The morning clouds loomed over the river as my dad and I pulled into the parking lot of Billy's Seafood. It was a mild February morning in South Alabama, and even though there were rain puddles in the parking lot and I had to wear a hoodie to keep warm, it was still much more pleasant than the snowy, twenty-degree weather we'd left behind in my Michigan hometown three days earlier. We had just kicked off our annual two-week vacation in the town of Gulf Shores, a small resort town on Alabama's Gulf Coast, a little over fifteen miles east of the Florida border. The area is a popular destination for students during spring break, however in mid-February, the weather is just pleasant enough to bring us relief from the frigid Michigan winter, but cool enough that the town stays relatively calm and gives us a chance to enjoy it's charm without having to deal with crowds on the beach and in local restaurants. One of the perks we especially enjoyed was the local seafood, and several years ago my dad had somehow discovered this no frills seafood nook that we would visit three or four times throughout our trip every year. I always enjoyed watching the lobsters crawl around in the giant tank and was in awe of the store's variety and selections. We chose a spot, stepped out of the car, and walked across the parking lot towards the entrance of the store. Before going inside we decided to walk down to the small beach and check out the view of the river. We hopped over a short wall of rocks and onto the sand. And then I saw him. A goose. And not just any goose. This guy was big, probably about three feet tall. I would like to add that this was in 1993 and I was six years old at the time. My mind was still developing, I was inexperienced in a lot of ways, and my brain was absorbing like a sponge. The presence of this massive goose didn't phase me, and I nonchalantly walked over towards him while my dad admired the river. I was being curious, but this goose was simply not having it. I stepped into his territory and that jerk of a bird didn't hesitate to hiss at me and chase me a good thirty feet down the beach. My dad turned around when he heard me running and screaming, and I soon began crying shortly after the big Nazi goose backed off. Dad was trying to console me, but looking back, I'm sure he was also trying to hold back his laughter. After all, I was fine. The goose didn't bite me and there was no harm done, but I was absolutely terrified. It may have been the most scared I had been in my life up until that point. And if this story wasn't entertaining enough, the year before when we were visiting the local zoo in Gulf Shores, I got too close to the ostrich cage, and one of them thought it would be fun to walk up to me, grab the drawstring dangling from my hoodie with his beak, and try to pull me into the cage. That story had essentially the same conclusion; me screaming and crying, while my parents consoled me, but probably laughed their heads off after I went to bed that night. Too bad Youtube and smart phones weren't around yet. I could have been an online celebrity and entertained millions of people at my own expense.
I'm now thirty-four years old, I've gone through several life evolutions, and done a lot of growing as a person. But I'm still scared of geese. The big goose on the beach at Billy's Seafood in 1993 apparently traumatized me in some way, and in subsequent years since then I've become mildly terrified every time I've encountered a Canadian goose. There were a couple of times where I was chased even after the 1993 incident, which only enhanced my phobia. In recent years I've decided to try to conquer this childhood fear, although it hasn't come without some funny and embarrassing moments. One afternoon in February 2019, I was running alone on a trail along San Francisco Bay. Up ahead I saw two geese lingering on the side of the trail near the water. When I got within fifty feet and they still hadn't budged, I said "nope" and turned around. Several months later I was running on a nearby trail on a beautiful Sunday morning with my local running group. I was running solo, but my two friends Garner and Stephan were about a hundred yards behind me. I was feeling good until three geese came into view up ahead. My fear kicked in and I slowed down. They were off to the side of the trail and I had plenty of room to run by them, but I was still hesitant. When Garner and Stephan caught up to me they seemed confused as to why I had slowed down. "Guys, I'm scared of geese" I explained with nervous laughter. "If the three of us run by them together, they can't chase all three of us. Let's do this". "It's okay man, just run by and flap your arms like wings" they said. As we ran by I watched as Garner and Stephan jumped and flapped their arms, and sure enough the geese retreated closer to the water. I was impressed that it had worked, but when I turned around to head back, I had proven to myself that I hadn't quite worked up the nerve to give it a try. The geese had returned, and I decided instead to just run as fast as I possibly could and try to ignore them. One of them turned his head right towards me as I ran by (the first sign that they're not happy), but the encounter didn't escalate into anything beyond the eye contact. Still, I was scared and my adrenaline pumped as I ran by. About a year later I was running on a trail with Stephan and our friend Julie when Stephan once again used the jumping and arm flapping method to keep a goose away as we ran by. I still had not worked up the nerve to use this technique and I watched in amusement as the goose waddled away.
Yesterday I was running alone on the Guadalupe River Trail in San Jose, when I had yet another encounter. Once again, about a hundred feet ahead, I spotted a goose on the edge of the trail and immediately slowed down. "Maybe I can use the jumping and arm flapping method" I thought. I got within thirty or so feet and the goose had not moved. I sighed and turned around. "Come on, dude, you can do this, stop being so scared" I said to myself. So I turned around and headed towards the goose again. This time I got within about fifteen feet, and that jerk still hadn't moved. I stood there for about ten seconds, but he just would not get his butt off the edge of the trail and down to the river. I turned around yet again and began slowly running in the opposite direction. Then I remembered yet another comedic episode where my goose phobia kicked in. My girlfriend and I were good friends for a year before we began dating and a few months before I asked her on a date, we were finishing up a group run at Almaden Lake. She had a tough go at it and was in a lot of pain by the time she finished. I felt bad and gave her a hug to show my sympathy, but when I let go, I saw a goose walking around behind her and I slowly took a few steps back. I sensed her confusion and let her know that there was a goose behind her, which let to me explaining my whole goose story that you had the pleasure of reading above. Today happened to be Valentines Day, so she was on my mind a lot. As I reflected on that instance, frustration kicked in. There was no way some pansy goose would ever come between my girlfriend and I if it came down to it. I'd had enough. Time to let this bird know who's boss. I turned around again and began running towards the goose. Fueled by adrenaline, I moved to the other side of the trail, called out to him as if I were trying to scare away a bear, and jumped up and down flapping my arms like a lunatic. The goose didn't chase me. He casually waddled down the hill towards the river as I ran by. "Yes!" I exclaimed. I felt so proud of myself that I literally looked back at the goose as he walked down the hill and yelled "that's right!". And then I began laughing at how ridiculous this situation was. It made me think of the Big Bang Theory episode with Sheldon and the blue jay on the windowsill. This was a medium sized goose who wanted no trouble, and even though I acted like I was trying to scare off a five-hundred pound wild animal, it worked. It was an extremely silly, but proud moment. The 1993 Billy's Seafood incident still haunts me, but what happened yesterday was a big step in getting over this ridiculous phobia. As is the case with many things in life, the first time is the scariest, then it becomes easier. It feels good to conquer my fears even if it's a gradual process. And I did it through running, of course. Running has helped me conquer other fears in my life, most notably, worrying about the future. It's allowed me to live more in the present. We all have fears stemming from childhood and even adulthood experiences, but it doesn't mean we have to be afraid forever. And no one says we have to confront these fears overnight. It's a process and we have to respect it. I'll admit that having a goose phobia is funny as hell and pretty ridiculous, but it is a real fear, nonetheless. Overcoming it is a work in progress. Oh shoot, a goose just appeared out of nowhere and is waddling towards my keyboard. Gotta go, bye!
