Dead Love: When Zombies Work Out

If you are in New York and you are staying with fitness guru, Nancy Bruning (noted health writer and founder of Nancercize), you will rise, zombie-like, in the early, early a.m. (it will seem like the crack of dawn) and shuffle (Nancy will not be shuffling, you will) over to Fort Tryon Park for certain activities. This handsomely landscaped Washington Heights park built during the Great Depression has super views of the Hudson River, the George Washington Bridge, and the New Jersey Palisades and is the home of The Cloisters. There you will be met by a host of other could-be zombies, some from as far away as Belgium … well, at least on this particular morning.

You will be thinking, “I shouldn’t have had those extra glasses of wine or the vodka martini or … (fill in appropriately)” because you are stiff and unlively and your head is throbbing loud enough for zombies from miles around to hear it drumming and come running in their disjointed zombie way growling, “Brainzzzzzz!” You look around at the other woulda-coulda-been zombies and you assess that you are not the worst off. Which is good because the last shall be first … to be picked off.

Your tall, thin, super energetic, anti-zombie leader is insisting that you abandon your puppet-like stop-motion behavior and move your sleep-drugged body in new and interesting ways. And—glory be!—you actually start to warm-up in a way that a true corpse can’t.

Soon you are limber, flexible and, though hardly graceful, it doesn’t matter because you are feeling energized and alive and pretty much unstoppable. You are faster, sharper, more agile, you think, than anyone else in the group so you will outrun, out jump, out distance the mob. Hurrah!

After the workout, your first cup of coffee launches you into the stratosphere, to a place of absolute superhero-dom where you have vast physical powers and enormous potential all day until you crash and are reborn … again … as a zombie.

Right. Back to the park with you!

—Erin Orison, DEAD LOVE/the Daily Slice

photo courtesy of LWMC, ©LWMC