Run into the street

You run. Tears sting your eyes as you push your way past the clowns and out of the clown quarters, out of the back of the arena, out into the parking lot and the darkness beyond.

You run as far and fast as your legs can take you.

Given the ordeal you recently went through, this turns out to be about a quarter of a mile. You collapse, panting, in the middle of the road. Maybe the gods will show pity on you and a passing car will reduce you to dirtkill.