Obesity

In just the time it takes to realize that “Work It” is the worst thing that ever happened to television, you could change your life. Thirty minutes a day. That’s the minimum amount of physical activity the CDC recommends to stay fit. Yet approximately 30 percent of Americans get no weekly activity at all. Zero. Not even candy-ass pastimes like gardening. And many more of us aren’t exactly wearing out the gym membership cards. Right now, the only thing moving at a fast pace in our country is the obesity rate – 30 percent and climbing.

In an already over-saturated life full of work and family and errands and commuting, it’s often grueling to find 30 minutes to do anything at all. There are days when carving out a window of opportunity to grab a shower feels like a big deal. But I promise, a half-hour is not a lot of time. Treated seriously and honored consistently, it’ll do a lot more for your health and well-being than that spinning class across town you go to once a month. And don’t you deserve as much loving attention as you’d give your car or your iPad?

Here’s what you need. Sneakers. A mix of cardio and strength training. An understanding that you can’t fool your body by not making an effort. A casual saunter on the treadmill while tweeting isn’t going to do jack. You know that lady in the Apple Siri ad, the one who wants to be reminded to call Chris while she’s going for a run? Yeah, don’t be her. No talking on the phone. No checking the weather. And no excuses. Thirty minutes to put in real work, whatever work feels like for your fitness level. (Here’s the inevitable reminder that this isn’t medical advice, and you should talk to your doctor about a plan that’s realistic for you.) Here’s the payoff. Research says that you can build bone density and ease the symptoms of arthritis, high blood pressure and even depression. If this stuff came in a pill, it’d be hotter than Viagra and Effexor put together.

Like a lot of people, I spend most of my days on my butt. Yet I have a beautiful heartbeat. When I see my doctor for my weekly health monitoring, he smiles appreciatively as he presses the stethoscope to my sternum, praising my “slow, steady, runner’s rate.” And last summer, shortly before my lung surgery, the respiratory technician was similarly complimentary. “Look at that pulmonary function,” he said encouragingly as I puffed into a tube. “I can always spot the yoga people.”

Now here’s what you need to know about me. I was always chosen last in gym class. I can’t open a jar of pickles without assistance. I don’t train for marathons. I will never be on the cover of a magazine, Valerie Bertinelli-style, flaunting my abs. I have a body that’s over 40 and has birthed two children, and looks it. And many days, I don’t want to get out of bed. But I put in three and a half hours of exercise a week – mostly running, mixed with the use of a pair of five-pound dumbbells and a yoga app on my phone. I breathe hard. I stretch muscles. I resist gravity. Then I’m back on my butt, possibly holding a beer. That’s it.

Good health should not be reserved for the perky sporty types. Screw the jocks. Almost everybody, of every age and fitness level, can afford a half-hour a day. You can. Why am I telling you this? Because when the surgeon had to cut some cancer out of my lung last August, I was pretty happy I could breathe unassisted afterward. And because I hope that if you’re ever in a similar situation, you are likewise prepared.

This year, it’s not about fitting into those jeans that linger accusatorily in the back of the closet. It’s not about the scale. It’s about getting in touch with what we humans were meant to do – move around. It’s about taking the stairs. It’s about being able to play with your kids. It’s about those sweet, sweet endorphins. And it’s about knowing that though we’re all different, we’re all capable of greater wellness. Is it hard sometimes? Does it get boring at times, day in and day out? Sure. Is it achievable, and is it worth it? Always. But don’t listen to me. Listen to my beautiful heartbeat. Now get out there and thump along. And tell me about your progress — I’ll be right alongside, cheering you on.

“This child’s problem was so severe that we had to take custody,” Madigan said, adding that her office had worked with the boy’s mother for over a year before removing him. The boy first caught the attention of child services when his mother brought him to the hospital last year with breathing issues. He was diagnosed with sleep apnea, and now uses a machine to assist his breathing while he sleeps.

Was the boy’s mother, in fact, neglectful? That’s something the state still appears to be determining. The boy’s mother told the Plain Dealer that “They are trying to make it seem like I am unfit, like I don’t love my child. Of course I love him. Of course I want him to lose weight. It’s a lifestyle change, and they are trying to make it seem like I am not embracing that. It is very hard, but I am trying.”

But how do you undo deeply ingrained patterns, combined with a damming family history? Both of the boy’s parents are overweight. (His teenage brother is not.) For her part, the mother says she enrolled the boy in a local Healthy Kids, Healthy Weight program at a local hospital. She got him a bike. She says she tried to talk to him about what foods to eat. And for a while, he lost weight. Then he gained it back — and then the county intervened. He was taken from his school last month, and now his mother sees him once a week for two hours. Reps for the county say he has, in the past few weeks, lost “a few pounds.”

Was his removal an overreaction or a necessary intervention? In a July piece for JAMA, the Journal of the American Medical Association, Lindsey Murtagh of the Harvard School of Public Health and David S. Ludwig of the Children’s Hospital in Boston recommended “State Intervention in Life-Threatening Childhood Obesity.” In the article, they noted, “Improper feeding practices, causing undernourishment and failure to thrive, have long been addressed through the child abuse and neglect framework.” If we consider it a social responsibility to step in when a child is being starved, should the same imperative apply if he’s overfed? Aren’t both forms of malnourishment?

Deprivation, however, has a very different connotation. The notion of being harmed by having too much has generally been too unusual to consider seriously. Now, however, 20 percent of American children between the ages of 6 and 11 are obese — and approximately 2 million of them are extremely obese.

Public defender Sam Amata said Monday the removal of the Cleveland boy would be challenged on the grounds that he was never “in imminent danger.” It should, however, be uncontroversial to say that a 200-pound child – well over triple the average third-grader’s weight — is a child whose health is severely at risk. He needs help, and so does his family. Not diets, not restrictions, but help. Help shopping. Help cooking. Help embracing physical activity.

Yes, parents are responsible for their children. And extreme obesity may be a sign of deeper, more severe issues at home. But it is nonetheless seriously disgusting to see children wrenched from their parents when, at the highest levels, we are represented by a government that has made it abundantly clear it would prefer to pander to the interests of the frozen food industry than reform childhood nutrition. One in which presidential candidates mock children’s health initiatives as “nannying.” Even the authors of that provocative JAMA story recommended governmental “investments in the social infrastructure and policies to improve diet and promote physical activity among children.” It takes a village to raise a child without a body-mass index number in the danger level.

Imagine if you were a little boy, perhaps without the best body image, and you knew that seeing your mom was contingent upon losing weight. Now imagine the over 12 percent of third-graders in Ohio who are severely obese and may now be facing a similar fate. Whatever you think of parental accountability for childhood obesity, ask yourself this: If one child can be removed, what happens to the rest? Who’s going to decide which parents of obese kids are neglectful? And who will take care of their health when neither their government nor their families seem to know how?