I'm not sure I've ever written about my formerly-crippling fear of birds. It developed sometime around middle school and plagued me well into adulthood. I ducked and covered and avoided and panicked, all related to birds. Other people laughed about this, not because they didn't care about me, but because who's afraid of a friendly little robin?

Happily, I've been able to logic my way out of this phobia as I've grown older. I no longer scream when encountering birds or refuse to dine al fresco because of the possible presence of chickadees. I'll refuse to dine outdoors for other reasons--heat, cold, wind, a general dislike of things that others find "fun"--but small and harmless birds are no longer on the list.

Large birds, though, those are still very, very scary. I'm talking geese, swans, turkeys, and other species that walk or waddle on land. Even ducks are too big for me, and I'd prefer never to encounter them at close range.

So, imagine my horror when I encountered flocks of turkeys while trail running alone in the early morning this past Friday. There I was, just plodding along on some singletrack, forest bathing and whatnot, and then all of a sudden six or seven turkeys blocked the path in front of me.

I'll be honest, I screamed a little the first time I saw them. That turned out to be quite a successful strategy as I startled the turkeys and they ran up a hill. I wished to God I didn't have to pass them while they stood there on that hill above the trail, ready to attack, but there was no other reasonable choice. My heart pounds now as I remember the terror of the ordeal, but I did it. I passed the turkeys and nothing happened.

Later, two other turkeys scuttled ahead of me in a similar fashion, blocking and then clearing my way. I was terrified, but I carried on. The whole thing was an adventure. On this same run, I took a hard fall unrelated to the turkeys and scraped up my legs and jammed my finger. Through it all, I persevered with an adventurous sort of spirit.

Publishing: I'm working on something called "first pass pages," which is when you see your manuscript printed out exactly how it will look in the book with the right fonts and headers and page numbers. It's called "first pass," but really it means "last chance," because it's my very final opportunity to change anything. I'm not supposed to change much -- a word here or an error there. It feels a little nuts to be signing off on all of these sentences, all 96,000 words, or whatever, for the very last time. Many steps of writing Minor Dramas & Other Catastrophes have felt like adventures. Reading the pages as other people will (I hope!) read them is one of those steps.

Trail Running: I've finished the Endless Summer Trail Series, an adventurous race series at area parks. I really enjoy these little forays, heading into the woods and trying to finish faster than other people in my age group. I wish I could say that I don't care about winning, but everyone knows I do care about it. At these races, after my kids and my brother and I try to beat as many people as possible, we eat Dominoes pizza and drink a Summit India Extra Pale Ale. Well, the kids don't drink the beer. That's just for me and for other people over the legal age of 21. The pizza and the beer (and the Coke for the children) are included in the race fee, and if that isn't the best model ever, I don't know what is. I'm already looking forward to next summer's trail running adventures.

Eating Out: There's a place in St. Paul that's getting all sorts of buzz, and Dan and I are heading there to celebrate our 17th wedding anniversary tonight. When I thought to get the reservation, there were only two slots available: 5:15 and 8:00. I had to pick the earlier because, well, regardless of how capital-A adventurous our August is, we still have to be in bed by like 9.

Here I am finishing the hardest 5k I've ever run.

We're finishing the first week of summer vacation. Actually, I'm just thinking of it as "summer, "and not as "vacation." Last year, when I reframed the whole June-July-and August phenomenon as not time-off, but rather the start of my other jobs, I just felt much happier. I wasn't expecting to be luxuriating and feeling relaxed all the time.

Indeed, I'm not living a life of leisure over here. Instead, I'm being a novelist and a full-time parent and studying for my new job. All of these are time-consuming endeavors, but also a lovely change of pace from my normal 9-5. Or 6:30-5, as the case may be.

I've got a daily task list. It includes laundry and clutter clearing. And, most importantly, I've got butt-in-the-chair time to make progress on the book. The comprehensive revisions are due to my agent by August 6th. I'm excising two characters and adding one. I'm writing more internal thinking. I'm reworking the conflict. To be honest, it feels less like revision and more like re-writing, but so far, I think the changes are making the book more and better than it was before.

In addition, I've got running on the calendar. I joined a running team to celebrate my 40th birthday. I was lured by the possibility of scoring points for the team now that I'm old. Sure enough, I ran an extremely hard 5k last Wednesday. It was the slowest 5k I've ever run, and yet, I finished 2nd in the Women's Masters division. That's a point-scoring position! Yay for 40!

Let's do this, summer. I'm ready for you.

In last week's newsletter (let's be honest, if you're not getting the newsletter, you probably want the newsletter), I wrote about how I have this tendency to sign up for races and then under-train for them.
I did this once again with the Citytrail Loppet.  What happens is you sign up, think you're going to run a lot and be ultra prepared, and then you don't run and aren't. In any case, here are a few stand-out moments from my weekend single-track foray:

• My running pal, Paula, called me the night before the race to remind me to drink a lot of water. It was going to be sunny and hot on race day at 80+ degrees.  "Yep," I replied, thinking of the importance of hydration as I poured a stiff gin and tonic.
• As we milled around the starting line, we noticed that the crowd was extra fit, even for a running race.  "I don't see any cotton," Paula said.  Nope.  Everyone was wearing technical clothing and seemed perfectly muscled and slender.  "I usually rely on a third of the field to be wearing a cotton t-shirt," Paula said. "I'm looking for someone to beat," a friend told me.  "I volunteer," I agreed.
• I'd signed up to be in the first and fastest wave of the race, but on surveying the field, I demoted myself to the second.  Fewer people would need me to move over on the narrow trails to pass.  This was a good choice.  
• Even though the runners are for real, I've noticed that people are generally pretty cheerful and chatty in single-track trail races.  Like, racers in front of you will say, "Let me know if you want to go by!" while leading you deftly through the woods.  It's nice. And then, when people do pass each other, they generally offer an encouraging word or two.  I upheld this tradition heartily.  But, not weirdly or creepily.  It's a balance.
• Something that still weirds me out about trail running is that people generally walk up steep hills.  My high school cross country coach made it seem like the worst, wussiest thing you could ever do to walk up (or down) a hill.  The trail running people have a different philosophy. Their theory is that running hills takes more energy than it's worth in terms of total time.  I like this philosophy, and I think I could probably, with a little time and concentration, turn it into a metaphor for life.
• At the finish line, you got a pint glass and a technical t-shirt with a cool sun logo.  Who doesn't like swag?  I'll remember the effort fondly in my new t-shirt.  I didn't run super fast, but I had a super good time.