Shannon and I have decided that we’re sick of being fat bastards and have implemented a fitness regime into our already pretty groggy lives. Shannon’s going to be a doctor one day, so I understand her desire for general health. Me, however, sometimes I feel like I’m a write-off, but sometimes I fantasize about being able to run for a minute straight without keeling over. (This fantasy is of similar only-in-a-parallel-universe status as my fantasy about singing with my imaginary band in some seedy club and doing it well enough to impress John Cusack – who just happens to be in the audience – so much that he invites me over for a drink and a marriage proposal. Yup. File it under “Not Only Never Going to Happen, But Also Probably a Sign of Mental Health Issues.” [Further subnote: Peter Gabriel’s ‘In Your Eyes’ just starting playing on the radio as I write this. Oooh, chills.])

So, Shannon and I started running a couple of weeks ago. We’re doing the Vancouver Sun Run training schedule, where you start running for thirty seconds, walking for four and a half minutes, then slowly work it up, so that in thirteen weeks, you’re running straight for almost an hour. We are currently on running for a minute, walking four minutes. Personal best. Go us. Roommate powers activate.

We also run through a graveyard. Exciting, I know. Mountainview Cemetary is only a few blocks from our place, and runs for several city blocks. It’s fantastic. I love it. Is that creepy? It is, I know. We spend our runs going through the cemetary, zig-zagging around the small roads that section off the graveyard. It’s quiet. Peaceful. Lacking in other (living) people and creepy drivers who leer at you as they drive past you jogging. I know they leer. Every one of them. I know when I’m driving past a jogger, I always look at them. I find that far creepier than a cemetary, thank you. I mean, it’s not like we’re running over top of the graves…. right? On Wednesday, we were finishing off some work, so we ended up going for our run at about eight o’clock at night. The sun was just setting as we came over the crest of the hill into the cemetary, which goes on for several blocks – far past your line of sight. A lovely endless field, full of… I don’t know how to end that sentence without feeling I’m disrespecting the dead. And it was dark. From a distance it looked as if the sprinklers might be on. I asked this question aloud, to which Shannon so aptly replied: “If they put a sprinkler system in here, wouldn’t that mean they would have to, er, dig things up?” As we got closer we realized that we were running through a fog-cloaked graveyard. In the dark. We were two giggly twenty-something females, with our iPods plugged into our ears in what would be a perfect commentary on the ironic juxtaposition between literal zombie attackers and figurative zombie victims.

Since I am so precariously located on the precipice of disaster when the Zombie Apocalypse engulfs humanity, I promise I will post a Twitter update from my mobile as the first horde of zombies closes in. My last action before joining the Legion of the Undead will be to warn you all:

ashleighrajala OMFG! #zombieapocalypse RT @kanyedouchebag i’m gonna let you get right back to eating my brains but i just wanted to let you know, beyonce is way better at jogging through graveyards
2:06 AM Sep 18th from mobile

Okay, why did I reference that stupid Kanye West thing? I’m getting so sick of reading ridiculous parodies of that crap. Get over it, people. I guess it was just too easy. Also, it’s quarter-to-four on a Friday afternoon and I’m tired, damn it. Too tired to think of anything original.