I often say that the main reason I keep fit is to be able to outrun the beasts in the event of a zombie apocalypse.
I am only semi-joking about this.
Life continually proves itself to be stranger than fiction so you’ve got to keep an open mind and be prepared for the unexpected.
Still, it was a surprise to enter the gym changing room on Sunday to be confronted with real live (dead?) zombies.
Their ashen faces, wild, sunken eyes, matted hair and ripped clothing covered in dried blood weren’t top of my post-workout plan. Also there was a woman in there airing her hooha with one of the hairdryers but she wasn’t a zombie, she was just uninhibited.
I had just run for 5k so was purple-faced and addle-headed to say the least. It was very discombobulating.
But seriously, Zombies? Is this how it starts? In the women’s changing room at LA Fitness? Did you smell us first because we’re all a bit sweaty? Had you heard about the exhibitionist with the hairdryer?
Turns out it was a hen party, all kitted out to perform Michael Jackson’s Thriller. They had hired the fitness studio to rehearse. They were not zombies, they were just a bit pissed on prosecco.
We live to fight another day.