While watching The Walking Dead, my boyfriend and I were discussing what we would do in a zombie apocalypse. I asked him if he would protect me if we lived in a world full of zombies and, without hesitating, he says “I won’t be around to protect you. I’m gonna be a zombie.” He went on to say how cool it would be to consume all-you-can-eat brains, walk around and never get tired, and not have to worry about being caught/maimed/eaten/bitten/killed by zombies. Then we talked about how much easier it would be to just give in and become one instead of constantly running. I was on the same page as him for awhile, but then I thought of something. I probably wouldn’t have the CHOICE to become or not to become a zombie because I probably couldn’t outrun whoever I was with, leaving me to be the one attacked. Yes folks, my fat ass has even affected my make believe ZOMBIE escaping abilities.
First off, after destroying my stairs (duh), I would be forced to accept that sooner or later I would have to eventually eat the tofu noodles in the plastic bag full of fish-smelling water that I bought because someone on Food Network once told me it tasted EXACTLY like real pasta, with 75% less calories. Ugh. Those three baggies are in my vegetable crisper right now. Gross. I'd probably eat my boyfriend's Pop Tarts first. In the first 10 minutes. Then, after about a week of eating the stock piles of chicken broth I have because I was going to make some delicious soups and stews with it, but never did because I'd have to, like, COOK. Soon the cupboards would be bare and my boyfriend, I'm sure, would STILL uphold the argument that the cat was a member of our family and is not to be eaten. Then what? No food. No way of getting out of the house as we live on the second floor and we have destroyed the stairs to keep out the invasion of zombies that used to be our community. No connection to the outside world because the power, to be sure, would have been out for weeks. No way of going to the Walmarts to pick up provisions. And especially no way of doing what I would LOVE to do at the end of times; eat every kind of cake and candy bar ever created. No thank you.
Next we have the fact that you have to be at least the slightest bit fit to outrun, well, anything. The other survivors trying to stay alive, the zombies that want only to consume you, and maybe even the wild animals that suddenly feel more comfortable hunting humans as they have always wanted to but couldn't because we lure them into our backyards with our garbage then shoot them. I would easily be the one sacrificed by my once trusted group of comrades that formed our own tribe. They would either push me down while trying to evade the army of zombie behind us or kill me themselves for eating everyone's week-long rations in one sitting. Either way, I'm fucked. I probably wouldn't even have the upper arm strength to lob off the head of a zombie with and axe. I certainly couldn't wield a machete, and everyone knows THAT'S the weapon you want in a zombie invasion. I could go on and on about the physical challenges of the human vs zombie world, but this is a blog, not a dang novel.
The moral of the story is this: I want to get in shape, if for no other reason then to survive a Zombie Apocalypse.
XOXOXO
First off, after destroying my stairs (duh), I would be forced to accept that sooner or later I would have to eventually eat the tofu noodles in the plastic bag full of fish-smelling water that I bought because someone on Food Network once told me it tasted EXACTLY like real pasta, with 75% less calories. Ugh. Those three baggies are in my vegetable crisper right now. Gross. I'd probably eat my boyfriend's Pop Tarts first. In the first 10 minutes. Then, after about a week of eating the stock piles of chicken broth I have because I was going to make some delicious soups and stews with it, but never did because I'd have to, like, COOK. Soon the cupboards would be bare and my boyfriend, I'm sure, would STILL uphold the argument that the cat was a member of our family and is not to be eaten. Then what? No food. No way of getting out of the house as we live on the second floor and we have destroyed the stairs to keep out the invasion of zombies that used to be our community. No connection to the outside world because the power, to be sure, would have been out for weeks. No way of going to the Walmarts to pick up provisions. And especially no way of doing what I would LOVE to do at the end of times; eat every kind of cake and candy bar ever created. No thank you.
Next we have the fact that you have to be at least the slightest bit fit to outrun, well, anything. The other survivors trying to stay alive, the zombies that want only to consume you, and maybe even the wild animals that suddenly feel more comfortable hunting humans as they have always wanted to but couldn't because we lure them into our backyards with our garbage then shoot them. I would easily be the one sacrificed by my once trusted group of comrades that formed our own tribe. They would either push me down while trying to evade the army of zombie behind us or kill me themselves for eating everyone's week-long rations in one sitting. Either way, I'm fucked. I probably wouldn't even have the upper arm strength to lob off the head of a zombie with and axe. I certainly couldn't wield a machete, and everyone knows THAT'S the weapon you want in a zombie invasion. I could go on and on about the physical challenges of the human vs zombie world, but this is a blog, not a dang novel.
The moral of the story is this: I want to get in shape, if for no other reason then to survive a Zombie Apocalypse.
XOXOXO
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