Seriously…this stuff will hurt you, bad

Yesterday, I made a trip to the local sporting goods store to find some “equipment” to help me get back into shape. To be more specific I was looking for the latest and greatest technology to help me “strengthen” my core. You know, rock hard abs, like Usher, Brad Pitt, or that guy from the “Rico Suave” video. What I found looked like a garage sale for tacky underused exercise equipment. So I rummaged through the merchandise, thinking to myself, “Self, you don’t need the Chuck Norris Ab Lounge or so other junkie piece of infomercial trash, you need something simple that will make you hurt!” And what did I end up purchasing? Yeah! you guessed it the Pilates: Abs Workout video.

Yes! I am secure in my manhood, no doubt about it. I have pink shirts, or shirts with pink in them, depending on how you look at it. I appreciate a good chick flick every now and then. I even own a Josh Groban album. And no I am not a “metro-”, a “homo-” or even a “Romo-” sexual, I am simply one who does not need to question his masculinity. I know who I am and am secure in that.

Anyway, the thing that I liked most about my new Pilates DVD was that there was only 25 minutes minutes standing between me and flatter abs. In no time, my core could be ripped up spawning a lucrative career as a sexy ab model. I mean Matthew McConaughey was seen doing Pilates on a beach and he was voted People Magazine’s Sexiest Man, it has got to work, right?

When I got home I quickly changed clothes, moved the furniture around in my living room, put in the DVD, hit play, and waited for the flattening to begin. When the video started, there were two women on my TV: one who the beginners were encouraged to follow and one for everyone else. So what did I do? You got it I quickly ignored the beginner chick and went for the gold. Assuming the Pilates position, which I had never been in before, was an interesting experience and then I began to move my extremities in ways that I did not know they could or were suppose to move. Yet I pressed on. I balanced on my hind parts, raised my arms and legs at a 45 degree angle, tightened my abs, and tried to stare at my navel. All of which I had minimal success accomplishing. I performed all sorts of movements that looked mostly likely rolling around on the floor. Since this was my madien experience with the Pilates I had no idea what I was doing, but I felt good trying and I quickly developed a new-found respect for those young women who do this stuff at the local YMCA. After following the head Pliates chick for about 6 minutes, I realized I was in over my head and gladly switched over to the beginner workout. This did not make things that much easier, but I pressed on. Sexy abs…here I come, only 19 minutes and counting!

When all was said and done, I was laying flat on the floor, with sweat trickling off my forehead, gasping for air. Yet my stomach didn’t hurt, thus I wasn’t very satisfied with my workout and began to wonder if I had wasted my money. But allow me to fast forward to this morning, when the alarm breaks the silence at 6:45 am and I reach over to hit the snooze button, but I can’t without pain. I notice that my core is a wad of throbbing cookie dough. It hurts to laugh. It hurts to bend. And at times it hurts to breathe. I have a new respect for Ana Caban and any other Pilates instructors who I may have previously made fun of, because this stuff is serious and it will hurt you. So if you know me, ina few weeks feel free to ask me how its coming along. Who knows? Maybe I will be a testament to the power of Pilates and have the abs to prove it.

Just when you thought it was safe to get your hands clean?

Not too long ago, while perusing overpriced outdoor sporting equipment, something caught my eye. It is a pump hand sanitizer bottle situated to the left of the cash register. Now it was the Christmas season and the crunchy folks working at this particular outdoor recreational store knew that many germ infested shoppers would frequent their shop and they would be sneezing into their hands, wiping their noses, and fondling the merchandise that would later need to be refolded or properly shelved. Staring at the hand sanitizer, I noticed an interesting advertisement: “Kills 99.99% of the germs that make you sick.” I must admit I was intrigued by this remarkable declaration. I mean if this stuff could actually do what it claimed then these chemists should be paraded through streets and awarded a key to the city. Bacteria everywhere should cower in fear at the immense power of this hand sanitizer.

Then it hit me. What about the other .01% of the germs that make me sick that this goop doesn’t destroy? What kills them? I suppose the fleet of T-Helper and white blood cells that our immune systems use to fight these little pests would. But am I weakening my body’s defenses by taking out the light weight bacteria first? Are we culturing some sort of supped up killer bacteria that has the making of the next great New York Times bestseller, i.e. The Andromeda Strain?

Rest easy, I am not some sort of OCD germ-a-phobic nut job who won’t touch door knobs or drink from public water fountains. I am just thinking about future generations who will have to deal with these uber-bacteria that we are creating. I mean our grandchildren are going to need to live inside a plastic bubble because their immunities are shot because some overprotective mother wouldn’t allow her toddler to play outside for fear that precious little Timmy would eat a bug or stick his fingers in an orifice before washing up.

What good is it to live 107 years if you able allowed to have any fun? I don’t want to live a boring life cooped up inside some sterilized facility playing Sudoku or Mario Kart. I want to enjoy God’s beautiful creation. I want to climb mountains, hike trails, and dive off scary high cliffs. So what if I get a little unfiltered water in my mouth. It will be good for me. My motto is “God made dirt, so dirt won’t hurt.”

Thus, when my neighbor’s little Nancy-boy, who is pasty white because his body has never been violated by the UV rays of the sun, can’t go outside out of fear of what he germ may pounce; me and my boys are going to be out with the germs enjoying nature, collecting bugs, and playing in mud holes, because that is what “good” little boys should be doing, just not in their Sunday best…well maybe sometimes, just as long as their mother doesn’t find out.