I'm sure you've heard of this little race, Run for Your Lives. Well, I've finally signed up for it. If you haven't read up on this bloody 5K, it's a obstacle course filled with zombies, mazes, mud, and enough guts and gore to make this horror fan scream with joy. My husband is already shaking his head at my preparations, especially since the race is 4 months away. I mean, I hum with joy when it comes to Ihop and zombies. Did he expect any less?
I have to say, I'm a little nervous about the potential walls, hills, haystacks, and other impediments I'll need to overcome before crossing the finish line, hopefully with my life aka red flag football flags. I've got a few plans and strategies in mind (I can't say what specifically in case a zombie reads this blog). At least I can run a 5K pretty comfortably without creeks and undead getting in my way so I'm less worried about endurance. I suppose mostly its my competitive streak, my desire to hold on to those flimsy plastic symbols of life. It would make me so angry to fail, to not survive the zombie apocalypse after all the reading, planning, and snarling I've done regarding the walking dead.
But beneath my pride, there resides something more. We zombie fans participate in these events because they are flippin' fun and they are the manifestation of all of the books and films we've been consuming for years. Underneath it all, perhaps this is the one of those tests offering insight into our chances of real survival in a world bleeding zombies. Perhaps our reflexes aren't as swift and well-honed as we would like to believe. Maybe our lungs and limbs fail us much sooner than anticipated. Per chance, we cannot navigate murky environments and will succumb to our weaknesses derived from easy access to transit, Targets, and comfy Lazyboys. I wonder, if anything, whether or not this race will serve as a window into this microcosmic realm where the undead really do nip at your heels, a window revealing just a bit of who we really are when the dead don't stay dead and the woods truly daunt.
I know it's silly to take this too seriously, to let my brain over analyze this adventure of fantasy and fitness. I'll wear my fun t-shirt, duck and dive like the organizers suggest, and grab my beer at the end of the race. I'll enjoy the concert at the climax of the evening, laugh with my friends over the stupid mistakes and spills we made during our journeys, and I'll travel home in the dark of night towards my warm, safe home and fuzzy kitty cats.
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