Zombies keep me fat

Yesterday, I saw a guy running so fast, I turned around to see who he was running from. I couldn’t find any obvious attackers, but he was wearing jeans and a band t-shirt, and it was 1:30 in the afternoon, so it didn’t appear like this was just a quick lunchtime jogging session. I like to keep my eye out for instances of incongruous levels of public physical exertion, because, well, you know — the zombies.

Every day that I wake up to a zombie-free planet, my soul dies a little… um, “un”-dies. As in undead, not “undies”. I have studied almost every book and movie ever made on surviving the inevitable rise of the revenants; fictional, pseudo-instructional, and (I kid you not) outright preparatory to a degree that makes me wonder if the creators aren’t holding some poor experiment victim in a basement prison cell. It seems to me, based on this research, that surviving the apocalypse will take varying degrees of skill, preparation, and luck, and unfortunately, I’m batting zero for three on all of the above.

When I come across someone who can sustain a sprint for longer than about 15 seconds, I get a compulsion to take better care of my health. And then just as quickly, my internal reality check safeguard kicks in. Since I’m fairly intelligent (my brilliance being surpassed only by my modesty), I know in outright terms that being physically fit is better for you. So, to justify my preference for a full belly and a soft couch over the gym, I have to come up with some pretty creative rationalizations. Sometimes I even surprise myself with how good they are.

For example, when I saw Mr. Abercrombie and Fitch running from the invisible assailant, I said to myself, ‘well, what if HE’s the zombie?!’ I mean, yeah, technically with his great motor skills, he’d have to be “infected” with something, versus reanimating from the dead, but when your brains are being chomped, this fine distinction won’t mean much, will it?

So, given the likelihood that my lack of innate survival talents will lead to my eventual demise (unless we’ll be able to barter blog posts for food when civilization crashes) is it fair for me to become more athletic? Doesn’t that put the entire population at risk, as I would then be able to catch more people and infect them also?! Therefore, by staying slow and easily avoidable, I am performing an act of self-sacrifice worthy of Mother Teresa, donating a few extra years of my life to spare others the pain of a drawn out death. You’re welcome.

Sometimes I wonder why there aren’t more zombie training classes. Occasionally, I see camps where you can learn about shooting and growing your own food. But the closest thing offered to help those of us destined to become part of the horde is the “zombie walk”. But that is more about getting painted up and reliving that great Michael Jackson Thriller video than about learning something useful.

I need a support group, like FZA, Future Zombies Anonymous. We’d talk about acceptance and coping skills. We’ll say affirmations and drink lots of coffee. I still haven’t decided on whether the focus should be on improving our inner zombieness, leading to self-actualization, or on suppressing our inherently violent natures, for the greater good, but I’m leaning toward the strategy of watching film footage for tactics, while loading up on carbs and easing off on the cardio as a good balance.

As the sun rises on what is setting out to be another uneventful reanimation-less day, take some time for self-assessment. If you are in good shape, for example, able to qualify for the Boston Marathon, then I recommend learning additional survival skills so that you can lead humanity when it’s time to rebuild civilization. But for those of us who are more likely to end up as non-speaking parts in the next George Romero, “… of the Dead” flick, do everyone a favor and load up on Twinkies while they’re still plentiful. The fate of the world depends on it.