Editor's Note: The Las Vegas Zombie Run was held on Sunday, October 28th at Sunset Park in Las Vegas. The 5K course was flat and scenic but filled with zombies. As runners, we wore flag football-style belts with three flags attached. The whole idea of the run was to finish "alive" - i.e. with all of your flags (or at least one) in tact. If the zombies, who were littered the course, were able to grab your flags, you finished "dead."  My flags were gone by mile 1, but the rest of the run gave me a nice chance to reflect on my skills (or lack thereof) in the event of a real doomsday scenario.

Survival is a lonely number

Before the run, Brian had told me an old Native American adage that one of his clients relayed to him: if you and your friend are being chased by a bear, remember: you don't need to be faster than the bear. You just need to be faster than your friend.

Ouch. But...let's face it...kind of helpful.

I have to admit, this holds very true in the event of a zombie apocalypse. Every man and woman for themselves, right? As we stood at the starting line and watched zombies on the course rip flags from runners are they sprinted past, I found myself eying my friend and thinking, "All I need to do is give her one good push and I'm home free..."

Perhaps we all have a bit more Shane in us than we'd like to admit.

Loose Lips Sink Ships

And as we stood at the starting gate, I found myself looking at all of the other runners around me, all wearing belts and flags. If the idea was to finish alive, what was preventing me from yanking flags from other runners before the race even started? I could load up on extra flags, thereby ensuring my survival even before the zombie attack. I voiced my ideas out loud and some of the guys behind us laughed.

And then I felt someone rip off one of my flags.

I howled in outrage and immediately snatched it back. Everyone had a good laugh but it made me realize: if you want to survive, keep your plans to yourself. And run fast.

Pride Comes Before the Fall

Once the race finally started, we found ourselves ducking, weaving, and spinning out of the reach of the undead. They were not supposed to give chase, but the bike path was only so wide. With all of the runners going past, it made for a very congested path. There was quite a bit of zombie-runner-bottle necking. When I hit a half mile and realized I still had all my flags, my confidence soared. Instead of running off the path and out of the way of the zombies, the way any sensible person would do, I started tempting fate by running through them and around them. I'm faster than a bunch of zombies, right? Right? I mean, I'm awesome! Weeeee!

Wrong.

By mile 1, my arrogance caused my untimely "death" and I was left with zero flags on my belt. The zombies looked happy as a ran too close, not knowing I was making it so incredibly easy for them.  I realized that in the event of a real world situation, I would be more Carl than Rick. I would be the one who takes target practice at zombies stuck in the mud, only to have said zombie get unstuck and then attack our friend Dale.  After all, Carl's only job (for seasons 1 & 2) were to stay in the house. And what happened instead?

And with that, I have to say it was a great morning. Despite finishing dead, it was a fun way to get a little exercise and be out in the sunshine. Not to mention, it definitely puts you in the Halloween spirit.

Maybe next year I'll volunteer as a zombie.

Three words:

Better than Disneyland.

(If you love zombies, of course.)

I'm relatively new to this whole zombie phenomenon; I was only introduced to their world when "The Walking Dead" premiered on AMC and I was instantly hooked, thanks to Rick Grimes shooting that little blond girl in the face. (In his defense, she was already dead. Or undead. You know what I'm saying). My love for zombies and The Walking Dead has grown over the last few years, so when I saw there was a 5K in Vegas that involved running through hordes of zombies, I was like, "yes Yes YES!" After all, when I was training for the Vegas half last year, I would push myself during long runs by trying to convince myself that the world had ended and it was up to me and only me to get the medical supplies back to our group of survivors.

Long runs do weird things to your brain, but that's a whole 'nother post.

Anyways, I have been eagerly anticipating this zombie run for weeks, which lead me to stock up on supplies at the world's first (and only) ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE STORE. I'm not joking, it actually exists.

You gotta love this city. I mean, not only is it a town full of blue skies, reckless ambition and ambiguously marked traffic lanes, we are also 100% prepared in the event of a zombie apocalypse. God bless Las Vegas.

What do they sell, you ask? Well, overall, it's kind of a serious place. Real weapons like the sword Michonne carries are available for purchase (how bad ass is that?) along with Isreali gas masks, food rations (including a rather delicious looking pouch labeled "brown sugar oatmeal"), and large signs that alert others to quarantined areas. They offer a four-hour course titled "Urban Zombie Knife Defense" (four hours?) and there are plenty of books detailing how exactly to survive a zombie apocalypse, along with sanitation supplies, water bottles, and something called "Zom-bombs." I didn't get close enough to look at that last one, but I'd be willing to guess it's some kind of diversion tactic used to move hoards of zombies from one area to the next.

Before you start shaking your head and muttering about those freaks in Vegas, please know that despite the serious matter at hand, there were plenty of novelty items too. I grabbed some shirts for myself and a friend, aptly labeled 'This is my zombie killing t-shirt' and seriously considered buying a zombie make-up kit. The employees were delightful and super helpful; if they believe an apocalypse is at hand, it has not affected their moods. The nice guy with the beard engaged in a little debate with me regarding zombie infections ("Well, if you are of the George Romero school of zombies, even the slightest scratch will infect you, whereas The Walking Dead belief is that we are all infected already, and any death that leaves the brain undisturbed will turn you...") while the cashier girl happily told  me she is up to Season 2 Episode 6 of The Walking Dead and she really, really, really likes Shane. I just kind of nodded and kept my mouth shut. Boy is she in for a surprise.

There was even a tiny children's section. I guess the smallest ones are not immune from a world apocalypse, either. I about died reading this:

Turn the page, and oh yes, they really took it to heart:

So yeah, it's a bit more geek-chic than survivalist-chic, but a fun day nonetheless. If you are ever in Vegas and need to kill an hour (no pun intended), I highly recommended stopping by the store. Be sure to check out the army zombie guy by the barrels of watery blood outside, or take a photo with zombie Elvis.

But more importantly, be sure to ask yourself...do you have what it takes to survive?

The Zombie Apocalypse Store is located at 3420 Spring Mountain Road and is open from 9am-9pm. If you check in on Facebook while in the store, they give you a free postcard! If you are interested in signing up for the 5K, there are only a few more spots available, but check out lasvegaszombierun.com for more information. Happy surviving!

Last week, I saw the weather forecast in Las Vegas and thought to myself, "Wow! I'm so glad we are leaving town. We're finally avoiding this miserable, oppressive heat. I mean, 88 degrees in October is just beastly."

I should have known, when that first blast of arctic air hit me as I wrestled with the car seat in the nearly-vacant passenger pick-up line in the Bismarck airport on Thursday, my foolish thoughts would come back to bite me in my nearly-frozen bum.

I mean, it's wasn't like I packed loose pants and a tank top to sleep in, when our room was approximately 55 degrees at night and the hotel offered nothing more than two thin sheets and a tiny blanket. Or that every time Scotty went outside and the wind hit him, he howled like a tiny, cold, angry Bear and glared at me accusingly. We city-slickers had no place traveling to the middle of North Dakota in late October, and I clearly had idea what I was doing when I packed. Interestingly, in a place where Uggs are warranted, I was the only person wearing them. And that was the only part of my body that wasn't cold.

The frozen tundra that is the 39th state was also the site of Brian's oldest friend Mark's wedding. Brian was Best Man and Scotty put the "bear" in "ring bearer." I will say, any couple that asks a three-year old to stand up in their wedding is pretty adventurous, since thirty minutes before the service, I still wasn't sure if Scotty was going to wear his coat and tie without pitching a fit. The little guy was a trooper, though, and thanks to the helpful advice of the six-year old flower girl, he walked down the aisle like a dutiful solider. He only stopped once to exclaim over the holy water fountain. Thankfully, Avery pulled him away and towards the altar.

If that picture doesn't melt your heart, try this one. Here, Scotty is attempting to work his magic with Avery by handing her all the sticks in the park. Despite his sincerity, she wasn't having any of it.

After pictures, I whisked the little guy back to the hotel room for a quick snack and perhaps an episode or two of Bubble Guppies. He had been "on" all day, so I thought a break before the reception was necessary.

And wouldn't you know, the kid that I have been trying to get to sleep for the last three years of his life, completely and totally fell apart on me. Within three minutes, he was toast.

Since Brian's duties required his attendance at the reception, I was left to fend for myself with the slumbering Bear in our room. After an hour, I sent an SOS text to Brian that simply said, "SEND MORE WINE!" I was surviving on Snackimals and fruit snacks and it looked increasingly like this bear was going to sleep through winter.

When Brian texted and said dinner was starting, I attempted to rouse our little one and suddenly had a deep appreciation for anyone who had to handle a drunk Kim during my college years. As I attempted to dress Scotty in his tux again, he kept wilting on me. I would stand him on the bed, and he would pitch over. He was kind of coherent but not really. I was shouting all kinds of helpful things like, "Work with me, kid!"  and "Okay, now your other foot...nope, not that one...the other one!" and "Almost there! Stay with me!" as he flopped like a rag doll back and forth. As we walked to the reception area, which was just down the hall from our room, he clung to my neck like a fearful koala that was still mostly asleep.

But once we hit the party, he came alive.

The only way I can describe the evolution of Scotty (and his tuxedo) was while he was all dressed up, he looked like a banker. Remove the coat and tie and he looked like a bartender. Take the vest off, you have a pirate. And then the shirt came undone and suddenly he was a drunken pirate. Off with the cufflinks, unbutton a few more buttons, and suddenly he's George Clooney at the after party.

What this is, is anyone's guess.

And that, folks, pretty much sums up our weekend in North Dakota.

While Hurricane Scotty raged on the dance floor (and under tables), I was attempting to deal with the gastrointestinal distress brought about by the regional cuisine. Since Friday consisted of breakfast at Cracker Barrel, lunch at the Big Boy, and dinner from a local pizza place, my lactose-intolerance body was practically shaking. Every time I requested almond or soy milk, I was met with a slow blink. Ditto for those fries with gravy from the Big Boy; I can't believe my stomach wasn't okay with these culinary delights. I'm scared to even think about my cholestrol levels. It will likely take a detox diet of nothing coconut water and kale for weeks for me to regroup.

I don't know if we'll ever go back, particularly during the winter time (i.e. September to June), but it was certainly an adventure. I'm sad that it only takes a 30 degree dip in temps to cause me to completely break down into a puddle of Kim, but I guess I've acclimated to desert lizard status.

And just in case you are curious: while Scotty and I were bundled in coats, vests, scarves, and boots, the general population was running around in...short-sleeved shirts. Apparently, this was "fall" to them.

Big congrats to Jena and Mark on their special day!! I hope you are enjoying your honeymoon and all the lovely warm weather in Hawaii. Best wishes for a great life together! --KSB

...is it over yet?

Feel free to throw things at me, but I am feeling rather dispirited about this year's election. Between the near-hourly phone calls, the constant ads on TV, the flyers in the mail, people knocking on my door, and all of the lovely political discourse rushing through my Facebook news feed, I'm half-tempted to simply unplug, tune out, and crawl into bed until November 7th.

Unpatriotic? I hope not. I'm actually very excited for Election Day and plan to bring the Bear with me to the polls. We went in 2010 but I think he was still too young to really get it. Not like he's a man of the world at the age of three, but he can identify both local and national candidates with surprising accuracy. And just because I could, I taught him to refer to Mitt Romney simply as "Mittens." Sorry, couldn't resist. ::snickers::

Cute toddler antics aside, I'm kind of over this whole thing. I wish I could muster even an iota of excitement, but when you live in a household with a couple in different political parties, the phone calls literally never stop. No, I don't want to volunteer for a campaign. No, my husband does not either. We both do not want to take your survey. Please don't call after 8:30pm. We will hunt you down if you dare call after 9.

As for Facebook, I've blocked more people than I can count in order to avoid their status updates, touting their particular party or candidate. Really? Do you really think your post will change my mind?  I love a good discussion, but Facebook lends itself to more one-liners than actually discourse. Not to mention, everyone has an opinion but it seems few have actual knowledge. I felt this summed it up best:

I guess it comes down to...does anyone really know what's best? It really is just all about opinions. What A thinks is better may not work for B. This whole process, from immigration reform to the growth of jobs to binders full of woman...(the most random comment from last night's debate)...I mean, really, who knows what the best route is to make things better?

The whole thing gives me a headache.

I have very little knowledge, but at least I'm smart enough to keep my mouth shut.

Which leads me to this:

Mmm, pancakes.

So yeah, that's kind of my position. I'm pro-pancakes and anti-late-night-political calls. I'm excited for Election Day to be able to show the Bear democracy in action as well as for the constant chatter to finally die down. Just don't expect me to answer my phone.

Finally! A use for the wretched vegetable that I actually support:

Decorative.

Wow.

Wow, wow, wow. What a run. What a weekend!

I have to start off by saying: if you do not believe in a higher power, than you have not run Red Rock Canyon at night. It is truly magnificent. Red Rock has long been one of my absolute favorite places in Las Vegas, and to see it at night - with the lights of the valley shining brightly just below - was an amazing spectacle to behold. Whether you call Him (Her?) God, Jesus, Yahweh, Mohammad, Buddha or Tom Cruise, man, does Red Rock make you feel spiritual. It's just this amazing feeling of energy, peace, and strength. Love it. Just love it.

So I felt incredibly fortunate to have signed up for this amazing race. I was doing it by myself, which was fine, until I got a text from my friend Nancy Saturday morning. She was thinking about entering...what did I think? Um...well, considering I've been training for two months, have shunned alcohol for the last ten days, carb-loaded on pasta on Friday night and got ten hours of sleep, what did I think? I think she's crazy. But I love her free-spiritedness (is that a word?) and god bless the woman for possessing the ability to wake up one morning and decide to run a half marathon that night. Nancy is also approximately the size of my toddler and clearly has a gift. Glad she's putting it to good use.

What was even cooler was that our friend Michelle got in on the action and though she didn't want to run, she agreed to not only meet us at the finish line, but to bring our favorite cupcakes as well. Seriously? See, this is what I love about running - it's about the relationships, not just the race. I love that the three of us can plan our Saturday night together, with nary a drop of alcohol or having to shell out big money on dinner, and have a fantastic, memorable time. Don't get me wrong - I love those nights just like the rest of the world. But this was a pleasant change of pace. It just warms my heart to think of all of the things this sport has brought into my life.

And just like that, the sun went down and it was go-time. Nancy and I nervously boarded the bus that was to shuttle us out of the canyon, taking note the crowd looked serious. Like, real runners. Where was the chubby mom with the stroller? I'm the only one that fit the bill, to be honest, even though I left the Bear (and the stroller at home.) We giggled as we practiced wearing our lights on our head, and I noticed all of the other runners wore their lights like old pros. Maybe I'm exceptionally immature or incredibly vain, but I just couldn't swallow the idea of wearing that thing on my head for 13.1 miles. It was just not a cute look on me.

Perhaps the scariest part of the whole adventure was getting off of the bus. As soon as we exited, I grabbed Nancy's arm and exclaimed, "Oh no! I forgot that I don't like the dark!" Major oversight by Kim. My two greatest dislikes are heights and darkness. And oh boy, was it dark. The mountains rose up in the inky blackness like imposing sentries. Thank goodness for that moon. It took a few minutes for our eyes to adjust, but I'll be honest - Nancy and I lost each other several times before the gun was even fired. It was hold-your-partner-close kind of dark.  Our head lights were becoming more practical by the minute.

With the moon full above us, we took off. Those first miles were killer, and I had been warned to take it slow. The elevation rose from 3,700 feet to 4,700 within five miles. At times, I wondered if I was even moving. But I'm proud to say, I didn't walk a step. I may have been slowly trudging up a canyon, but I never stopped.

Imagine my surprise when I saw ole Pink Shorts in front of me. She was resplendent in neon green on this fine evening, and every time I attempted to pass her, she'd speed up. I almost tripped over my feet when she started talking to me. "You're a good pacer," she huffed. I popped an ear bud out and smiled. "Thanks! You're doing great!" I really have no idea what I was supposed to say. I just wanted to end the conversation as quickly as possible since I was slowly running out of air.

Hitting the overlook ascent at 5.3 miles, the highest point in Red Rock, was magical. It honestly looked like a movie set up there, like someone had painted these spectacular rock formations and then backlit a tiny, glittery city that peaked through the valley's crescent. I wish I could say I smiled for the cameras, but I teared up a little at the beauty around me instead. I, however, am not looking forward to seeing the photos from this event, mainly along with my emotional facial contortions, I had worn my head light directly under my bust (instead of on my forehead) and unknowingly left it upside-down, illuminating my boobs and giving me that scary "flashlight face."

Oh, I can only imagine the photos. ::shudders::

Regardless of what I looked like, I had made it through the hardest part of the run successfully and was feeling amazing. Miles six to nine are usually my favorite anyways, and this was no different. I kind of felt like a little turtle from Finding Nemo as I ran through the ascent; it was my turn now to ride the EAC. Drop, tuck, and roll - and down the mountain I flew. Weeeeee!

I have no idea where the next eight miles went, but I do know I loved every step. Well, except for that side stitch that occurred around mile 7. That hurt. Oh, and the two nice volunteers who were so busy pouring water for phantom runners that they forgot to hand me water. Seriously, for a stretch of time, it was just me out there. I'm not sure if everyone was ahead of me or behind me, but it was just me and my headlight coming down the road. Both volunteers were so studiously pouring water that they didn't see me, causing me to yell "Water please! Water! WATER! GAH!!!" until they finally reacted. (The "GAH!" was because I was about to pass them.)

The best part of running downhill is that you get to go on autopilot. Uphill is all "Oh god, oh god, keep going, you got this, it's okay, keep breathing, it will be over soon" whereas with downhill, I just change the channel in my brain and think about whatever I want. On this particular night, I decided to think about special people in my life. That tonight would have been my parents' 39th anniversary. It was my grandpa's 94th birthday. That Sunday was my dear friend Tiffany's birthday, and Monday was her very special son Uly's first birthday. I thought about my friend Krista and her baby Andrew, my friend Katherine and her daughter Ava, and my own little guy at home. Talk about warm fuzzies.

And by mile 8, I knew I had this one. I've run Red Rock so often (but only starting at the exit and then running in), that I could practically name the Joshua trees. Every dip, curve, and climb felt familiar. As a pack of runners slowed to climb mile 10, I knew that just beyond the ridge was a fabulous downhill descent to mile 13. So while they slowed, I sped up. And it felt pretty darn awesome to pass people.

At the finish, as she promised, was Michelle with her box of cupcakes. We noshed on them while we waited for Nancy and I could not wipe the smile from my face. I had conquered Red Rock. I did it at night, too, which proves to me that the Vegas 1/2 from last December must have been an anomaly. (I'm still trying to shake that bad race my memory).

What I've noticed about running pictures is that my smile is genuine. For a sport that is ridiculously simple yet unbelievably tough, it brings me true joy. Thanks, running.

Sorry if this blog entry lacks my usual sarcasm and ill-spirited humor. The endorphins are still coursing through my body, giving me an elevated sense of pleasure. Don't worry, though - I'm sure that high will dissipate soon enough, and tomorrow I'll be back to complaining about preschool, football, or how the Real Housewives of New Jersey have totally jumped the shark. (that reunion! The camera angles! What were they thinking?!)

In the meantime, I'm going to sit and savor a truly awesome run over a great weekend.  And like I've always said: if I can do it, you can it! Lace up those sneakers and go hit the pavement. You'll never regret it. But if you are going to go long(er) distances, let me give you two words that will change your life: compression socks. You can thank me later for it.