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!
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?
Maybe next year I'll volunteer as a zombie.