In Preparation for the Zombie Apocalypse

 I should put a disclaimer with this post: 

DISCLAIMER:  I am going to curse in this blog. Probably more than usual.  Expect to see things like "shit"  "sure as shit" "friggin",  and don't be surprised if it goes deeper than that.  If cursing offends you (it doesn't offend me) than perhaps you should read a more wholesome blog post.  I think there are at least 3 of my blog posts without curse words.  Those were probably off days for me.

    While thinking of the potential Zombie Apocalypse I think I need to own my imperfections:  I can't run.   Let me clarify that:  I can't run fast.  I in fact, can't run fast for shit.  I have never raced a person in a wheelchair,  but just to be clear IF I DID they would probably wheel right past me.  I run an 11 minute mile.  THERE I SAID IT.   That feels good,  like confessing to wooden Jesus.  I have run a 10:30 second mile before,  which was probably a day my legs didn't say a word to my brain to stop running.  Usually,  my brain says to my legs "What are you doing slow ass?  Quit running.  You'd do good to take a little walk for awhile slowpoke".

    If you have not seen World War Z,  I suggest you watch it.  It's available on Netflix.  If you don't have Netflix,  get it cheapskate.  Not that I have any room to talk.  I got Talia's password and login and have been piggy backing off of hers for over a year.  A broke girls gotta do,  what a broke girls gotta do.  So,  if you have seen it---THOSE ZOMBIES ARE FRIGGIN FAST.  Like, super fast. Probably a 5 minute undead mile.   If the Zombie Apocalypse involves those Zombies,  I'm toast.   I'd have to learn how to outsmart them like Brad Pitt does.   I'd have to use my whit, charm,  good sense of humor, and good looks to be the last woman standing.   Even with that,  I'd be clipped off within  the first 8 minutes of the Zombie Apocalypse.   8 minutes is a very generous estimation on my behalf---more like 4 minutes.  I'd be the person who saw the first Zombie,  and the first person to get eaten.  My family and friends would see me walking around Gibbstown as a hungry Zombie before they even knew the Apocalypse was happening.  They'd just yell out the window "Go home Elyse, your drunk."

    In my twisted skull while comparing Zombies,  I'd like to think I could survive if the Zombies were like the ones from the Walking Dead.  Hence the name,  those Zombies walk.  I can walk like a friggin champ.  I could walk for days.  In fact,  I walked for 3 days in the Susan G Komen Walk for a Cure when my Godmother was diagnosed with Breast Cancer.  Her idea,  obviously not mine.  I walked my little heart out for a cure.  Probably the hardest,  and best decision I ever made.  If anything,  it was for her and people who couldn't walk because they lost the battle.  So,  I walked in and outside of Philadelphia for 3 days.  If I were facing those Zombies I'd at least make it from Gibbstown to somewhere in California before I got eaten.  I can walk,  and I am street smart. I grew up on some pretty residential streets,  but don't let that fool you.   I could survive if I had to without a hair dryer and make up.  That actually sounds like a dream come true--- not having to do my hair or put on make up for anyone because everyone looks booty (recently someone said to me,  "you should do your hair more often."  Um...it's always done..........)

    Now,  if it were a Bear Apocalypse I'd be the last woman standing for sure.  While at the pool down the shore one day I stole a magazine from DD to read.  It happened to be an AARP magazine.   One of the articles outlined ways to survive the unthinkable.  One particular portion of this article outlined what you should do if faced with a bear.  The first words read "Don't run".  Don't run?!?!? Check.  I can do that.  I think for someone who is a good runner the first inclination they would have would be to run.  Mine would be the opposite.   They say there are two stages in fear:  Fight or Flight.  I say there are three.  Fight, Flight, or Do Jack Shit.  I can do jack shit.   A runner would naturally turn on their heels and sprint in the opposite direction of the bear,  and they'd be eaten.  500 pound bears are actually extremely fast.  Bears are noted to be able to run 15 meters a second,  which is faster than any human.  So,  they'd be eaten,  and I'd do jack shit and let it sniff me.  It would undoubtedly smell  that I am not fast and have not yet lifted 500 pounds (but one day I hope to!!),  and that I am of no threat to them.  I feel like Bears can sympathize with slow humans,  and would take pity on me.  It would probably walk right past me,  then start running when it saw someone sprinting away.  And,  following the theme here,  they'd be eaten.

     It's no secret I love cheesy scary movies.  My friend Christie once told me "No wonder you can't sleep!".  It's true.  I love scary movies.  All scary movies---Jeepers Creepers, Jeepers Creepers 2,   A Haunting in Connecticut, Carrie, A Haunting in Connecticut 2, The Haunting of Emily Whatsherface, ect ect ect  .  When I watch the cheesiest of cheesy ones I always yell at the tv  while the pretty girl stops running from the killer in the woods, leans against a tree to catch her breathe "WHAT ARE YOU DOING DUMBASS, RUN!!!"  Um...If I were cast for this movie,  I'd be that girl.  Panting on the side of the tree giving the killer every inclination of where I am.   They probably wouldn't even have to look long.  My movie would be run for 5 minutes,  keel over in pain not even hidden and die on the 6th minute.  If I could however pick up and throw the killer in some way,  I may have a fighting chance.  Especially if they weighed approximately 275 pounds,  slipped for some reason,  and I could dead-lift and throw them.

     Why am I telling you all of this?  Because I've learned that you need to own your weaknesses.  Everyone knows I'm strong.  Duh.  Everyone also knows I'm slow. Duh.  I just never was willing to admit how slow I actually am.  Ashamed?  Embarrassed? Uncomfortable?  Yeah, yeah, and yeah.  It just clicked for me.  Every time we run at Crossfit Solstice I already know in my head it's going to be a struggle for me.  I already know I come in last.  That's how the story goes: Elyse takes the longest.

    During the downhill part of the trail other people are already on my opposite side coming uphill.  Almost every single person who passes me while I trudge along says "Good job, Elyse"  "Keep going"  "Your almost there girl".   They are actually cheering me on!  Not because I'm slow,  but because at least I'm doing it.  At least I'm trying (I just shed a tear while writing that last part about my gym).  I don't know why this is making me emotional.  I feel like a hormonal teenage girl.    I think I'm emotional because that's what I love about Crossfit Solstice.  It's what people don't understand about Crossfit.  Some people say cult,  it's more like a family.  We support each other,  we give each other tips,  and we sure as shit encourage the underdog.  When it comes to running,  I am the underdog.  I am the 11 minute underdog.

I once heard that once you own your weaknesses no one can use them against you.  Except the Zombies.  They could use it against you.  I adlibbed that part of the quote.