Where are the fat presidents?

Lawrence Toppman

Today we conveniently (if inaccurately) celebrate the births of two fit presidents. One is Abraham Lincoln, slender in his youth as the rails he reportedly split for exercise. The other is George Washington, an active and vigorous man who took the noun in "gentleman farmer" more seriously than the adjective.

Do we celebrate pudgepot presidents? We do not. Who commemorates rotundities such as Benjamin Harrison or Herbert Hoover? Who praises William Howard Taft, who weighed a seventh of a ton while living in the White House? (He once had his secretary send a telegraph that said "Expect big party." When Taft arrived alone, someone asked where the "big party" was. "I'm it," he cheerfully replied.)

In our age of telegenic politicians, an obese man couldn't get elected to high public office, even if he had the economic sense of John Maynard Keynes and the humanitarian instincts of Albert Schweitzer. People just won't place their trust in a guy who enjoys himself too much at the table and doesn't care who knows it.

This tirade was brought on by the realization that, after seven weeks of what I thought was portion control and weekday exercise, I weigh exactly one pound less than when I started. So I walked three miles up an incline this morning instead of two-and-a-half. Hey, I might want to run for president someday.