|
|
|
Maryville, Mo. —
Having passed the magic age that signifies living three quarters of a century — and still going strong, most days anyway — I will readily admit that not all things are right with me, obviously physically, and arguably mentally.
As much as I hate to own up, the only clothing I got for Christmas was of the extra large variety, but I justify that by telling myself it is loose-fitting for relaxation, around the house as well as otherwise. You know, golf shirts and the like.
Then comes the admission that I finally had to break down and buy myself a new belt. The old one, a traditional burgundy specimen that I had had for more years than I can remember, just finally became unusable.
For two reasons.
First, and I will continue to contend foremost — it got to the point where the stitching in the area of the most used hole(s) gave way and the entire strap began to unravel. That precludes having to note that that more popular hole had moved rather steadily over the past several years from a point nearer the buckle end of the belt to one much nearer the other end. Now don’t get me wrong, there still remained one unworn hole, but looking down at the buckle was like looking down at the bathroom scales. It had become a constant reminder that I was loosing any grip on my waistline.
So I decided to do something about it.
I bought a new belt.
A much easier solution than packing in a whole wardrobe of new trousers, or signing up for another round of those orchestrated torture sessions at the Community Center.
As another excuse, I dug into medical texts available to Internet browsers and determined that becoming heavier — you have to agree that sounds much better than “getting fat” — can be a hereditary circumstance.
Sure enough, my father was shorter than I, and much more prone to being seen as rotund rather than slender.
Same for my mother. A wonderful woman, mind you, but let’s say “sturdy.”
My grandparents, however, were much more on the trim side than otherwise. So much for that excuse.
But there is maybe more to background than just who put you there. Consider where I was put.
I was born in Tennessee, tied for No. 2 in the listing of Top 10 Fattest States in the US, 2011. And I spent my childhood in Arkansas — eighth on that same list — until I went off to school. Where? You guessed it: back in Tennessee.
Having passed the magic age that signifies living three quarters of a century — and still going strong, most days anyway — I will readily admit that not all things are right with me, obviously physically, and arguably mentally.
As much as I hate to own up, the only clothing I got for Christmas was of the extra large variety, but I justify that by telling myself it is loose-fitting for relaxation, around the house as well as otherwise. You know, golf shirts and the like.
Then comes the admission that I finally had to break down and buy myself a new belt. The old one, a traditional burgundy specimen that I had had for more years than I can remember, just finally became unusable.
For two reasons.
First, and I will continue to contend foremost — it got to the point where the stitching in the area of the most used hole(s) gave way and the entire strap began to unravel. That precludes having to note that that more popular hole had moved rather steadily over the past several years from a point nearer the buckle end of the belt to one much nearer the other end. Now don’t get me wrong, there still remained one unworn hole, but looking down at the buckle was like looking down at the bathroom scales. It had become a constant reminder that I was loosing any grip on my waistline.
So I decided to do something about it.
I bought a new belt.
A much easier solution than packing in a whole wardrobe of new trousers, or signing up for another round of those orchestrated torture sessions at the Community Center.
As another excuse, I dug into medical texts available to Internet browsers and determined that becoming heavier — you have to agree that sounds much better than “getting fat” — can be a hereditary circumstance.
Sure enough, my father was shorter than I, and much more prone to being seen as rotund rather than slender.
Same for my mother. A wonderful woman, mind you, but let’s say “sturdy.”
My grandparents, however, were much more on the trim side than otherwise. So much for that excuse.
But there is maybe more to background than just who put you there. Consider where I was put.
I was born in Tennessee, tied for No. 2 in the listing of Top 10 Fattest States in the US, 2011. And I spent my childhood in Arkansas — eighth on that same list — until I went off to school. Where? You guessed it: back in Tennessee.
It’s looking more and more like I may not be solely to blame here. I was exposed to lots of bad habits as a boy.
But then I moved to Missouri, to attend the University, to work (on various occasions), and now in retirement (sort of). Missouri, a solid No. 12 among Fat peers.
Between my last two stints in Missouri, my legal residence was Montana. Big Sky Country: No. 2, or No. 9, depending on which Fittest list you happen to consult.
So, was I more svelte during my residency just this side of the Continental Divide? Doubtful, really, but I’m using that as motivation to return to that imagined condition in time for this coming summer.
In checking some facts for this particular episode of true confessions, I did find out some rather startling information.
With the exception of Michigan, tied for 10th place with North Carolina on the list of the country’s fattest populations, every other one of the Top 10 is pretty much contiguous to my childhood haunts. Mississippi is the undisputed fattest — 33.8 percent of its population is considered to be obese — followed by Alabama and Tennessee. Then, in order, the heaviest populations are in West Virginia, Louisiana, Oklahoma, Kentucky, Arkansas and South Carolina, before Michigan and North Carolina.
Missouri does not miss that elite group by much, however. We are 12th on the list of the Most Fat, with an obesity rate of 29.3 percent.
On the lower end of the scale was a surprising assortment of locations.
Colorado leads the nation in fitness, with just 19.1 percent obesity. It is followed, in order, by Connecticut, Washington, D.C. (supposed home of all those fat cats), Massachusetts, Hawaii, Vermont, Rhode Island, Utah, Montana and New Jersey. Colorado is the only state where less than 20 percent of the permanent population is considered obese. Second-place Connecticut comes in with 21.4 percent.
More geographically specific, Minneapolis is tagged, in most surveys, anyway, as the single most-fit city in the country. DC is second. Boston, Portland, Ore., and Denver round out the Top Five. Others in the next 10 include San Francisco, San Diego and San Jose, Seattle, Richmond, Va., Salt Lake City, and Cincinnati.
Rather than sweating to shed pounds, I could just relocate to a city where my body mass would be less noticeable. That would be Lexington, Ky., tabbed as the fattest city in the whole country. Indianapolis, Jackson, Miss., and Charleston, W.Va., are next, followed by Oklahoma City and Tulsa.
Contrary to its name, my home state capital of Little Rock is seventh in average poundage.
Wooooo Pig, soooooie!
And I thought it was New Orleans they called Fat City.
Jim Fall is a local weekly columnist. He is a former publisher of the Maryville Daily Forum.
