🗑 Plogging the river gorge with Andy Lambert

A little sweaty and out of breath from a final push up the stairwell onto West River Parkway, with a panting dog at his side, Andy Lambert examines the items in his plastic bag as he throws them away. A bag of Cheez-Its and a cigarillo pouch crunch in his glove. A water bottle and styrofoam coffee cup are triaged to separate bins. Half a cardboard six-pack box requires some additional breaking down. 

Quite a bit sweatier and more out of breath, I follow suit. I gently lower a 40-ounce glass Corona bottle into the recycling to keep it from shattering and try, unsuccessfully, to discern the brand of a wrapper faded from the sun. A waterlogged piece of foam padding tragically drips some of its unholy elixir onto my shoes. 

These are the spoils of our “plog,” a Swedish term for, basically, picking up litter while you jog. Andy’s invited me to join his near-daily ritual of plogging in the gorge and then memorializing what he finds — a practice he began three years ago this week. (He's celebrating his "Ploggiversary" with a neighborhood group plog Thursday morning; more details at the bottom of the post.)