Imagine you are training for the Boston Marathon and running through a local park. You pass crowds of revelers guzzling beers, eating burgers, and listening to country music.A couple of them laugh and shout, "Run, Forest, run!" Around the next turn you spy a horde of zombies coming your way. You realize the zombie apocalypse has begun. What's your next move? You must go back and warn the cookout crowd. As you near the picnic-ers You shout, "The zombies are coming!" One of them yells, "Look y'all, here comes Forest again." Then he shakes up a of can beer and pops it open in your direction. You run through the spray and everyone laughs. Very funny. You wonder if redneck comedians taste funny to zombies.
When the zombies round the corner, the party breaks up. The guy with the beer, an ex-running back, sprints by you. However, he can only maintain that pace for another thirty yards. When you pass him, he's bent over gasping for air like a beached tuna. Twenty-six miles later you arrive at your Uncle John's cabin deep in the woods. Five other marathoners have found their way there. Together you prepare for a new world, one in which distance runners because of natural selection will repopulate the earth.
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