The Wissahickon Creek stank last night. It smelled like garbage.
I was sore and in a bad mood, so I took my trail shoes out for a run along the Wissahickon. It was a game time decision as to whether to join the Wanderers' regular Thursday night run. Sometimes when I'm feeling down, I crave social activity to take my mind off; but other times, I need just the opposite-- I'd rather have a solo run to think on my own, or to go so hard that I run out of energy to dwell.
I ended up running with the Wanderers. It was good. The social 8-miler not only loosened up my sore legs, but also picked me up quite a bit. When I got home, I was a new person, happy and eager for Noah's famous gnocchi salad.
It's too bad that the creek stank. And my legs are sore today.