How long would you have to run?

I've been running a lot more lately. I've even worked myself up to at least 2.5 to 2.75 miles at a decent clip. I feel like I am getting into a good shape.

But, is 2.5 miles really far enough to run from zombies?

I was reading an interesting book a few months back called "Aftertime." In the novel, the author pointed out that people were often overtaken by the undead not because the zombies run/walk fast but because humans eventually wear out and zombies, well, don't. I hadn't really thought about this before. Sure, I can put on my best kicks and dash around a park for half an hour, but there would come a time when I would just need to sit down and stretch out those aching calves. Therein lies the beauty or strength of the zombie--it doesn't need that break. While I pant and fan my sweaty head, it will just keep slogging along until it finally reaches and bites my tired butt.

Even though "Zombieland" stressed the importance of cardio, even the best of runners require time off from physical activity. The zombie, that little rotting automaton, never has an off button save for the trusty bullet in the brain. We (lover enthusiasts) read book after book denoting the wonderful strength and tenacity of survivors as they TRIUMPH over the blundering undead. Yet, I wonder now how much that would really happen. Where are the movies and novels depicting drained, flailing protagonists who almost perish because they desperately NEED a sip of Gatoraide and a nap?

I don't intend to stop running because it simply serves as a temporary reprieve from being chomped to death or undeath by a zombie; however, this new idea encourages my reassessment of the necessary zombie apocalypse skills. Perhaps, drive first, ride second, walk if you have no wheels, run only if undead eaters are snapping at your heels (literally and figuratively).

This sudden (and silly not thought of sooner) realization unnerves me more than the actual bite. I can see it all play out in my head:

Me: Oh, hey, look it's a zombie. No worries, I got my Brooks running socks (wool, not cotton), my sweet cross trainers, and a sweat band for endurance. Oh, slumbering zombie, I'm so going to out distance you. Silly undead.

Zombie: Groan

Me: Look zombie, I just ran 2 miles and you are so behind. Man, I'm beat, but gotta keep up the pace.

Zombie: Groan (but from farther away)

Me: Gosh, 4 miles, I'm beat. Just need a little breather.

Zombie: (Almost inaudible groan) Groan

Me: Oh, side stitch. Curses. Need a longer break.

Zombie: Groan (Oh, is he getting a little closer?)

Me: Run, run, run, jog, jog, jog, walk, walk, walk, stumble, pant, face plant.

Zombie: Groan (So much CLOSER).

Me: Gasp, crawl, collapse.

Zombie: Chomp, chomp, chomp (accompanied by "Groan" of satisfaction)

Hilarity aside, this is rather disquieting. It's a discourse of futility but not on the part of the zombie. It is the inevitable failing of the human body. You will be worn down. Your legs will fail you. Your lungs will gasp not always steadily in and outtake air. You will stumble and slow. You will likely be caught. I suppose it's another conversation as to what should you do when fate deals this blow. Don't let this panic you--use the information to know your enemy and yourself. Perhaps then, you'll have or know when to have that Jetta or Vespa handy for when your body betrays you.

At least my running will give me a burst when needed--that bit of kick to win the immediate battle. But, I warn you, fellow zombie preparers, to train the most important muscle, the brain, as diligently as your body. I hope I am not being pretentious in asking you remember your limitations and do not let them become your demise.

Hello, Again

Been a while. Recently, I've been quite consumed with visitations though not of the undead kind. Family in and out, travel up and down and seemingly through the mountains--my brakes can attest to the accuracy of these statements. Thank you GPS for "losing" us in somewhat steep hills of PA. I suppose I should update those maps or maybe pray for a better sense of direction. Truth be told, I knew how I could get out those windy, 9.5 % grade mountains--I just didn't listen to my gut.

Of course, you may now be asking yourself after having read several of my fragments and run-on's what does this demented and delusional blogger's discourse have to do with zombie. Well, as I'm just free-thinking, not really much at this second. But, at a deeper look, perhaps my quite fully meandering mind has more to do with creepy, crawling corpses than originally thought. I feel like the song, "Wish You Were Here." If you don't know who wrote this one, shame on you though I could have typed it way faster than the time it took to admonish you. My head feels lost, foggy as it has since my job let out about 6 weeks ago. I feel like I am flitting from one day dream to the next and wondering what will actually shake me from this malaise. I would assume the piercing, ironic shredding of my flesh by a zombie would help stir my sense of reality a bit.

Really? Did she say a zombie biting her would make her feel more real? Perhaps, perhaps it would at least make me feel more physical. I've been swimming in Gaskell and B-rated Romantic comedies for days and need to wake the flip up. Still, have you ever had that feeling--the hypnotic notion that the only way to feel normal is to get bitten on the a$% by something paranormal? Sometimes when I read those gory books of the undead, I get lost there, as well. Adrift in a sea of severed limbs, rivers of blood, and the shriveling lumps of humanity wasting away on the side of some long forgotten back road, I feel myself becoming as fictional as the characters I read about. Other times, it is the interaction between my dazed life and something not so mundane that shakes my roots and shivers my leaves (yes, I made an awkward metaphor out of a tree). I stand taller, take longer gulps of vision at the world me, and actually feel alive.

Zombies give us a moment to fight against the real disease/infection/avoidance in our lives. Their sharp claws tear not necessarily at our soft bellies but at our gauze-mar veils of existentialism--the sense that all is subjective and never REAL. Zombies are really good at dismantling our defenses and making us run screaming for our lives (yes, I'm being densely figurative--please bare with me :) ).

I like that and more importantly, I need that.