The potential for a storm seems to be blowing over. My run today will be blistering hot and unforgiving. At my hottest I feel thirst all the way down my throat, to the depths of my lungs. I long to fill my lungs with ice water. I imagine when exhaling, deadly cold water pouring down my chin and over my jugular. I imagine ice water coursing through the white-hot pulse in my temples and on the scorched acreage of my skin. I long to drown, running from remote island of shade to remote island of shade. I consider the fractions of a second between life and death. Arriving at that next spot of shade between which two periods of radiation corresponding to the transition between the two hyperfine levels of the ground state of the caesium 133 atom (of which there are 9,192,631,770 for the duration of each one second) would make the difference between my life and my death. Can any human activity be sliced so thinly? If I were to drown in my own ice water, at which exact hyperfine moment could I no longer change my notion of folly and chose to live? … I think, stepping into the next breeze.