My train of thought while running recently:
"This is perfect weather for running — I won't overheat with temps in the 40s. ...
"I'm so glad that cold air doesn't hurt my lungs like other people complain about. ...
"Man, I love how clean the fall air feels. ...
"Too bad the leaves are gone, though — WAIT WHAT IS THAT SMELL?"
For the second time in two damp days, I had encountered an intensely musty odor, like a whole pile of wet towels, on the run. (No, it wasn't my clothing. That would've been a consistent stink, instead of an ambush.)
It had to be all the leaves that weren't on the trees, glowing in the sunset, and that weren't delightfully dry and crunchy underfoot anymore. Welcome to November, where they rot in clumps along the sidewalk.
I found drier land after going on the Jordan Creek Trail and especially through Knolls Park, and grew misty-eyed again.
"Done with hills. Flat final mile FTW! ...
"Wow, I'm really close to being done, and I feel good still! ...
"That soup is gonna taste so good. Can't wait to shower first. ...
"LOL, goose droppings. ...
"There's more? OK, well, pretend it's an agility exercise ...
"I just vacuumed, better watch my step. ...
"Seriously? Is this a minefield or a sidewalk?"
It was a dangerous effort, weaving around dropping upon dropping in still-slightly-damp conditions. I am happy to report my shoes survived unscathed, but my inclination to call geese cute, unfortunately, did not. It may recover; I can't say for sure.
(But seriously, I enjoyed the run. My sense of smell may be keener than other folks', and this is just a drawback to my powerful sniffer, and wildlife dung is never not funny.)
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