Ten great things about jogging, in Houston, in the afternoon, in June

1. The sweating. You should sweat every day.

2. Finishing. Why lie?

3. The bottle of Evian water I purchase at Bayou Liquor at the halfway point of my 7.5-mile trek. My path takes me to the corner of Waugh and Allen Parkway. With tax, a bottle of water comes to $1.09. The woman who runs the store came up with an ingenious deal for me: so I didn't have to jingling change in my pocket, I could purchase one bottle for one dollar nine times, then give her two dollars for the tenth bottle. In truth, she would probably never ask for the second dollar if I didn't keep track myself.

4. Drinking the bottle of Evian water, which is not to be confused with the bottle of Evian as a concept. I come out of the store and open the bottle and drink the water as I walk the length of the strip mall, past the Subway (where I buy my water on Sundays--Texas Blue Laws), past a Chinese restaurant, past a flower shop. The mall's mailbox is located at the convergence of a stairway, an elevator, and four steps on the sidewalk; I place the cap atop the mailbox and, if it is still there the next day, place another cap next to it, and another. The highest I ever got was five, about a year ago. Since then, no more than two. Someone is being vigilant.

5. The landscaper. My path for about two miles each way takes me through exclusive River Oaks, first the length of River Oaks Boulevard, almost to the country club, then down Inwood, then up Kirby until it curves into the Allen Parkway. Halfway down Inwood, a sixtyish woman comes a few times a week in a big panel truck and, for what must be a few hours, tends the elaborate pattern of trees and bushes in someone's front yard. If we are close enough to speak (say, if she's entering or exiting her truck), she'll say, "Kind of hot!" as I pass. If she is tending the garden with her enormous gloves and wide-brimmed sun hat she'll wave. Then, when I come back an hour later she'll wave again. If I'm ever accused of murder, she may come in handy as an alibi.

6. Working on a tan and feeling virtuous at the same time.

7. The hose. Nearly across the street from the elaborate garden is a renovation project of a brick house. (The thing about River Oaks renovation projects is that they go on for years. A white mansion at the corner of River Oaks and Avalon--a few yards from where I met Ken Lay passing me the other way--was in a state of constant renovation for something like seven years.) If no construction crew is around, or is in the back, I help myself to a drink at the garden hose.

8. The cement garden and coffee house that signals that only a quarter-mile remains.

9. The anticipation of shower, beer, dry clothes.

10. When the Astros are on my Walkman.