Experience: I fought off a mountain lion

Its claws were in my knees, my neck, my chest. Its jaw stretched over my head from my hairline to the back of my skull

I spent most of my early life without direction. Raised in Minnesota, my family was so large - I have six siblings - it felt as if it was survival of the fittest and I began acting up for attention. I had my first beer in kindergarten, my first joint in seventh grade and my first line of cocaine at high school. I was making my parents cry every day. Aged 24, I threw everything in a van and left for Colorado. Three months after arriving, I was broke. To help clear my head, I often hiked through Roxborough state park, about 15 miles south-west of Denver. There are no dogs or bicycles allowed there. It's just you and your hiking boots. From the top of the mountain the view is breathtaking - mountain ranges as far as you can see. I'd never felt a sense of calm like I did up there.

On 30 April 1998, I was 50 yards from the top of the mountain when I saw a long, brown tail poking out from behind a pine tree. There hadn't been a mountain lion sighting in the park for over a year, but I immediately knew that's what it was. I froze, watching the tree. The mountain lion's head would come up and look around, then it would go back to whatever it was eating, its jaws crunching through the bones of its kill.