On Diplomacy in Bright Nike Running Tights

"On Diplomacy in Bright Nike Running Tights"
By Christopher M. Kirchhoff
Beepbeep.
Beepbeep.
Beepbeep. With a series of subtle but relentless beeps, my faithful Timex Ironman watch alarm signaled the start of another day, gently ending the pleasant slumber I
so often fail to enjoy. With the touch of a button I silenced the alarm, falling back on my bed to establish a firmer grasp of where I was and why on earth I had set my alarm for 5:45 A.M. Slowly the outline of my soundly sleeping roommate came into
focus. Beyond his bed was the window. Across the Neva River the view of the
Hermitage and Winter Palace, illuminated brightly with spotlights, faded in and out of the falling snow. I was definitely still in St. Petersburg, and no, this wasn't a
dream. "Oh yes, running," I remembered. "Must go running."
Temperature??? I dialed the front desk. "Kakoy tempatura pozholsta." Not fooled by my Berlitz Russian, the voice responded, "Negative 7 degrees" in crisp English. I
reached for my running tights, glad that meant negative seven degrees Celsius. I
took another look into the darkness outside. Negative seven degrees Fahrenheit and I would not be running. The hotel lobby was empty except for the guard and the woman at the desk. As I stepped outside, I pressed the start button on my Timex Ironman and began jogging.
It was a pristine morning. The November wind promptly reminded me just what winter meant at 60 degrees north latitude. With the sky awaiting the break of dawn,
I started making my way through the newly fallen snow. Soon the sound of my labored breathing came through the rhythmic swooshing of running shoes dancing through the snow. As clouds of breath collected in front of me, I passed slowly
through them, marking my forward progress with each exhale. Around the corner I found a freshly shoveled sidewalk. Following the inviting path, I soon came upon the
shoveler, an old man sporting the classic Russian winter outfit: fur cap, long coat,
and mittens. Time had left its mark on his wrinkled face and worn clothing. Despite the falling snow, which accumulated at a far greater pace than the man could keep
up with, he continued to shovel relentlessly, barely glancing up as I jogged by him.
I respect his perseverance. He was working fiercely in the Russian spirit. And as the
war medals proudly displayed on his coat indicate, he had been doing so for a while. Perhaps this man was one of the few that survived the Nazi siege on Leningrad, a
living reminder of why the United States must remain deeply involved in world
politics. As I turned and ran across the bridge leading downtown, the battleship Potemkin came into view. The Potemkin began the second Russian Revolution by training its
guns on the Winter Palace. Still afloat as a working museum, young sailors in full military dress cleared its decks of snow. While I ran past the ship, a sailor stopped to wave. As his inquisitive eyes stared into mine, we both recognized each other's young age. I waved back, shouting, "Doebroyah ootra," wishing him a good morning. A few seconds later I glanced back, noticing that the same sailor was still looking at me. I must have been quite a sight in my brightly colored Nike running suit treading
through a foot of new snow. "How ironic," I thought, "here stands a high school aged
Russian sailor shoveling snow off a ship which I studied in history class, while each of us is equally bewildered at the other's presence."
By the time I reached the Hermitage the sky was clear enough to see my reflection in the cold black of the Neva River. While running past the Winter Palace, I
quickened my pace, half expecting the Tsarina to step out and stop my progress. I sprinted through Revolution Square, glancing left to see the spot where Tsar Nicolas abdicated and right to see the monument commemorating the defeat of Napoleon. While trodding through historic St. Petersburg, I reflected on the last discussion I
had with Sasha, my Russian host student. Sasha, top in his class in the "diplomatic" track of study, had talked about his political beliefs for the first time. What begun as a question-and-answer session about life in the United States became a titanic
struggle between political ideals. Sasha's tone and seriousness clearly indicated that
our discourse was not for pleasure. He wanted to know about our government and
what democracy meant for him and his people. Being the first U.S. citizen Sasha had ever met, I felt obligated to represent my country as best I could. Realizing that my response could forever shape his impression of democracy in the U.S., the
importance of my mission as a student ambassador became even more apparent.
For Russians, democracy remains a new and untrusted method of government. Clearly, Russia is still in a state of change, vulnerable to the forces of the past and
skeptical of the future. Sasha, unable to share my faith in the democratic political process, listened patiently to my explanations. I tried my best to help Sasha
conceptualize what the United States is about and just what it means to be an
American. For the sake of both countries I hope he accepted my prodemocracy
argument. It was conversations like these that brought a new sense of urgency to
my time in Russia. Through the course of my visit, Sasha and I came to know each other and each other's people. His dream of serving as a diplomat may very well
materialize. Perhaps someday Sasha will be in a position to make decisions that affect the United States. I hope my impression will in some way affect his judgment
in a positive manner.
After jogging up the hotel steps, I pressed the stop button. Not bad for a morning run I thought. Sixty-four minutes in deep snow, about seven miles' worth. Press Mode button. Time zone one: E.S.T. Columbus, Ohio. It was Saturday night back home Thinking of home, I remembered the student in my homeroom who cried, "You mean you're gonna go and meet those Commies? So you think you can change the world?" Press Mode button.
Time zone two: St. Petersburg, Russia, November 4, 1995. greeting the dawn of a
new day I thought, "Perhaps! Perhaps in some small way I can change the world,
one conversation at a time." ANALYSIS
The month that Christopher Kirchhoff spent in Russia as a "student diplomat" undoubtedly provided him with more than enough experiences to include in an admissions application. But in his essay "On Diplomacy in Bright Nike Running
Tights," Kirchhoff successfully avoids falling into the trap of many applicants whose
statements are based on once-in-a-lifetime opportunities.
Kirchhoff easily could have written something along the lines of, "My time in Russia provided me with a rare opportunity to witness an emerging democracy grappling
with its newfound freedom. Armed with a keen interest in the post-Communist plight, I set forth to learn from my Russian brethren and to teach them about their American peers." These statements are not necessarily untrue, but they are also not especially original. Such an essay would hardly stand out among a stack of statements written by students retelling the glory of winning the state
debate/football/academic challenge championship.
Instead, Kirchhoff tells the admissions committee about the Russia he has come to know on his early-morning jogs. We learn that he is a disciplined runner, a
perceptive observer of human nature, a willing learner of the Russian language.
Bright Nike running tights, his Time Ironman, and the rhythmic swooshing of his
running shoes are details that his audience will remember. They also provide the
perfect segue into the more substantive issues Kirchhoff wants to address in his essay – the conversations he has had with Russians his age. The reader gets to
know Kirchhoff before we get to know his views on such weightier subjects as diplomacy and the American role in international relations.
While his supposedly verbatim thoughts after waving to the young sailor sound stilted, Kirchhoff's understated and personal approach throughout the majority of
his essay makes up for his waxing a bit too eloquent at times. Ideally, it would have been nice to hear just as much detail about his conversations with Sasha as we do about St. Petersburg at 6 A.M. The essay loses the details when it matters most.
Also in terms of detail, Kirchhoff makes a slight error in his statement that "the
Potemkin began the second Russian Revolution by training its guns on the Winter Palace." It was in fact that Aurora that fired mostly blank rounds on the palace – the battleship Potemkin was the scene of a 1905 revolt by sailors in Odessa. These mistakes are rather minor since the essay is not particularly centered on the ship. However, let this serve as a valuable lesson: it is important to extensively check all facts used in your essay.
Still, Kirchhoff's essay works.