At the very least, it keeps the boredom from setting in. That's a surprising aspect about the end of the world - after the initial panic (which was pretty exciting at the time, I must admit), things got tedious very quickly. We all exist in a limited living space nowadays, and there's no real opportunity for travel or the broadening of one's horizons, so I find there is a necessity to keep the mind and body active as much as possible. I've actually seen people lose it through the sheer repetitiveness of daily life; opening the doors or climbing the walls and just bugging out (you have to be extremely watchful so you do see it if that happens, because it would be a very bad idea to leave a door open for any length of time). So I follow my routine religiously, despite the sideways looks of the other survivors. There are other reasons, too; but I'll get to them later.
Every morning, no matter how much rest I got (it's difficult to sleep with the constant moaning outside, even with earplugs), I get out of bed around 6 a.m., ignoring the protestations of the other people in the room. I start with stretching - a form of basic yoga, nothing too strenuous, but with emphasis on my leg muscles. I take care not to overdo things, as a pulled hamstring or twisted ankle might have fatal consequences these days. Breakfast is usually cereal and water, which I hate, but as it's impossible to get bread, milk or fresh fruit any more, I force it down - it's important to keep the energy levels up. Most survivors pay little attention to their bodies, which I can understand, if not condone. Food is still fairly plentiful, as long as you like it canned, and as our long term prospects seem pretty hopeless, gluttony is another sad symptom of the times. Comfort eating is a big pastime for most.
Not for me, though. I plan to survive, and that means keeping in shape. I have given up trying to make the other survivors understand, so I ignore the comments, jibes and mockery as I move onto my routine of squats, push ups and crunches, using my own weight as a focus. I can now manage at least three sets of twenty push ups in handstand position, feet against the wall of the shelter. I figure upper body strength is almost as important as the legs, because although the things outside are pretty weak, the sheer number of them can make hand to hand combat a real endurance test. I've incorporated various weapons into my routine - baseball bats, sledge hammers, combat knives and suchlike. I find it helps create muscle memory, too - competence and familiarity when handling weaponry in real life situations, which is never a bad thing. I'm usually sweating by the time I finish the muscle intensive section of my workout.
Finally, and most importantly, I move onto a long workout devoted to my cardiovascular system. This is bringing me into some conflict with the other survivors here, because I absolutely refuse to miss it out, but it takes at least an hour - and I do it at least three times a day. However, this means I am mostly unavailable to perform the duties those in charge here deem necessary to the group's survival - guard duties, cooking, foraging and so on. It's looking like I may be forced to move on soon, as it's making me unpopular within the group. I never stay with one group for long, though. Understandably, tension always runs high in the camps. It's very difficult to take your mind off what's shambling and moaning just beyond the barricades, and terror makes people do strange things. Fear and boredom; it's a strange existence.
No wonder some people go mad.
Anyway, as I said, our living space is very limited, and by necessity, it's heavily fortified, so the shelters don't provide much scope for distance running, and I've yet to find one equipped with an exercise bike or treadmill. I've pleaded with the leaders to bring one back next time a team ventures outside on a foraging mission, but as with every group I've been part of, I was laughed out of the room. It's deemed to be very low on the list of items necessary for survival, and not worth the effort - so I'm forced into (fairly tedious) sets of running on the spot and short sprints from one side of the complex to the other. I don't mind; because I know what's coming. I see the others - the lazy, indolent slobs. Putting on weight, out of breath when they climb stairs, struggling to cope with any serious labour. Don't they remember that the fatties were among first to die when the Dead began to rise and eat the living?
No matter. I'm at the peak of my physical condition, and I can easily outrun a horde of the living dead. Which is good, because when the time comes - when the taunts get too much and the people here become openly hostile - I'll move on. Once again, I'll gather up my kit and sneak off into the night; across miles of infested territory in search of another group of survivors.
But before I do, I'll be sure to leave the shelter open behind me, and make as much noise as I can at the gates. The things outside are easily attracted, hungry, and utterly relentless. I'll watch from a safe distance, as the undead pour into the shelter, biting and tearing; and the people left behind will realise they should have taken me a little more seriously.
Yeah, keeping fit is important. Maybe the next group will understand.