Birdemic

There’s always going to be a “first” I guess. This morning I was attacked by a small bird while on a jog by the Riverfront.

I was caught by surprise when I felt what seemed like a mass of feathers falling into my hair. That’s weird, I thought. I’m not wearing a feathered hat right now.

Then I heard a hostile “caw” directly above me and felt wings flap and hit my face.

I reached a hand up to try and swat the bird away. The bird flew up a few feet while agilely dodging my swats, then dive-bombed me again. I felt one of its claws brush my cheek, but it narrowly missed scraping me.

What in the actual hell. First you’re stabbed by a tree branch, then you’re attacked by a psychotic tiny bird.

It was definitely tiny. We aren’t talking about a hawk here. This thing was about the size of a budgie, but wow did it have a Napoleon complex.

I’m sure it looked hilarious as I swatted at it and ran as fast as I could, while the bird dive-bombed me again and again. Eventually the bird gave up. Or maybe it found something more interesting to do this morning. I escaped unscathed!

My guess is that I ran through its territory during mating season or something. Why males gotta be like that?

Whatever the cause, I’ve been looking up towards the sky more frequently today. I might be for awhile.

As far as running goes, I’ve felt consistently pretty sore over the last week. I’ve been doing more speed-oriented running, which is a drastic change from marathon training.

My soreness has had me thinking of the inevitability of all things ending. At some point I will not be able to run like this. There will be a last marathon, a last day outside, and a last bird fight. There will also be a last swim and a last trip. Thinking of such a future brings me an intense melancholy. The best we can do is try to delay our inevitable decline. Yet the decline will happen, and fearing it won’t push it any further away.