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Zombie Apocalypse !

zombierunblog     A few weeks ago my dear friend Gordon asked me to run a race with him. I love races. I race often (or, I used to race often). This was a different sort of race, however. We were signing up to be chased be zombies. Er…Okay…?

After reading and giggling over the website information, including the fact that this race originated in Philadelphia (of course it did…Leave it to Philly to come up with a zombie race) and the following tidbit, I signed up.

“They may be called ‘the walking dead’, but don’t be fooled. Zombies will chase after you just as fast as someone who doesn’t eat brains for breakfast. Try our tips to get in the best shape of your life, or you may not have one for much longer!”

I was looking foward to this one. I’m a Philly girl. Perverse, not to mention an adrenaline junky. Willfully sign up to have zombies chase me? Sure! In the wee hours of a Sunday morning? Doesn’t get much better than that. Hell, I survived the literary zombie craze, how hard could a 5K race with them be? A 5K is nothing, I bragged to myself. And to my husband. And maybe a few friends.

Talk about a quirky morning. My friend Gordon picks me up and drives us to a zombie apocolypse. After only one cup of coffee, freezing my ass off in the misty dawn of the dead. we jog to the starting corral, not knowing what is in store around the corner. We all wear belts with balloons attached, that represent our internal organs that the zombies will try to snatch and consume. Once all of your balloons are gone, you’re a goner.

And we’re off. About a half mile in, I’m feeling pretty terrific. The sun comes out. What a lovely day. What the…What the $%#& is staggering across the road at me? Holy crap, it’s a zombie. Then more and more appear, lunging at us and some full out chasing us. They are in full gruesome makeup, and snarling and some cheating, in my opinion, by sprinting out from behind trees. Gordon and I are quickly separated, as he takes off in one direction, tailed by zombies, and I take off in another. So much for safety in numbers! It’s every runner for themself. These zombies keep appearing, and some are disturbingly agressive. And fast! I lose all of my balloons, and try to enjoy the rest of the race, but the damn zombies still chase me! I sprint and zigzag, shrieking to them that I have no goddamn balloons left! I’m already dead, back off!

We finish the race and meet up, completely high on endorphins. We feel like we’re eighteen years old. Gordon pretends to mosh as if we’re in the club pits of our youth while his wife records it on her phone for future blackmail, and I bounce around blabbing about continuing the run when I go home, as it was only 3.1 measly miles.

The next morning I rise to find that I have morphed into the Tin Man overnight. I can’t bend my legs. My hips won’t swivel without excruciating pain, and I lurch to the stairs and peer down. How the &$*(# am I supposed to get down the stairs? By the end of the day I want to be hooked up to morphine drip and hubby has the nerve to poke fun at my overzealous confidence. He points out that I’m not as young as I think I am. I point out that he would be in real trouble if I could walk. He’s a big talker when I can’t get out of my chair!

I guess he’s right. But that was one exhilarating race. Sometimes the adrenaline is worth the pain.



  1. Sounds like fun. I would love to feel like I was 18 again :)

    Thanks for stopping by my AtoZ.
    Rhonda @Laugh-Quotes.com