evidence: I’m not as good a runner as I used to be. This revelation came somewhere between the ninth and first floors of a murky, bomb-ravaged building located at the edge of no-man’s land in the Donbas region of eastern Ukraine.I began scrambling downstairs after our sentinel, positioned nearby, yelled "run!" I did not ask why, or linger to consider how only minutes before we had inched up these very same stairs, stepping carefully in each other’s footsteps to avoid setting off any booby-traps secreted to maim, mutilate, or murder anyone scouting this abandoned edifice. Children’s toys, full bottles of alcohol and other seemingly innocuous household items can be the disguised agents of destruction, something I learned a few days earlier at the Ukrainian Armed Forces Demining Centre in Kamyanets-Podilsky. No matter. I ran for my life.It was only after I got outside and turned a corner into the comparative safety of shadows behind the building that I was told a Russian tank had emerged from the distant rubble, maneuvering to take a shot. We didn’t offer the enemy a chance for target practice.What surprised me was that I experienced no fear. Instead I was quite resigned.