It begins with a thought and my attention is diverted to the window - the translator for the outside - which calls to me to start. A few minutes later I am ready, my tennis shoes are laced tightly and my keys are tucked into the pocket that straps my Ipod to my upper arm. Before my first footstep hits the cobblestones outside my front door, I am at a jog - water in hand. The heat of Texas hits me, 98 degree high today, and barely any cooler, if at all, when I step outside.

Sweat starts to bead almost immediately as my body strives to cool itself. The path, a familiar one that leads me from my home and around several blocks, is almost programmed into my feet. My mind is on keeping the rhythm of my steps with the beat of the music streaming in my ears. I can hear my own pulse in my ears, but it is barely negligible over the lyrics. I pass a woman I’ve seen before - she is walking her dog. There is an exchange of glances and the obligatory acknowledgement contained within a simple wave of my hand.

I like angry music when I run and I can feel it impacting my temperament. I know the lyrics. They are the same tracks I listen to each time, their order only changed to keep them somewhat fresh. Recent additions make it difficult to keep the pace, but I manage. My feet are hot. I hate the feeling and rethink a pair of ‘barefoot’ running shoes - until I hit a rock and toss the idea out just as quickly. My shirt is sticking to me but somehow beads of sweat escape and roll, unchecked, down the valley of my back.

I’m at two miles. I recall the drive I took to measure the distance. I reach the half way point and look back down the hill I just ascended. The sun is starting to go down, still another two hours or so before it disappears. Texas is the home of big sky - the pale blue stretches into the distance so far you think you could almost see the ranches in the west. Most of the water is gone in a few swallows, and what is left of the drink is poured over my head in the vain effort to cool my skin. I toss the bottle into ugly green trash containers that still sit on the curbside long after the waste was collected.

Going back down the hill, I am moving considerably faster - the motivation is the music, but more so, the call of a shower and another water - not in that order. I push to keep the pace, the heat taking its pound of flesh out of my skin. My hair is dripping with water and sweat and I feel the burn of my eyes as sweat falls into them. I use my shirt to wipe the moisture away, but it is already soaked. Still it manages to keep the haze out of my eyes. I turn a corner too quickly and I am suddenly falling, face first, off of the curb. All I see is my foot caught in a leash, and the dog to which the leash is attached.

There is a nasty noise that escapes as my knee rakes across the cement and my palms brace to keep anything else from striking too hard. Pain, sharp and vicious, streaks through me for a moment before I recover and do my best to extricate myself from the leash and its dog. The dog is barking, I can’t hear it, but I see the movement of its mouth. It frantically wants to escape this scenario. I manage to pull the leash from around my feet and stand, I can feel blood sliding down my calf as stand there and look at the woman that is running towards me.