Exercise

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.

She has that desperate look on her face and her mouth moves as she nears me. I reach up and the music fades as I pull the ear buds off. I don't ask her to repeat what she said, I just hand her the leash. She mumbles something about how he got away and asks if she can clean the wound that is currently coloring my sock an ugly brownish red. She points to her house, just a few houses from where we are and I shake my head. Company wouldn't be a good idea at the moment.

She offers me a cold glass of water. I decide to go.

The air conditioning hits my skin and I have some relief. She lets the dog off of its leash and motions to a feminine looking dining room chair before she disappears into another room. I choose the bar stool instead and sit, almost reluctantly. I glance down at my knee, the blood is starting to taper slightly, only a thick red trail leaks from the wound.

She returns a moment later with a small kit and something that I can only assume is alcohol. I reach for the bottle and she pulls her hand back. She kneels before me and places a towel just under my knee. As I am absorbing this particular set of data, she opens the bottle and pours what felt like half the bottle on the cut. I let out a soft growl and I can feel my brows knitting. My hands reach down and take the towel from her and cover the wound. She looks up at me and rises quickly before opening the box. She pulls out a large square bandage and opens it quickly, waiting for me to move the towel. She makes a noise as I move the towel and blood starts again. The speed at which she covers the wound leaves little time for care and I frown again.

The towel is handed back to her silently followed by a quiet thank you. I rise with every intent to leave, but she smiles and mentions the water. I shake my head and start for the door. She meets me there and hands me a cold bottled water. She extends her hand outward. 'My name is Caroline.' I take her hand and shake it firmly. 'Daemon.'

She opens her mouth to speak again, but I am already moving out the door. It is considerably darker now. I wave to her and soon the ear buds are back in.

The jog home - I don't recall many of the details. My leg hurts. My palms are skinned. My sock is soaked in blood. I am covered in sweat. It was good.

Now its time for a shower.