It was way past time for me to start getting my flabby ass in shape. 

I’d walked down to my local Publix for the first time on Monday morning and I was actually a bit stiff the next day.   It took me about an hour overall, but I was still unsure of how far I’d walked.  Tuesday and Wednesday I took it easy on myself and just walked the bike path in our park, determined to find my rhythm and begin a routine.

So this morning I got up and drove to the nearest high school where I’d seen what looked like a football stadium from the main street.  Sure enough, as I drove through the gates, I could see the running track that surrounded the stadium.   I’d run track in college and in spite of the undeniable redundancy of walking around and around a quarter mile track… I felt like I was coming home again.

Truth be told, however, I’d never been anywhere near this stadium so I had absolutely no idea what to expect.  The first thing that became obvious is that this was not someplace that encouraged use by the local community.   All of the high gates that I encountered were pad locked with rusted chains and locks.  Finally, after circumnavigating the entire stadium, I finally found an entrance behind the stadium bleachers where the gates had been left open.  (Gone are the days when this kid would have simply climbed the fence with dexterity and alacrity. Long gone.)

The stadium itself had certainly seen better days.  The track was a wicked looking, hard gravel surface that looked and felt as hard as concrete.  I expected something with a little give to it, but the idea of falling or slipping or sliding on this unyielding surface was terrifying to say the least. The long jump pit was full of grass and weeds and most of the metal surfaces seemed to have surrendered to rust quite some time ago… but the track was the standard size and would serve my needs.

I started from the fading hundred yard dash starting line and took off at a brisk pace. 

After almost fifteen minutes, I had walked a full mile and was feeling pretty good.  My mind was whipping through business challenges, personal relationships, personal health goals, and a long list of casual disjointed topics.   The sun was shining brightly and I was feeling good.  As I rounded the curve and headed down the straightaway near the big concrete bleachers… it once again dawned on me that I was completely alone.  I could not be seen from the street and there was no one within view.  I was looking at the old bleachers when the thought came to me.

A murderer could kill someone and stash their body here and they might not be found for weeks.

I almost stumbled and fell. The completely alien thought had come at me so hard and unbidden that I suddenly felt vulnerable and exposed. It had not been a simple, idle thought either.  Rather, it had been like an ugly voice in my head, clear and vicious.  I could hear the smile in that voice as the thought came to me. A nasty chill ran up the length of my spine like a cold wet paint brush.   My morning walk was no longer fun and the sun was no longer warming. 

Where the fuck did that come from?  I don’t think of things like that.  The strangeness of the thought was so unpleasant that I began looking around with urgency to see if I was indeed still alone.  Even more strange, is that I was no longer sure of my preference.  Did I want to make certain that I was alone?  Was I now uncomfortable because of my solitude or would I have broken into a run if I saw someone ambling my way?  At that moment I really wasn’t sure.

It occurred to me that I do not believe in the existence of evil.  Recent conversations with friends over the existence of the enemy, as a counter-point to Jesus, flashed through my mind.  I’ve always acknowledged that people do evil things… but this didn’t support the existence of evil as an entity itself.  

But at that moment, I was pretty sure that what I felt was evil.  This was pure, cold evil or the echo of something beyond my ability to fathom.  I left the track with a great deal more eagerness than that which accompanied my arrival.  As I was leaving, I happened to look under the bleachers, and was assailed by a fresh wave of discomfort.  I moved a little faster. I am not a small man and I don't spook easily... but I was spooked.

I spent about an hour at home trying to find evidence that perhaps something bad had actually happened within this stadium.  Had a body been found?  Had there ever been a murder here?   I didn’t know and I could not find anything.

But I am not going back.