I was eaten by zombies. And enjoyed their every mouthful.

Welcome back, awesome readers!

First, a question:

I’m 59 years old.

Yes, I know. That’s not a question. Can’t pull one over on you, can I?

Oops. Ignore. That wasn’t the question.

THE QUESTION:

What is a 59-year-old? Middle-aged? Considered a senior? Old enough to know better?

I’m asking because recently we went to one of those virtual reality places with some friends. We were four… let’s just call us ADULTS… trying a new experience. And let me tell you, we had NO IDEA what to expect.

Well, we knew three things:

1. Our mission was to save the world from a zombie take-over.
2. We needed to bring “indoor sneakers”.
3. We’d have to sign a waiver.

Not much to go on, but we were all in for the fun.

From the outside, the establishment didn’t look like much. What I mean is that it didn’t look high-tech or innovative or any of those “leading-edge” words you’d expect to pop into your head as a first impression. It was just a sign and a door in the middle of a strip mall.

Even the lobby didn’t give anything away. A scarce open space with a few lockers and four iPads on pedestals. This is where we signed our lives away should we die during the experience.

From there, a short, young person proceeded to explain the process to us. I’m not going to lie. I understood exactly ZERO of what she was telling us. (It didn’t show though because I made sure to look busy as I changed from my outside shoes to my inside shoes.)

Once our short, young host was finished with the instructions, we were given a selection of weapons to choose from with one stipulation: we each had to select a unique weapon. No doubles. I was last to pick and choose the rifle. Why a simple rifle and not one of the fancy-dancy weapons? Let’s just say the rifle was the safest choice—for everyone’s sake. Me with a rocket launcher? That’s not a world anyone wants to live in.

From there we were given what I imagined was a bullet-proof vest and these weird probe-looking things to attach to our wrists and ankles. Full of anticipation and looking a little like aliens, we were then led into a room. The room had four walls, a ceiling, and a floor… Until we put on our head gear. That’s when the room completely transformed into an elaborate building with a staircase and pillars and artwork and dark corners and… just wowza!

Oh, and let me tell you about my three middle-aged-or-whatever companions. They, too, were morphed into something from the future. From ordinary day clothes and dumpy, middle-aged bodies to sleek, armored bodysuits with high-tech visors and physiques that could clearly save the world. It was like we’d stepped into a world where fashion met combat prep, and we were ready for whatever futuristic battles awaited us!

But were we? The suspense was exhilarating.

And then after a few recorded instructions from our battlefield leader, the zombies started coming at us.

Our mission: to shoot them in the head before they ate us.

Sounds easy, right?

It was.

Until it wasn’t.

One minute you’re a sniper with an easy target, the next you’re face-to-face with a zombie that has a mission of its own. Skin hanging in loose, rotting patches. Exposed decaying muscle and bone. An eye dangling from a socket, swaying as it lurches forward to take a chunk out of your flesh…

More than once, I screamed. More than once, I died.

Did I feel totally bad-ass? I certainly did! I was fully immersed in the land of zombies as I channeled my inner Rambo. And not for one second did I feel ridiculous.

Well, at least not until we watched the video of us that kept switching back and forth between four super cool, World War Zombie heroes and four middle-aged-whatevers shooting air guns into an empty, white-walled room.

That said, no regrets and I would totally do it again.

Too old? Nah. I plan to ride the waves of life until my wheels fall off.

My advice? If a virtual zombie apocalypse ever calls your name, answer it.

Age? Doesn’t matter.

Dignity? Leave it at the door.

Fun? Bring all you’ve got!