The Post-Apocalyptic Workout

Intermission: For Your Enjoyment...

How The Post-Apocalyptic Workout was born.  In pictures:

Let's hope "artistic talent" isn't a neccesary Post-Apocalyptic skill.

Day 82: No Gym? No Problem!

Occasionally I get emails from readers who complain that they'd love to start a Zombie Workout of their own, but they don't have access to  gym.  Today's entry is crossposted from the slack daily.  It shows that all you need is a barbell...and a dream.  Enjoy.

It began with a barbell.  A solitary rusted-out barbell that sat under our neighbor R.'s white pickup truck with the faked "Delivery Vehicle" placard (there so he could double park.)  I wondered if it was leftover from his Garage Sale days.  Every Saturday, R. would haul out odds and ends - a white pleather sofa with cigarette burns, a lone bicycle tire, a side table missing a leg.  It wasn't until we saw the selection of little boys' clothes and board games that we became concerned.  There haven't been children in this building for over 40 years.  Y'know how there's always one person in your apartment complex that you think sure, he could be a serial killer...well, in our complex, we have more than one, but this guy topped the list. 

Will asked R. point-blank where the clothes had come from, and he told us that he had dumpster-diving in Beverly Hills.  Someone had told him that Garage Sales were where the money was at, and he was certain rich people in Beverly Hills threw away perfectly good stuff.  We were thankful that we weren't going to have to bring in the police to find a stash of boys' underwear under his bed, but everyone in the building came to the same consensus: moving trash a couple of zip codes doesn't make it treasure.  The Garage Sales  stopped, and R. returned to doing whatever it is he does. 

Which brings us back to the barbell.  It rolled back and forth between the cracks in the driveway, shedding flakes of rust like a snakeskin.  I've lived here long enough to know not to touch it. Clearly someone had a plan for this barbell.  I just had to wait it out.

Sure enough, a few weeks later I pulled into the driveway to see another neighbor, P. working with the barbell.  He was alternating biceps curls with swings from the bottle of Stella that sat on the bumper of R.'s white pickup truck.  If the number of empty bottles were any indication, he'd been through a regular Ironman workout. 

I climbed out of the car. Hey, P.

Y'wanna work in? he asked.

Nah, I'm good.  The beer's a nice touch, though.

It's what Hulk Hogan does.

I couldn't disagree.

Over the next few weeks I noticed other people had joined him.  Our neighbor G. added a rusted chair for dips, and the guy without teeth who doesn't live here but who always hangs out in our backyard is always handy with a spot.  Morning, noon, and night someone's out there throwing around some iron, swigging a beer, and washing themselves off in our hose.  Instead of going around the building to his side door, P. climbs in and out of the open window of his apartment to adjust the music and fetch another six-pack.

The biggest excuse for not going to the gym is that it's not convenient.  I have no excuse.

There's a 24-Hour Hobo Fitness.  In my own backyard.

Day 77: Faster Slackmistress! Kill! Kill!

The Second Challenge has been posted.

Day 75: Zombie Workout Tip of the Day!

Be prepared to see a few of these...

The preceding video can be seen at blip.tv or YouTube!

Day 74: Your Mission, If You Choose to Accept It.

Look at the Basic/Intermediate Skill List as well as the Advanced/Elite Skill List, and respond in the comments what you think are the TEN MOST IMPORTANT SKILLS TO KNOW to:

1. Survive the Zombie Invasion.
2. Prosper in a Post-Apocalyptic Society.

Now here's the catch: don't imagine you're you.  Y'see, you know stuff.  You're like, useful and shit.  You can start a car with a banana and grow a tomato with a piece of gum and a build a firearm with a pack of matches and a can of tuna.  No, don't imagine you're you.   

Imagine you're me, coming at this from a I-know-nothing perspective. A virtual tabula rasa.  A complete moron.  Take into account that I've got basic first aid and CPR covered, and list the ten skills from the above lists that you think are the bare-bones of living through the Zombocalypse.

Go.

Day 73: Challenge One = FAIL?

You be the judge.

The preceding broadcast can be viewed at blip.tv or YouTube!

Details on the next challenge Faster Slackmistress! Kill! Kill! coming...soon.

Day 70: A Sneak Preview...

(Via Engadget)

We're looking at guns, lockpicking, and a life sans sugar.  Y'know, stuff that's criminal.  Or should be.

Day 68: Putting it All Together.

Baby, wake up, I gotta go to the ER.

I grabbed my watch. 4:34am on Thursday morning.  As I pulled on my clothes, I made Will recite his symptoms.  Abdominal pain, slight fever.  He had been sick for the past ten days with a stomach bug, so none of this was too shocking, but he said it's something more serious.  He wasn't flushed or breathing heavy, so I sent him out to start the car while I took Daisy out for a quick pee and stashed her in her crate with food and water.  I didn't know how long we'd be gone. 

I offered to drive, but he insisted he was fine (minus that whole going-to-the-ER thing.)  The streets of a city that closes around 2am always look post-apocalyptic in the wee hours of the morning, and I was shocked at my ability to go from dead asleep to awake, dressed, and hyper-alert in ten minutes.

As you all know by now, Will had an appendectomy that presented some complications, so he was gutted from sternum to bellybutton.  All Post-Apocalyptic Activity was put on hold; the only zombie in my life was me, shuffling between the hospital and home. 

He was sent home Tuesday, and while he's still recuperating, I planned on resuming my workouts and beginning to assemble the next training phase.  I went for a recovery run yesterday, as I hadn't run in nearly a week and was stiff and sore from six days seated in hospital chairs and a diet that consisted of whatever was convenient.  Ten minutes, I thought, but I managed to run twenty-five. 

Pleased, I climbed the stairs into my apartment when I heard him call.

Baby?  Can you come here?

I found him in our bedroom, one hand over his seeping gut.  There was a trail of pinkish fluid that led from the closet to the bed.  He looked scared.  I bent down and looked him in the eye.

Look at me. Are you hurt?

It doesn't hurt, it's just that...all this fluid just burst out, he told me.

I realized that the trail on the floor was actually the arc of the spray that came out of his gut.  Our bedroom looked like the cafeteria from Alien, with Will playing John Hurt.

Okay, okay that's good.  Let's clean you up and call your doctor.  If he says we go to the ER, then we go back.  Okay?

Okay.

I washed and disinfected my hands, then located the First Aid Kit and re-bandaged the wound, talking calmly and firmly the entire time.  I then sat him down and called the doctor's office, who assured us that this happens, and as long as it's not gushing blood, he was okay.

It's not like I had to do this amidst nuclear fallout or zombie breaking in the windows, but as my first test of staying calm and focused in a crisis?  I think I passed.

I'm treating this as a get-back-into-the-swing of things week.  I know I owe a ton of emails and such, so please bear with me.  If I've learned anything from this, it's that you can't plan for everything.

Teller vs. Zombies.

I will be back tomorrow.  In the meantime...

Teller Survives a Zombie Epidemic in Las Vegas!

(via LaughingSquid )

An Administrative Note.

My husband is in the hospital due to an emergency appendectomy that ended up being major surgery.  As he'll be there until Tuesday, I'm spending most of my time there with quick trips home to feed and walk Daisy.  Please bear with me as PAW duties are on hold while wifely duties take over. 

I'll be back next week.

xo!