Dirty post

It's disturbing to me when I witness an inadequate hand washing in a public bathroom. It seems like I spot one regularly. Maybe I'm just too observant? Maybe I think that on some level, I am the hand-washing police. Well, not the police because then I could make an arrest or write a ticket in the bathroom, so maybe more of a secret hand-washing spy. I don't know why, but I do know that too many women - and presumably, men (because as you might have guessed, I don't use public men's rooms) are terrible at this simple thing. Really, it will make you shudder.

I'm not a germaphobe. I don't have to be because I wash my hands right - it's a basic line of protection, and in most circumstances, about all a person needs. If you don't know the right way to wash your hands, look it up, you filthy monster! I'm not here to teach you basics you should have picked up as a productive adult in a westernized country with modern plumbing.

I'm here to talk about some dirty, dirty people. The stuff I've witnessed that has turned me into a super judgmental public restroom user - are there any of my kind out there? Let's compare notes sometime.

I've compiled for you the types I see most often. Let's start with the other end extreme first, though:

The Surgeon: This one is simply the overachiever. Usually it's a slick mom-type with children in tow, or, she may be a medical professional outside of this bathroom situation, or both. She is definitely wearing a ponytail, but it's not a rushed one. It's thoughtful and took 45 minutes. She flushed the toilet with her foot (ok, fine, I do that too) and opened the stall without using her hands somehow (telekenesis?), which are held up firmly at 90 degrees, away from her body. She stands a foot or more from the sink so that her body and clothes do not have a chance of brushing the edge. Proper technique commences, but with added scrub time, precise and vigorous, worked up to the elbows. Sometimes there is a repeat. Hands fly back up, and all hard surfaces are avoided after the wash. She waits for someone else to open the door, gets a foot in to hold it open, and ushers herself and her offspring out. I'm not suggesting this is the way to go, but we can all take something useful from the Surgeon. Maybe not up to the elbows though.

The Surgeon is spotted just as often as the next few, and that is comforting. If you identify with any of the following descriptions, however, you are disgusting - please don't touch me. Here we go:

The Defector: She comes out of the stall, walks to the sinks - but the laugh is on you: It's only to use the mirror! Yes, make sure that hair and lipstick is in place, Bacteria Betty. The age of the Defectors seems to vary, but they're usually in full makeup and coiffed hair. Interesting, no?

The Tiprinser. This is the person who busts out of the stall, beelines to the sink, and literally rinses only her fingertips, to the first knuckle, for 1-3 seconds. No soap. There is little, if any, rubbing together of the fingers. She may or may not dry them. She usually leaves very quickly, ready to spread the wealth. She's probably the one who left pee allover the seat. Tiprinsers tend to be youngish, generally 30 and under. She's basically like, "just the tip" but you know she's a dirty, dirty girl.

Tiprinser Variant: While clearly no time is invested in the washing, some Tiprinsers make up for it in the drying part. With all but 3 drops of water on their fingers, they use a disproportionate number of paper towels. Just yesterday I watched a T-Variant wave her hand in front of the touchless towel dispenser six times. SIX paper towels. She then most gently dabbed her fingers on her six-deep stack and flung them in the general area of the trash bin on her way out. Way to go, Sister Earth. Running late for your elephant poaching trip?

The Halfscrub: This person knows she's supposed to wash her hands, but seems utterly put out by it because she probably does everything half-assed. She's usually shifting a giant purse and a few shopping bags around. She arranges them all around her feet, sighs audibly, and proceeds to wash. Soap first (rookie move), followed by a couple seconds of rubbing around, and a quick rinse. Halfscrubs are usually wearing glasses. I'll have to do more research on this phenomena.

The Nocigar: This one gets close, but...hahaha. She thinks she's doing a good job: wet first, soap, scrub long enough, thorough rinse, dry. She almost has my silent approval, but where she inevitably fails are the details - after the wash, she handles the faucet levers, reintroducing everything she just washed off. She full-palms, bare-hands the door handle on her way out. No cigar for you, as you are about as clean as the Defector now, my friend. Side note - the term 'close but no cigar' comes from the use of cigars as prizes in 19th century carnival games. You are quite glad you've read this far, aren't you?

And finally:

The Onesider: This is a remarkable and more rare type. She only washes one hand. This leads us down a path, doesn't it? I'll leave it there.

Confessions of a swinger

If you know me at all, you probably know I've been a runner on and off for the better part of the past 20 years. I started sophomore year in college, after noticing the effects of my beer and pizza-based  freshman year diet. And boy did it work - I went from barely making it a mile to going out for an hour or more, pounding out 20+ miles a week pretty easy, only stopping after an hour because I became bored...and wearing not much more than a sports bra and leggings. Youth. Le sigh.

I've never been very fast, never run a marathon (and never cared to), but running remained my go-to workout for a long time - admittedly, too long. In fact, after that first couple of years, when it was still new to my body and so effective, I noticed that every time I got back into it after that blissful first few years, it not only took me longer to progress, but it just wasn't having the same effect it had years before. But you see, I'm kind of stubborn - or, no no no - I'm persistent. Very persistent. So I just tried harder, longer, and then would get frustrated and take a few months off, or a year off. Then try again. And again. (and again) 

I threw in some random weight training over the years (mostly static gym machine stuff) and on occasion, some obnoxious classes, but I hated everything and everyone. I just reverted back to running (see above). I'm kind of uncoordinated, and in a class, I'm the person with flailing arms, who misses beats, and turns to find I'm facing everyone else in the class because I spun to the left instead of the right. I tend to learn in a very controlled way, and never found my groove in step class, spin, kickboxing, or yoga - they all just stressed me out - not physically, but mentally. It was all crap, and I could throw some serious shade at each one. I've also fantasized about punching frighteningly cheerful instructors square in their over-toothed mouths. But that's not what this is about.

So this past year, after a long hiatus, I recommitted and ran a lot of miles - just over 400. For the most part, it has been really tough and I fought through it more than I enjoyed it. Highs are fewer and farther between these days. I nearly quit more than once. I dealt with my first exercise injury ever over the summer, and that bummed me out for weeks. I watched friends around me take up running and get crazy good, while I just felt worse and worse. Lastly, I just haven't shed some of the weight I'd expected to. Now, don't be mistaken: I'm quite healthy, I feel great, and up or down a size, I'm still pretty effing cute - yea, I said it - and more women should give themselves credit in this way. But, still, I confess that all this running has been a pretty big let down - and I've finally accepted that is not where it's all at anymore for me. Time to really switch it up.

I knew I'd quickly bore of gym machines again, and I definitely wasn't ready to give up on life and try some BS cardio class that would just make me want to punch someone (as above). After a bit of research, I contacted a local trainer who did something with kettlebells. I'd heard of them, but had no idea what they truly entailed. After our first meeting, I was intrigued and decided to go for it - this was something that I could seemingly learn at my discretion, was kind of nerdy in its foundation (which I totally appreciate), and I hit it off with my trainer. We talked about "leaning out" - which, sidebar here: at some point this past decade, adding the word "out" to verbs became a thing. I think Trading Spaces is to blame, circa 2001, with Vern Yip going on about 'painting out' the walls. Let's paint it out, switch it out, swap it out and sand it out. Were the verbs too boring on their own? Ugh, not a fan of this semantic oddity...gonna have to consider it out.

I've been swinging these bells for just over 2 months now, and I've transitioned from one-on-one sessions to classes. The classes are hard as hell, but so far, not intimidating: there's no mirrors to distract you, and while we are all doing the same kinds of exercises, we are all working at our own pace, modifying where we need to. So much running and no stretching inadequate stretching over the years left my hips so tight, when I first started kettlebells, I had to do bizarre stretches in order to get them open and get the swing form down. Horrendous and hilarious. I'm learning to isolate and fire different muscle groups, or making them all work together to do some ballistic craziness. It's wild! It's unexpected. It's so physically demanding, but weirdly mentally calming - in that way, it reminds me of when running is good. It has even helped me improve my running a bit (I'm not going to let that go entirely).

I've gone from hesitation to love. And it's working: I couldn't do one standard push-up (up on your toes) a few weeks ago...I consider push-ups sort of a pinnacle of real strength. Not ONE, people. I'm not sure I ever could do one at any point in my life, actually, as upper body strength was never my thing...sort of a useless, puny armed T-Rex thing going on. Out of nowhere, last week, I did one, then squeaked out two - whoa - and I just did four in a row this morning. FOUR. I'm gonna do some right now, just for kicks. Actually, not for kicks - I'm gonna do them because I am still so surprised by them, that there's a part of me that thinks it can't be really happening. I have to be sure, again.

My triceps are popping up and saying hello when I turn my arm - where did those come from? I also get sore allover regularly, which had stopped happening years ago - even if I ran 5-6 miles, I barely felt it then next day! Now I have a 30 minute kettlebell workout and I'll cringe for 2 days after, afraid to sneeze because my abs hurt so fricken much. I can do formerly impossible things, like bear crawls and holding planks. I yell, shake and feel like I might hurl after some workouts - but I haven't regretted anything. And I don't want to punch my instructor in the face! Yay! In fact, he keeps me pretty sane, even when I get all wound up in my own silly need to perform perfectly. The best part, however, is we get to use dirty words like snatch! You just can't beat a good snatch. Amirite, people?

Snatch.

So, I'm a swinger now. Of kettlebells. No worries, I don't plan on talking about it nonstop, like apparently Crossfitters can't stop talking about their training...or so I hear...wait - marathoners can't seem to either. Ha! I won't do it, promise.

I'll be turning 40 this year (gulp) and I had some real dread about that. I can't even begin to tell you how much stuff I'm learning to let go in recent months - it takes practice every day to not get caught up in it, but the trend is that it's getting easier, and I believe in part I have this new strength building phenomenon to thank. I'd love to do a pull-up this year. I'm going to focus on that, and good hair. Always have good hair. And cute heels. Those never hurt either. (and snatch!)