Zombies and Crossfit


I can always tell when something is totally consuming me because I dream about it.  My dreams tend to be super crazy messed up mish moshes of whatever the day’s events held, as well as bad movies and usually some inappropriate groping thrown in for good measure.

So obviously, my dreams are awesome.

Lately, I’ve been dreaming about Crossfit.  A LOT.

We have the typical I’m-in-a-WOD-that-I-just-can’t-finish dreams, or the I-showed-up-to-Crossfit-but-forgot-to-put-my-clothes-on dreams, or sometimes the super cool I-did-200-toes-to-bar-without-stopping dreams that I realize immediately I am dreaming and usually wake up as a result of.

Last night, I did not have a normal dream.  Last night, I had an epically badass Crossfit dream that I feel the need to document here.

I was a zombie killer.

I was given the position because I was stronger and faster than the other women who had survived the outbreak, and it was my job to eliminate zombies from the planet.  I got to pick a partner in crime, and for whatever reason I picked a beast who does 6 a.m. Crossfit with me.  I’m thinking it’s because he’s a badass.  But my subconscious also believed he could handle the heck out a crossbow (think Darrel Dixon in the Walking Dead mad skills).  My weapon of choice was a meat cleaver.  It may have had something to do with the ribs I had prepared for dinner last night.

Oh and we both could fly.  Points for us.

In the end “beast” ended up getting his arm nommed off and dying, and I got bitten in the face and woke up abruptly.

This was before the groping so it was admittedly a little disappointing.

But dude, my subconscious even knows how bad ass I am.


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