Being Mistaken for the Breadwinner

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This morning, while waiting for my tardy training partner at Miramar Lake, I noticed a flock of ducks and a few geese mosey up the path in front of me. The geese in particular looked a little angry. With my running pal a no-show, I decided to dash into the restroom before heading off. Only soon as I tried to open the bathroom door, I was rushed by a mob of honking geese and ducks. I quickly shut the door, wondering how badly a duck can bite. Then I heard a flush from the other side of the four-stall building and decided to make a break for it. After I escaped unscathed, I asked the police officer who'd also been indisposed what was up with these territorial birds.

He explained that the Vietnamese woman who feeds them bread each morning was running late. "She never comes up this far," he said, "but they don't know that." That I am a short woman with deep-set eyes and happened to be covered in cracker crumbs must have added to their confusion, though the officer assured me any biped was a target.

And my solo tempo run? It was just ducky.

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