ZOMBIES!!!

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Something felt very wrong about the woods we had just entered. Broad daylight, and not a single bird or squirrel - in fact, no sign of life at all.

"Are you sure we're going the right way?" someone quavered.

"This is where the map told us to go," another person said.

I looked around at the group, a cluster of two dozen tired souls in sneakers and running shorts, all of us splattered with mud. We looked pathetic. I'm not saying that you have to face a zombie apocalypse in blown-out hair and full makeup in order to be prepared, but man.

"We have to go through that cabin." A man next to me wiped his dirty hands on his t-shirt, which spelled out EAT JIM, NOT ME above an arrow pointing to the left. "There's barbed wire on both sides. We can't go around it."

His friend - Jim, presumably - looked both ways, as though we were doing nothing more than crossing a busy intersection. "It's too quiet here, guys. Stick together."

"Stop trying to be the leader," a big blond woman told him, sauntering forward with bravado. "You know they always lose their brains first."

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than a low growl emerged from the twisting trees to our right. A pack of five zombies, drenched in blood, lurched toward us. Their eyes rolled, their mouths gaped, and from their pockets flapped a handful of scarlet tags, indicating that we were not their first victims.

"Run! Run, you idiots!" screamed the man with the EAT JIM t-shirt.

I scrambled ahead with the rest of the pack, all too conscious of my own tags fluttering around my running shorts. I was too vulnerable - we all were. All a zombie had to do was grab one, and...

A scuffle to my right. One of the zombies, a young guy with a mohawk and an array of facial piercings, grabbed at the person next to me and missed. He turned his attention to me. Determination born of hunger flared in his eyes as he snatched at my tags.

I hauled back, preparing to aim a right hook alongside his jaw.

"No!" the zombie said, flinching. "You can't touch me, you'll get disqualified from the race!"

Crap.

* * *

I'm thinking about doing something crazy next year, and that is participating in this race: Run For Your Lives 5K.

It's a race-slash-obstacle-course where the object is to get to the finish line with all of your red health tags still attached to your body. The catch? People will be dressed up as zombies and they will chase you and try to steal your tags while you're running through.

Why do I say that this is crazy?

1. I haven't run a 5K since high school. True, that's only about 3 miles, which I walk on a daily basis now that I live in the city, but I haven't gone that distance competitively since I was like, 15.
   


2. I'm a big scaredy-cat. Yeah, I know that the zombies aren't real, but STILL...


3. I fight when frightened. If you try to sneak up on me, I'll probably end up punching you. Fair warning. This might not be so convenient during the race, since we and the zombies aren't supposed to touch each other. I'll have to try not to get thrown out for kicking one in the face...


4. No one will do this with me. I've gotten only about 3 friends to agree to run this with me and let's face it, I need like, 15. Everyone else has been throwing down excuses like "I have bad knees" and "I might be on vacation then" and "Sorry, I don't run." See, the strategy here is to have a big group of people. While the zombies are distracted and try to eat your friends, you can easily run around them.

BUT, that being said, I think it might be pretty fun.

It might even inspire me to write a zombie story (and I would definitely do a blog novelization of everything that happened for your reading pleasure). After all, zombies are the new vampires. This might be my chance to create a swoonworthy undead hero to rival Edward Cullen.

What do you think? Should I do the race?