles a wrestling match between brothers.  It’s more about knowing how to throw your and your opponents weight to your advantage.

Our hands on one another’s collar, sleeve or whatever we could grasp, wasn’t clean and certainly not elegant.  I thought of defense tactics you hear about but never expect to use; as my thumb began to enter my assailant’s eye.  Each our hand on the others throat, I didn’t even think to breathe.  Throwing the mugger into the wall I got this glimmer of hope, the irrational thought, I may actually “win” this, getting my phone back.  Alas, there were two.

The second mugger, now aware his cohort not by his side, returned to join in the fray.  Now two against one, we entered a dance of sorts. Spinning out of control.  Tangled in one another’s steps we were all of us thrown to the ground.

Faster to their feet, I began to feel the sharp pain of TImberlands in my chest, stomach, and back.  A final blunt kick the back of my head left me disoriented.  Enough time for the two to make a run to their parked car.  A car I passed when chasing after them.

A sensible person would have stopped there.  I should have.  Back on my feet I jetted toward the open passenger door.  Fortunately, one logical portion of my brain had me jerk my arm back before the door had a chance to slam on my hand.  At this point, unhinged from rational thought I tried to break the window.

The smile of the man closest to me still haunts me today as they sat in their car laughing.  Why didn’t I end it there?  Proceeding to the front of the car I tried to stop them from leaving.  Yes, exactly, what an IDIOT?!

I guess I couldn’t get it through my head that not everyone has a conscience. They had no reason to care about my well-being?  They could give a fuck whether or not they ran me over then and there.  But, I wasn’t raised to think that way.  I couldn’t comprehend the thought processes of someone who could hurt without feeling remorse.

The car lurched forward and I got my first flash of reality, though nothing completely kicked in.  My hands on the hood, feet sliding and shuffling on the pavement as the driver toyed with me.  Pumping the gas and grinding the brake.  A half-trip, my foot sliding under the car inches from the tire, and my sense of awareness finally kicked in.  “WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING?!”  Is this what my life means to me?  Not for a phone, but to make a point?   Even so, my message would not be grasped by criminals with no conscience.  Why would they even give a fuck?

Finally awake, I stepped out of the path of a moving vehicle as it sped off into the night.  Just as another car lays on their horn I realize where I am.  In the middle of an intersection, 30 or so feet from where the getaway car initially was parked.  Who did I think I was?

Slowly, almost casually I made my way back home.  Not comfortably running, my knees stung from when I was thrown to the ground.  Or was it from the initial punch; I knew not.

Stumbling over a box of macaroons, I became aware of how blind I was.  Now scouring the street for my glasses presumably knocked from my face in the initial blow.  Ironic no?  Take away my sight and I became blinded by rage.  A mistake I will not make twice.

Facing muggers alone in the dark, unaware if they had a knife or gun even.  I’m amazed I’m still here today after all of my stupidity.  I count myself a lucky idiot.