Ekaterina continued walking toward the Arno River. She thought of her medal from the 2008 Olympics—bronze, heavy and cold. She thought of the Guinness World Record she held for the longest legs. She thought of the men on dating apps who messaged her: Can you step on me? and Do you play basketball? (Always the same two questions.)
Tonight, she was in Milan, walking a runway for a couture designer who didn't have to hem his pants. The theme was "Giants of the Earth." She almost laughed at the irony. For most of her life, people had treated her height as a spectacle, a freak-show banner. In Russia, the boys on the basketball court called her Spichka —Matchstick. Not out of cruelty, but out of a fear they couldn't name. ekaterina lisina
Ekaterina Lisina loved the quiet hum of the hotel elevator. For sixty seconds, she was alone. The doors would slide open to reveal the gasps, the double-takes, and the inevitable, “ Bozhe moi —how tall are you?” Ekaterina continued walking toward the Arno River
She smiled.
She needed only to exist, loudly and unapologetically, until the gasps turned into glances, and the glances turned into a simple, quiet nod of recognition. She thought of the men on dating apps
A cold wind rattled the plane trees. She pulled her coat tighter and looked at her reflection in a dark shop window. A giant. A model. An athlete.
The world was built for people five-foot-five. Airplane seats, showers, doorframes, poetry about small, delicate things. But tonight, walking alone in Milan, she felt a strange gratitude. The world might not fit her. But she didn't need it to.