If there’s ever an apocalypse, I’m going down with the first bunch.
I will not be in the group foraging for squirrel meat and setting up camp wherever they find flat ground.
First of all, because I wouldn’t survive that scenario. I’ve barely made it through any camping trip I’ve ever gone on. Not once, but twice, on summer camp overnights, I woke up with a slug in my hair. What are the odds? Apparently, high.
Slugs like my scalp. And I’m terrified of campfires.
How is it that more people don’t die from them? They seem so dangerous. Sparks are always shooting out of them. I freak when someone puts one out by stomping on it.
Also, pooping in the woods? With no toilet paper left? No thank you.
So I’m not made for that stuff.
But I wouldn’t even make it that far, because I have no upper body strength.
I’ve been obsessively watching The Walking Dead, even though it’s not that good, because I can’t exist in a state where there’s no show with a chokehold on my life. I need something that keeps me up way past a normal bedtime, so I can hate myself for lack of self-control. I’ve watched through just about everything else good, and Walking Dead was all I had left. Which, I guess, is my own mini-apocalypse. Living on TV scraps.
Watching a show like The Walking Dead forces you to consider what you’d do if the world went to shit.
Not went to shit in the sense of, “Did you read about the skyscraper going up where the bowling alley used to be? The world’s going to shit.” But in the sense of, it’s all ending and only people with upper body strength are going to make it.
When the world really goes to shit, you have to do a lot of self- hoisting.
Jumping over fences. Pulling yourself back up when you’re dangling from a deep ravine. Pulling your friend, or even some redneck bigot you barely tolerate but can’t just let die, up with you.
(As a side note, why do they call an advantage a “leg up”? Anyone can get a leg up. It’s pulling up the torso that marks greatness.)
So maybe the zombie scenario is far-fetched.
But think about the tsunami in Thailand where only Nate Berkus and that model Petra something-or-other pulled through, because they were able to cling to trees.
That takes biceps, triceps, and lats. I have none of those.
I can do a girl pushup, but that’s it. Chin-up? Don’t make me laugh.
Exercise-wise, I came of age during the aerobics era. “Grapevine left! And grapevine right! And pony, and pony, and kick like a Rockette!” I’m all about cardio, even if they say you burn more when you have muscle mass. I just can’t be bothered.
The result is that I can’t even open our fridge with my left hand.
My right can do the job, because it still has muscle memory from when I scooped ice cream at Steve’s for a summer. To be fair, our fridge has a super-strong seal. But I’m definitely not breaking through doors if I need to call for help just to access the mayonnaise.
Steven and I have a routine where he grips my upper arm and says “make a muscle.” And I say, “I’m making one.” And he says, “No, really, make one.” And I say “I am.”
Pray for me that the zombies don’t come.
Would you survive an apocalypse?
Do you think about it?
TELL ME IN THE COMMENTS