Run for Your Lives! Um, no, no thank you please

Screw you, Jesse Eisenberg. I love you, but screw you.

I hate running. Really. Utterly and outright, with a passion typically reserved for aging white southern grandmothers still having a hard time not always getting the front seat on the bus. It is irrational, unwarranted, and–frankly–even I'm starting to get a little uncomfortable with it.

TLDR: Running is my least favorite human activity next to anything typically considered a war crime.

Still, my friends are thinking of going to Run for Your Lives. It's a 5k obstacle course where you're chased by "zombies" the entire time.

I love zombies.

I get excited when I wake up in a cold sweat from a zombie dream. I'm sad that I haven't had one in months, even though they're getting monotonous; all I ever do is run and jump and slam doors, and maybe hack with a rust shovel once before realizing I have not the strength to puncture a torso, let alone sever a spinal chord. Blessed Romero, the last two I had were all just running until I got tired.

I woke up tired for George's sake. From running in a dream. Have we discerned the problem?

Unfortunately for me, there seem to be "health packs" but not "spray-painted Nerf guns" in this event.

Well if there were ever a reason to get back into working out, the zombie apocalypse is the best I'm gonna do.