(This post is part of a series of 50+ short stories from my adventures over the years. It will be eventually assembled into a book under the same title.)

The first time I met Tonya Harding, she was naked, and so was I.

I was in the Olympic village in Lillehammar, Norway when it happened. As we arrived to the games, the story about Tonya and her boyfriend’s abortive attempt to hire a hitman to take Nancy Kerrigan out of the Olympic trials to guarantee Tonya a spot was breaking daily. I had known Nancy for a couple of years, running into her at various international competitions but I had never met Tonya.

Within the security of the Olympic Village, there was a sports performance room with a big domed roof that you could show up to 24/7 and receive all kinds of sports therapy - the most common being a massage. On about the 3rd day, after a particularly tough workout, I decided to take advantage of the massage and entered the room relatively late at night, about 11 pm. The space featured dozens of massage tables in pairs, each sharing a TV on a cart all of which were broadcasting Olympic coverage 24/7. Since it was Scandinavia, the protocol was to enter the main area, head to a small changing room, strip naked, put on a single towel (2 towels if female), and plop down on a table where a masseuse would magically appear. I followed protocol and wearing my towel, laid face down watching the TV out of the corner of my right eye as the therapist began working on my calves and hamstrings. At some point, I could hear that someone else had entered the room and was now on the bed next to me.

At some point, it was my time to rotate my head to the right as the masseuse worked my shoulders and as I did so I saw the form of a female facing away from me with two towels on and a blond bob of hair. I had suspicions as to whom it might be but I was not sure.

Just then there was a change to the rhythm of the TV coverage. “Breaking news in the Tonya Harding, Nancy Kerrigan story - it appears that Tonya Harding may have had prior knowledge of the attack on Nancy Kerrigan orchestrated by her boyfriend Jeff Gillooly.”

Beside me, the blond bob of hair quickly swiveled and suddenly I was staring Tonya Harding in the face. We were just three feet apart and our eyes locked. I panicked and desperately sought a way out - I felt that I was a voyeur in her nightmare and did not want to participate or add to her stress. I began to look away and pretended that I didn’t hear that, and didn’t know her.

However, Tonya was having none of this. With her left hand, she latched out onto my right wrist which was holding the remote to the TV. “No, no, turn it up, turn it up! I want to hear this!”

There was no shame at all. She simply wanted to hear her name on TV. (I would argue that this was also a “consciousness of innocence” - a subtle form of proof that she had nothing to do with the attack.)

Fast forward, I am at the 2018 Olympics sitting in the NBC broadcast booth watching figure skating. Suddenly, Terry Gannon, the primary commentator looks through his papers and says to Johnny Weir and Tara Lipinski. “Mirai Nagasu just landed the first triple axel jump in international competition since Tonya Harding in 1991! The first time in 27 years!”

Tonya had a tough upbringing, but there was no doubt of her talent, and in my book, the brief interaction with her in the sports performance room was “evidence of innocence.” Had she been guilty of plotting the attack on Nancy, I suspect she would have averted her gaze. Just one person’s opinion…

Why Am I Still Alive? Pt. 5: The First time I Met Tonya Harding