Early one morning, a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving, I went out for a run. At 5:00 AM it was cold and clear, dark but with a full moon just a few days from blooming. Rare enough at that hour, even in warm weather, I saw no other people out on my route. I like it that way, and it's one of the reasons I enjoy running so early in the morning. I love the peace and solitude. I occasionally wear an iPod, but usually I just enjoy the quiet, and the sound of my own breathing.
I had gone about three miles already, a route that on this day put me right on the Plaza, heading east and almost to the Sister Cities International Bridge that spans Brush Creek. The picture below shows the bridge in daylight - I would have been to the left of this picture, heading towards the camera.
I was lost in my thoughts when I was suddenly hit in the head by a large object, with enough force that it shoved me forward even while I was running, and simultaneously felt the pain of several sharp points jabbing into my skull as my head was pulled upward. The entire event probably lasted as long as it takes to read that sentence.
Now, I like to think I'm generally a fairly cool cucumber. I'm not tough or anything, but I don't usually scare that easily. I've actually read books that discuss the biology of how panic affects your brain, and understand that people that are survivors of emergency situations are those who can perceive their situation clearly; they can plan and take correct action under extreme duress, simply by remaining calm and not forcing their mental map of the world on whatever is happening to them.
I understand all that, but being present when rational thought crashes headlong into that deep core of the primal part of your brain is fascinating stuff. Sequences of nerve cell firing occur and chemicals like adrenaline, noradrenaline and cortisol flood the bloodstream, the respiratory rate increases, blood is shunted from the stomach and intestines into the muscles, our awareness intensifies. Our sight sharpens and our impulses quicken. Our perception of pain diminishes. We literally become prepared for fight for flight. And the speed at which it happens is unparalled.
Knowing that does me no good at all. My response was first to let out a little noise, which may or may not have been characterized as a scream by any passersby had there been any present, then to begin running sideways at higher rate of speed, while trying to turn my neck 180 degrees to see what all the fuss was about. All those chemicals flooded my system in a mere instant, like pressing the gas pedal fully to the car floor from a complete stop.
As I looked to my left, the claws in the back of my head released and I saw a huge object flying about eye level traveling at roughly the same speed as I was. It suddenly sprouted wings that at the time seemed like they were four feet across, and flew off into the night.
I initially thought I was getting mugged, but when I saw that image, it was like a circuit fried and my brain just started re-booting over and over. We largely see the world through the mental maps we create through past experiences, and this was nothing that my brain had ever mapped before, causing it to do something like this:
Brain: "Mugger?"
Me: "Nope."
Brain: "Tree branch?"
Me: "Nope."
Brain: "Someone throw something at you?"
Me: "Nope."
Brain: "You sure it wasn't a mugger?"
Me: "Yep"
Brain: "WTF?"
Me: "WTF?"
Brain: "????"
Then it was over. A few seconds later, my brain and I settled on the fact that it was an owl, and that said owl had flown out of nowhere, and apropos of nothing, attacked my damn head. Brain confirmed my underwear were, in fact, still clean, and the only logical solution was to keep running while we sorted out what the hell had just happened, and what I should be doing now to react. The rest of my run, my brain and I did just that.
I ended up running a 10k that morning, and probably could have easily done a few more miles than that. When I got home, after awhile - not immediately, as I didn't really know how to bring it up - I told Mandy about it. Not to be bothered with sympathy for my experience, she laughed like a maniac and immediately got on the phone to her sister to tell her the story, and only later checked my head for puncture wounds. Pretty soon it was family legend, even among Elliot, who can't even talk but sure understands "attack Daddy head!!!!" when he sees a picture of an owl.
A few weeks later, I was running in the hills just south of the Plaza (Sunset Hill) when I spotted an owl again, flying down the middle of a lamp-lit street. It looked to be carrying something in its claws, landed about 50 yards ahead of me in a bush, then flew up past me into the trees to my right, above the streetlights where I couldn't see it. To say the least, I was on high alert - this time at least, I would have known.
Although I've heard them before, these may be the only two owls I've ever seen in my life. Apparently November/December are when they are nesting, and attacks on people who get too close rise. I've never given more than a passing thought to owls, but now I think of them whenever it gets dark.
Facebook thread from that day:
