Undead Ultra (A Zombie Novel) by Camille Picott

day. The amount of money I spend on running paraphernalia is barely short of embarrassing.
    In silent symbiosis, we dive into the box. I pull out a headlamp and an extra set of batteries. Next come gloves, beanie, visor, and extra socks.
    “You should swap out your hydration pack for this one.” I pass Frederico my biggest spare pack, which has a two-liter water bladder. He nods in agreement, wordlessly dropping his pack into my trunk.
    I have five different running packs in my car—not to mention a few waist packs—each for different types of runs. For what’s in front of us, we both need packs with the maximum water and gear storage.
    “Shit. I’m low on fuel.” I scoop out three energy bars and one gel, passing them to Frederico. I follow this with a baggie of electrolyte tablets. These are all staples of the ultrarunner, except that I don’t have nearly enough for what’s ahead of us. “I was planning to go to the running store to restock.”
    I regret the fact that we didn’t get to eat all the breakfast we ordered at Bread Box. A big meal would have been a good start to this insane junket.
    “These won’t get us two hundred miles,” Frederico agrees, surveying our food supply.
    “Maybe we can stock up in Cloverdale,” I suggest. Cloverdale is a town ten miles north of us. “Maybe try to get a car there, too.”
    “Maybe,” he replies.
    Neither of us mentions the physical discomfort we’ll endure if we can’t adequately fuel our bodies. I try to eat two hundred to three hundred calories per hour when I run an ultra. I’ve distilled this down to a science over the years. My body can’t digest more than this, and as long as I keep up a steady stream of fuel, I’m in good shape. Based on our meager supply of snacks, we have enough for three, maybe four hours.
    “Fuck it,” I say, breaking the silence and dropping the food into my pile of gear. “We’ll have to figure out ways to refuel along the way.” I won’t let one little obstacle keep me from getting to my son.
    “That’s the jackalope we all know and love.” Frederico grins at me. “If we let little obstacles keep us from racing, we’d never make it to the starting line.”
    “At least we have a blister kit.” I pull out a little Ziploc filled with needles, Band-Aids, nail scissors, sterile wipes, and a tube of Neosporin.
    “Don’t forget to lube up.” Frederico produces a stick of Body Glide and passes it to me.
    To the normal person, this would look like a stick of deodorant. To an ultrarunner, it’s the difference between finishing a race or DNFing. Body Glide is a lubricant for runners designed to protect the body from chafing on a long run.
    I pull off my shoes and rub my feet with the stick, taking care to work it between my toes. I rub more along the base of my sports bra. These are the worst chafing areas for me. Then I pull on a clean pair of socks to replace the ones Frederico used to wipe his ass.
    “Can I borrow these?” Frederico pulls out a pair of compression calf sleeves. They’re fluorescent pink with orange polka dots.
    “Be my guest.”
    I pass him the Body Glide. He goes around the side of the car to lubricate those parts of the male anatomy that need protection from chafing.
    I set about filling our hydration packs from the water jugs I always keep in the trunk. Running out of water during a run is almost as bad as forgetting Body Glide.
    Once the packs are filled, I consider my pants. I’m dressed in ankle-length, black compression pants. They’re my preference for morning runs. They’re warm and provide protection from various plants on the trail, but they can get downright uncomfortable on hot runs. They would not be my first choice for any race taking place in the heat of the day.
    But compression gear improves oxygen flow and blood circulation, two things which will definitely be important on this run. And if there is indeed any “bushwhacking,” as suggested by Frederico, I’ll want to be in