Confessions of a covid birder

One of the side effects of everyone being stuck at home in the pandemic has been a surge in people taking up birdwatching as a hobby. I came to this in my own way and time. It started back in the spring when a pair of robins built a nest in the bush outside our screen porch. As we spent more time on the porch to expand the space available in the house, I listened and snuck peaks until one day the family moved on.

Song sparrow behind our library, photo by me.

Later in the spring a pair of mourning doves built a nest in the corner of our front porch. I could see the nest from my desk, allowing me to check-in on progress during virtual meetings. I watched the parents take turns sitting on the eggs until two chicks hatched. I watched them make non-stop trips back and forth to keep the chicks fed. Then my whole family watched the drama as the parents tried to get the chicks out of the nest. One flew off, but the other (who we named Randy) was less sure and took a lot of coaxing. The parents would sit in the tree off the porch and chirp, then they would stand on the eaves and try to nudge Randy off. Eventually, though, Randy made it and we all cheered when we saw an empty nest one Friday morning.

I felt empty when the doves left, though. I’d gotten used to the birds and missed them so I tried to fill the void. I bought a hummingbird feeder and watched a ruby-throated hummingbird drink and defend the feeder through the late summer and fall. On a trip to the mountains I obsessed over the birds flitting through the trees behind our rental cabin. I bought binoculars, bird guides, and feeders. My youngest son and I took our first birding tour in Maine. This gave me something to do, and made me feel connected to the world outside my house.

But as my habit grew, I realized that I was one of many people who had picked up birding during quarantine. This caused a small crisis for me. I’ve sometimes had a weird reaction when I realized something I liked was also liked by others. You’d think I’d be glad to have “found my people” but I often felt anxious, either because I’d lost something that made me special or because I was afraid of being rejected by the group. I’d have these kinds of thoughts about books, music, or other hobbies. In conversations if someone indicated they liked something I did, or asked about my interests, I could have opened up and shared, but I often went into a shell and mumbled something vague that killed the conversation.

I’d grown to like birding, but was worried that I was part of a trend and somehow would be seen as fake. Was a birder that picked up birding in the pandemic like me be a “real” birder? Is this just some habit I picked up as a part of a collective subconscious? Did I need to prove myself?

I don’t know why I’ve always had these kinds of thoughts, but luckily I’ve done a better job fighting my anxiety. It’s helped that the experienced birding community is very welcoming, and I realize it can be a good thing if more people get out and enjoy nature. While the number of birders has increased this year, the number of birds has been steadily declining. Maybe having all these people involved will ultimately help the birds that I’ve gotten to enjoy.

I don’t know if this hobby will stick after the pandemic ends. I’d like to think it will but can’t say for certain. However long I stick with it, I’m glad I found birding during quarantine. I’ve learned a lot and enjoy hanging out with my feathered neighbors. There are so many reasons to want to forget 2020 that it’s nice to have something your want to remember and carry on.

Snow Run

As North Carolina goes, this has been a pretty mild winter. Wet, but mild. We finally had our first snow this past week. A dusting: not enough for my kids to enjoy, but enough to remind us of what it looks like.

When winter weather arrives I have to decide whether to modify my running plans. I don’t like the treadmill, so despite the risk of turning an ankle or slipping I head out in most conditions. Over the years I have gotten to like running in bad weather. I usually see very few people, the temperatures tend to be more tolerable (cooler in the summer, warmer in the winter), and I like seeing how the landscape changes. The dry creek beds come alive, limbs bow deep under the weight of snow or ice, and ducks and geese swim into grass or trees foraged by sparrows the day before.

Snow is my favorite “bad” weather to run in. It can be fierce, but that’s not usually the kind we get here. Running in the snow is a pleasure for the senses. I like how the light hangs heavy in the clouds. I like the sounds of the snow: the crunch of each foot-fall, the slight tinkling as the flakes hit the ground, and the wind rolling through empty streets. One faces less pressure on a snow run: because it’s slick, you can’t run fast so there is no worry about performance: being there is enough. You can just enjoy being out and moving.

The snow this week wasn’t enough to give me most of those sensations, but I liked the change. I’ve run the same route so much in the past year that I appreciate getting to see something different and break the routine. I hope it’s not the only snow of the year, but I enjoyed it all the same.

Running through 2020

2020 was supposed to be a great year for running. I was finally going to run Boston. I had a series of races I was excited about over the course of the year. My family was going to spectate the Olympic Marathon Trials in Atlanta, and then enjoy watching the Olympics later that year. Kipchoge and Bekele were going to race in London.

Of course, very little of that happened. We did spectate the marathon trials in Atlanta, but other than that COVID stopped almost everything. Races didn’t matter, and easy runs required more consideration than ever before (Do I wear a mask? Can I run with other people? How do I pass walkers safely?).

I’d been training for marathons at least once a year since 2016 and had built my routine around that process and it was suddenly gone, like so much else. Running felt silly, unimportant. Still, in the early weeks of the pandemic I forced myself out the door to run at least three or four miles almost every day. One foot in front of the other, keep it simple. Sometimes I ran with my wife but mostly I ran alone. On most days that was the only time I left the house.

I ran two virtual races in the spring and one December. I appreciated the mental challenge but I missed the race experience and had a hard time building a training cycle around them. I missed a meaningful leaderboard and the rush of adrenaline from the crowd at the start of a race.

In the summer I slogged through the heat and humidity, keeping to a regular weekly cycle: easy day, speed day, rest day, tempo run, easy day, long run, easy day. Repeat. In the fall I did a cycle with my coach again, with harder workouts but the same rhythm. These months were about holding onto one normal routine when everything else around me had turned upside down. I felt anxiety about hard tempos and loved the feeling of hitting 800 repeats in a similar split time. I had some great long runs and blew up on others.

I want to say running gave me a sense of peace, but that wouldn’t be true. Peace proved hard to come by in 2020. Running gave me something to do that I could control. I could pick the workouts. I could pick when I ran. I cold pick how I felt about running. Six repeats of 800m with a 400m jog in between. Five miles at 7-7:20 per mile pace. Breathe in, breathe out. Focus on form. Be ready when races come back.

Now it’s 2021. Small races are starting to pop up, but they look different than before and I am not comfortable racing in a crowd yet. Maybe things will be different this spring or in the fall. With the chaos in Washington last week and the death toll from COVID mounting, thinking about racing feels self-indulgent. I am still running, though. Ten miles this morning out and back on the greenway, pushing for a negative split so when I do race again I can better control my pace. Who knows when that will be, and I am not sure I care. The workout was on the calendar and I did it, just like I will tomorrow. No matter what else comes.

Finding Some Joy in Hot, Humid Runs

September may be the worst month for running in North Carolina. It’s as hot and humid as July or August, but it marks the third month in a row where every run is a sweat-drenched slog. And while I expect that in July, every store I enter makes me think I should be raking leaves and pulling out my long sleeves. Pumpkin beer is out, Starbucks is pushing PSL’s, and the neighborhood pools are closing down. I’m dreaming of crisp fall mornings, but summer just laughs in my face and saps my motivation. At times like these, I need something more than a long term goal to get me out the door. 

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‘Twas the Night Before Pittsburgh…

Tomorrow I’m running the Pittsburgh Marathon. I’ve picked up my bib, laid out my clothes, and packed my gels. I’ve set my nutrition and pacing plans and drove the second half of the course to check out the hills. I’ve checked the weather every thirty minutes and watched the chance of rain shift back and forth (low forties, chance of rain 30% as I write).

I’m proud to be here. A month ago after finishing the All Day 20k at the Carlsbad 5000 I didn’t know if would be able to toe the line. I had missed a month of training after injuring my sacroiliac (SI) joint, and after cranking out my first full week’s worth of training and four 5k’s in a day I felt a lot of pain.

Carefully I came back over the next few weeks, ramping up my mileage and workouts until I could get in two full weeks of high mileage hitting most of the pace targets my coach set.  I feel like my fitness level has returned, but I know I missed a segment of training designed to build leg strength for the marathon. If I had chosen to run the half I would feel more than prepared for a PR. But I decided (after discussing with my coach) to keep my plan to run the full.

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Doubt Creeps In: My Experience the 2016 Richmond Marathon

Why did I want to do this again?

That was one of the many questions in my head around the 23 mile mark of the 2016 Anthem Richmond Marathon.  I had lost the pace group, my legs felt heavy, and I found myself on a very long run that had seemingly lost its meaning. I passed through a water stop, politely declined a beer from the neighborhood cheering section, and tried to regroup as I plodded off down Fauquier Avenue.

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Where am I?

Yesterday I had possibly the worst run of my life.

I drove to a park an hour away believing I would run a trail half-marathon only to discover that the race was the day before. My training schedule called for a long run, though, and I figured it was worth exploring a new location so I headed out.

The trails were complicated and designed more for mountain bikes than hiking/running. Some were well-marked but most weren’t. I had to run with a bad PDF map on my iPhone, constantly stopping to check my location. I was stressed and nervous, and felt a sharp pain develop in my lower back as I ran. I thought I could work through it.

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A Family Affair: Recap of the Ellie Helton Memorial 5K

Note from Adam: Since my wife brought up the idea of running this race, I asked her to write the recap and she graciously obliged. There’s a bonus post from our daughter embedded towards the end. Enjoy!

A few weeks ago our family ran the second annual Ellie Helton Memorial
5K at Wake Med Soccer Park in Cary, NC. This was the first 5k for Monkey (age 7) and Cottontail (age 6). They had both expressed interest in the distance and when we looked at options this one came to mind because of the charity it supports.

One of my co-workers and his family organize the race in memory of their daughter, Ellie Helton.  Ellie was a vibrant, loving 14-year-old who passed away on July 16, 2014 as a result of a brain aneurysm. She loved God, her family and friends, superheroes, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and pizza. She was a unique spirit who loved life, was accepting of others and persevered in everything she tried. You can read about her from her family’s website.

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The Road to Richmond: Mind Games (Week 14)

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View on the way up Camelback Mountain in Phoenix this week.

It’s hard to believe I’m entering my last week of training before
Richmond. I’ve organized my life around training for the past three and a half months so it’s strange for it to be drawing to a close. There were only two key workouts this week, and I hit my targets in both the mile repeats on Tuesday and in my last tempo run on Friday (despite facing a stiff headwind for the last half) to provide some positive momentum into the taper.  My challenge this coming week will not be running as much as it will be mental preparation. To be as ready as possible for Saturday I need to rest, stay calm, and finalize my plan for the race.

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The Road to Richmond: Tapering is More Fun with Zombies (Week 13)

img_4181It’s getting close. I got my bib number in an email from Richmond this week, logistics are worked out, and I re-filled my stockpile of Huma gels. The goals now are just to finish my training plan and get rested for the marathon.

I hit the targets for my two workouts this week, and the other runs went well but were remarkable. At this point one of my challenges is not getting bored. I’m trying some mindfulness activities to focus on segments of runs that keep me distracted, but this week I found at least one better way to change things up and keep running fun.

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Running through life with my wife and three kids…