The Healthiest Family on the Dance Floor

March 13, 2013 By Scott "Q" Marcus

As an obese child, I hated P.E.

When choosing teams, I was always picked last, each side trying to give me to their opponent. When playing baseball, I would be strategically placed in “ultra right field” (outside the foul line if possible) so as to have virtually no contact with the ball, thereby helping to ensure my team would not be humiliated by my clumsiness.

In the gym, I was forced to do pull-ups by a drill-sergeant phys-ed teacher. Dangling from the steel crossbar in front of a gaggle of snickering classmates, too heavy to do anything but limply hang, kicking my feet as if that would help pull me up, the coach bellowing, “Come on tubby! If you can’t do it, go on a diet.” Disgusted, he’d discharge me from my personal hanging purgatory and I’d attempt to blend into the back of the class, hoping for a distraction to come quickly and pull everyone’s red hot gazes from me.

One doesn’t “hang around” much when one goes to Zumba as 58-year-old, but one’s old memories do.

My biggest fear when I began was that I would pass out.

I was fearful that my macho competitive persona (I might be middle aged but I am still a male) would override my professorial intellectual one and I’d over-exert myself attempting to keep pace with a roomful of twenty-something exercise enthusiasts adorned in designer leotards, headbands, and leg warmers (does anyone wear leg warmers anymore?) For my efforts, I would be mortified by having a heart attack, collapsing mid beat on the polished floor. The remaining dancers would heft me to the ambulance, albeit while maintaining the rhythm of a hot salsa dance move, all the while never missing a step.

My other paranoid fantasy was that I’d be humiliated. I was concerned I’d trip over my clodhoppers or people would laugh at how I look in gym shorts (since I don’t have designer leotards).

Long story short, I have (mostly) overcome my angsts, and — as hard as it to believe — I look forward to my classes, and try to find sessions to attend, even when out of town.

Since I didn’t know anyone in this new environment, I staked out a corner and observed as other participants entered. I witnessed an obese, late-thirties mom take a spot beside me. Nearby was her adolescent daughter, apparently on her way to replicating her mom’s physique, and Dad, who — although being shorter than me — probably tipped the scales at twice my weight.

Simply stated, it was a very heavy family.

[Read more…]

Growing Up in an Overweight Family

January 24, 2013 By Scott "Q" Marcus

by Tara Spener

My parents have always been overweight.

When I was very young, it wasn’t something that I really noticed. They were just my parents. I didn’t notice or didn’t understand that they were heavier than they should be.

However, as I got older, that changed. Over time, my parents’ weight was about much more than their health.

When I was a young child, my parents being overweight meant that they couldn’t play with me the way some of my friends’ parents could play with them. There were no games of chase, no family bouts of tug of war, no family football matches in the backyard. It also meant that they didn’t have the energy for me. They were often too tired from their day to do more than sit down on the couch at the end of the day.

In the beginning, I just thought that’s the way things were, but as time went on, it started to weigh on me that my parents couldn’t (or didn’t want to) do the things that other parents did. I felt like I was missing out in some small way.

Meal times were not the most healthy.

It wasn’t until I was a teenager that I started to think of dinner as something that didn’t come from a box. Once I started to become more interested in eating healthy foods, my parents couldn’t provide me the guidance I needed. They weren’t able to teach me how to make nutritious meals. It wasn’t until I was married that I knew how to make a roast chicken. It wasn’t until college that I knew how to do more than boil some spaghetti noodles.

The unhealthy foods and the unhealthy role models made it hard for me to know how to live a healthy lifestyle.

Once I got to high school, I became interested in track, and I started to lead a more active lifestyle myself. I struggled for many more years trying to learn how to eat a healthy and balanced diet, and I continue to struggle with body issues.

Because my parents didn’t teach me healthy habits, I never learned how to listen to my body and give it the healthy foods it needed. I didn’t learn to exercise because of what it could do for my body and how it could make it feel. As a result, I struggled for a long time with learning how to say no to foods and with learning to strike the right balance with exercise. I either worked out too much or not at all. I either ate too much or too little.

Continuing to run track in college helped me to find that balance.

I learned how to train to push my body to its highest performance. I learned how to eat a healthy diet that gave me energy and made me feel great. Most of all, I learned how to love my body and to treat it with the respect it deserved.

My parents still struggle with their weight.

However, now I am able to offer them the role model that I had hoped they would be for me. With time, I hope that they are able to learn how to adopt a healthier lifestyle so that they can live long and fulfilling lives. And maybe one day we’ll be able to enjoy that game of tag … with their grandchildren.

About the Author: Tara Spenser is currently the resident writer for workingcapital.org, where she researches the most affordable business capital available. In her spare time, she enjoys blogging, swimming and being a mom.

Opinion: Pepper Spray Incident at Walmart on Black Friday

November 25, 2011 By Scott "Q" Marcus

Something is definitely wrong.

I am writing this on what is traditionally called “Black Friday,” the day after Thanksgiving that accounts for so many retail sales. At a Walmart near Los Angeles, a woman allegedly (or apparently) used pepper spray on fellow shoppers, presumably (details are still sketchy) to get others to move away from a display so she would be able to nab some low prices. We hear these disturbing reports almost every year. A few years ago, someone was crushed as the crowd pushed into a store to get first shot at the “best deals.”

I find the whole thing sad.

I understand that this was an “isolated incident,” and – at least in my opinion – something must be wrong with someone to resort to tactics such as those in order to get some great holiday prices. However, to me, there is a bigger issue at hand: “Where do we find happiness?”

I was not at that department store, and – in full disclosure – I try to avoid “Black Friday Sales” like the plaque. I do not like being jostled in mobs. I do not like getting up early – nor going out late. I do not like shopping. I hear stories of people camping out in order to be “first in line,” and I am always perplexed by the type of person who would do that. I am particularly bothered by the latest trend where stores are now opening on Thanksgiving itself, trying to jump start Black Friday (will Thanksgiving be called “Grey Thursday” soon?)

It bothers me primarily for two main reasons:

1. Thanksgiving is a holiday dedicated to spending some time feeling grateful. In my opinion (and I accept it is only that), one does not show gratitude by trying to get the best place in line to save 50% on home electronics.

2. I feel for the employees who must work these ridiculous hours. I understand that on some level, it’s a choice. However the combination of today’s poor economy and the fact that the management team probably won’t be giving up their family time to man the registers, leads me to believe “choice” is a fairly generous choice of words.

Therefore, with such biases, I’m probably not going to be a spokesperson for any “Support Black Friday” Association. (And I also accept that people of good faith might not share my opinion. I respect that and hope you do the same for me.)