Not the message I want to send anymore

I'm running again. Don't get too excited, now; I'm only a couple of weeks into my old mainstay, so it's not like I'm ready to qualify for Boston. But my knees aren't in agony when I head out any more, so hopefully I have reached the point where my body once again accepts this as being normal.

The trick to it, I found, is that I really, really am a morning running person. I just can't go at night. For the longest time I swore up and down that I was going to go running every single night, and then the lure of the TV/computer/housework/phone/sewing machine/project du jour/bed proved too much, and I didn't do it. Finally one day I decided to set my alarm earlier and really, really try to make a point of getting to bed earlier, too, and it seems to be working for me. Life lesson number 47: go with the flow. You'll be much more successful that way.

But I've hit a roadblock.

We live on a fabulous greenbelt. There is a beautiful trail around the creek, and it runs right past the back of our property. A loop of this trail is the perfect length for a pre-work morning run. And here comes the kicker: there is a red-winged blackbird who has built his nest somewhere along the creek.

Somehow, I managed to live for 34 years without knowing how aggressive these damn birds are, but now I know all too well. Every time I get to a certain spot on the trail, this damn bird swoops down at me. They flap around your head and even peck at you if they get brazen enough. I have never been one to be afraid of birds - I never really understood that Hitchcock movie - but now, they totally creep me out. Even just walking down the street. Any time I catch a robin or a sparrow out of the corner of my eye, I have this involuntary startle response. It's crazy.

The beauty of the trail behind our house is that it's a loop. Up one side of the creek, down the other side. So on the return trip, I get attacked again. I know it's coming, I brace myself, I do some speedwork to try to zip through the danger zone as quickly as possible. I turn my iPod off so I can listen for the caws that warn that a strike is imminent. But my heart still races every time I approach that area, and the bird never lets me off the hook.

When we wander down to the creek after dinner with the kids, we never have this problem. At that time of day there are so many people coming and going that the bird just sits and screams from a treetop. It's only during the mornings when I pass two or three other people on the path, tops, that I get his undivided attention. Chad is still running, and he heads out at night. He's never had this problem. Either there are still enough people out, even after dark, or else the bird has retired for the night. He's probably resting up so he can come after me bright and early the next morning.

I know this all sounds ridiculous. I started running when I was 14 and I just turned 34. In those 20 years of running, I have been attacked by dogs. I have come across snakes. I have been hit by a car. But I have never been bothered by a teeny, tiny little bird. And now I can't even walk down the street without ducking whenever anything moves. It's exhausting, this irrational fear of mine.

Lest you think I really am insane, Time magazine reported on this phenomenon at this time last year. So it's not just me. At first I was incredulous that I have made it through 20 years of running without this ever having happened before, but I guess there really is a difference between city streets and the marshy area around the creek. Territory makes all the difference.

So this morning, I gave up. I ran down my street and turned at the corner and ran past Liam's school, almost all the way to the grocery store before turning around and heading back. It was a much less scenic route. I missed the ducks and geese and the shade of the greenbelt. I still had my heart in my throat for the majority of the run, wondering when I was going to be viciously attacked from behind. But it never happened. I spotted a few red-winged blackbirds, but I think I was far enough from their nesting areas that they weren't on the offensive.

So I think I have figured out a work-around and have a plan in place to continue my running until the baby blackbirds have flown the coop and Papa Bird reins in his aggression. But it does make me rethink this cute little birdhouse that Chad just hung up in the back yard for me a couple of weeks ago. Now I am all afraid that a red-winged blackbird family will move in, and my own back yard will become off limits. I should have listened to Chad. He tried to talk me out of the birdhouse, but I wouldn't listen.