Jogging around malls is one of those hobbies which came and went in such a brief moment of time. I think it is worth keeping the memories alive. Cultural moments are important.
However, perhaps today’s interviewee should stop.
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You do not understand how much Monfeld shutting down affected me. The shopping centre was a crucial and daily part of my life.
What is odd is that I spent less than a hundred pounds within those walls. It was the flat surfaces of the different levels that interested me. A perfect place for a jog.
I was not the only one. A whole culture existed around running in the mall. These were people I spoke to every day. A perfect place to keep fit, socialise and enjoy yourself. So I cannot see the harm in my current actions. Nobody gets hurt by the fact I still jog round Monfeld.
The light through the dirty roofs provides just enough illumination. I keep a head torch on to spot hazards. Smears of dirt cover the floor, and I have to kick bits of cardboard and old drinks cans out of the way. But in general my runs continue unabated.
The first time one of the hands grabbed my ankle I almost went flying. After staggering forward a few paces, I looked back for the source, but there was nothing but a few sun faded leaflets.
I moved on, and wished someone still buffed the floors.
Then it happened again near the sports shop. And this time there was no doubt. The tangible clutch of fingers wrapped around my calf. A genuine squeeze, trying to take me down.
So it goes on. The hands attack me on all my runs. What is strange is no obvious place exists for them to emerge from. No holes dot the floor. They grasp from the base of a filthy wall made of solid brick.
I do not mind. My running is so important, and the hands add an extra challenge. If you jump they do not hold on for long.
But there is still a risk. A fall would take me out of the running game for a long while. And of course, there is the fear of what might happens if the hands get hold of me, and do not let go.
