Normally, if suddenly we found ourselves in the middle of a rampant zombie infestation, I’d be reasonably confident of surviving. Not now. I’d be cactus.
In general I reckon I’ve got more nous than most people. I’m a bit calmer, a bit smarter, and maybe have a tad more street smart than the average Joe. I’ll reason things through and won’t panic no matter how trying it becomes. I reckon that gives you a huge head start in the survival stakes.
On top of that I’m pretty au fait with zombie lore, though pretty well every man and his dog these days reckons they’re a zombie expert thanks to the Walking Dead. Well, I’ve been into them long before that.
I’ve got the tools too. I have a good-sized metal baseball bat ready to crack a few zombie skulls, as well as a couple of rifles in reserve.
My skin-folds are the best they’ve been for about 18 years. My resting heart rate is superior now after years of languishing. In general I’m strong and capable, and as manly as I’m going to get.
All good, just about, but for one crucial thing. Everyone knows that most zombies shuffle along at barely a walk. Well, I could outrace them, but if I get one of the sprinters on my tail then I’m dinner.
I’ve never been a distance runner. Over a distance I’m going to be caught by most people. I was always fast though. Over 60-100 metres I had the field just about covered. From the time I was a kid I had explosive power, fast twitch muscles, and the general physique that goes with sprinting. I was made to burn, not last.
Sadly I can neither burn nor last these days. About 6 months ago I was playing back yard soccer with Cheeseboy’s son. He could play all day. It was my turn to go in-goal, much as I had in the days before. I’d saved a few shots when I reached to my right to save a shot and felt something twinge in my right groin reaching into my lower abdomen.
At the time I thought it was a strain that would pass in a few days. It wasn’t painful except when I twisted or turned sharply. But it didn’t get better, and still hasn’t.
It’s inconvenient even without a zombie invasion. I can’t run. I can’t do any strenuous exercise. Just between you and me I can’t have anything but very careful sex. Clearly it’s not going away.
Someone suggested to me it might be OP. I doubted that. Then someone else said a hernia. That made more sense. Then yesterday I had a poke around and found what felt like a ridge of muscle jutting up from the smooth surrounds. Bugger. It’s yet to be formally diagnosed, but chances are I have a hernia. That likely means surgery, and all the rest of it.
I can’t let it go. It’s severely restrictive of my lifestyle, but at the same time I can’t afford the time, and likely the expense. Something has to give, especially if the zombies are coming.