Fitness
As a teen with an eating disorder, Richard Simmons showed me I could exercise with joy and hope
After panning over New York City, swooping from bridge to train, the camera drops to calf-level, looking out from a shoe store shop display. On the sidewalk, a man pauses, raising a leg to try on the pair in the window. The leg is bare, tan, and toned, not poured into jeans; the shoes aren’t black leather, they’re blizzard-white trainers. It’s not “Stayin’ Alive” throbbing but a Gibbsian falsetto droning, “Get on down.”
The “Saturday Night Fever” homage continues, the man strutting into a Brooklyn home. He flicks through a closet’s rainbow of tank tops, picks out a halo of tawny curls, and enters a nightclub (Brooklyn Disco) to a chorus of “how you doin’s.”
By that point, not yet two minutes into the video, I was marching. Keeping time with the beat in my socks, a scant six feet from the looming media cabinet in our cramped living room. It was the only room with a TV, and for “Disco Sweat” I’d endure my self-consciousness about exercising a hallway away from my mom, in the kitchen. I was 15. Three years out from an anorexia diagnosis, post-relapse number two, any physical exertion was suspect. And was I going to exert! I’d boogie to “Boogie Fever,” clap to “Born To Be Alive” and sashay to “I Will Survive,” inches from shimmying into the La-Z-Boy or Travolta-armsing our Airedale. Reflexively, I smiled at the TV. I was about to spend 70 minutes with Richard Simmons.
Simmons, who died on July 13 a day after his 76th birthday, was as recognizable as the golden arches of McDonalds. There was no discovering him. When I was growing up in the ’90s, he’d already become an icon. The fusilli hair, the oiled skin (subject of familiar jabs about the source of his signature glisten…Pam?), the spangle, the voice. The voice! Gleeful, giddy, earnest and encouraging, adamant yet never authoritarian. It was a voice apart from others, flouting the dire, eroticized militancy of gyms like those then-ubiquitous ads for Bally Total Fitness (“Firm arms, rock hard abs, for less than a $1 a day”).
Richard’s voice was a reprieve from my dour, cynical toxic self-talk.
Simmons was a tonic to those who found those creatine temples intimidating or inaccessible. Who found that rhetoric overbearing or off-putting. Who didn’t want to build muscles while being belittled. Watch any of Simmons’ videos — and I watched all of them, borrowing them from the library again and again, pledging my allegiance to “Sweatin’ to the Oldies Vol. 2” (“Windy”!) over Vol. 1 (too slow) — and you’ll see a cast of real-life folks, people who’ve lost weight with Richard. At the end of “Disco Sweat,” those backup dancers run toward the screen, accomplishment quantified on screen: “David Jacobs, 107 pounds.”
As a teenager, anxious about three or five pounds, I jogged in place during those last minutes, sometimes tearing up, sometimes clapping. I never found these numbers triggering, never left “Disco Sweat” determined to outpace another’s loss. Instead, I left hopeful; someday, I might be as embracing, as joyous, as a light-hearted as Richard.
Perhaps because I was in the grips of my own eating disorder, I understood that that sunny affect must’ve been hard-won. It was. After spending approximately two hundred hours Disco Sweating, I read Simmons’ memoir, “Still Hungry—After All These Years.” Unlike the subjects of most eating disorder memoirs I devoured, Simmons had lived a varied, wanderlusty life. He was a musical theater nerd, an actor, a makeup rep and the most charismatic waiter in LA before becoming an entrepreneurial smash: actor, author, studio owner, teacher, infomercial sensation with products like Deal-a-Meal. But catch his cameo in “Satyricon”; you’ll see the haunted gauntness in his eyes and know that, for two decades, he was also killing himself with food.
What stuck with me was his recounting of the period he spent in Italy in his 20s. While working as a commercial actor, he receives an anonymous note (“RICHARD—YOU’RE VERY FUNNY BUT FAT PEOPLE DIE YOUNG. PLEASE DON’T DIE”) stuck to the windshield of his Fiat. He feeds lire into a public scale and, shocked by the number, embarks on a starvation diet so extreme he winds up passing out near the Uffizi Gallery. He wakes up in Santa Maria Nuova Hospital, having lost 112 pounds in less than three months. His organs were failing.
Who would want to be uptight when you could be irrepressible?
“I had been on both sides of the ruler,” Simmons writes. “I had been on the overweight, obese side, and then I had quickly seesawed to the very, very thin side—too thin. At this point in my life I was no better off, no more intelligent, and had no more knowledge than I did when I took that first diet pill in the sixth grade. Now it was time for me to try to find some balance, some middle ground, for the first time in my life.”
Balance. You couldn’t have said a nastier word to teenage anorexic me. Balance was for the undriven and the ordinary, people too weak to sacrifice everything in pursuit of their goal. Balance didn’t promise flat abs or jutting ribs. And yet, reading Richard, I wept. I couldn’t admit it yet, but I recognized it: my bleak, stupid mission.
I wish I could say that Richard Simmons fast-tracked my recovery from anorexia, but then that would be as cliché and saccharine as one of the skits in his workout videos, minus the camp. (And he was campy from the get-go, goofing and jestering: his first book titled, “Never-Say-Diet.”) Instead, Richard’s voice was a reprieve from my dour, cynical, toxic self-talk. Richard’s voice—so puckish and irreverent, singing “burn baby burn,” even talking about burning calories—was so unserious that it was infectious. Who would want to be uptight when you could be irrepressible? He was a cross between Puck and the Energizer Bunny, and yet he was an utter original. That’s the sort of thing David Letterman would say to him, when he made a late-night appearance, always using his name with that parental admix of bafflement and fatigue: “Richard.”
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His voice didn’t proselytize, either, and so I’m grateful that Richard was in the back of my mind, when the body positivity movement swept and seemed a new kind of dogma. I was grateful for Richard when I began doing another exercise video on repeat, one led by a frigid ballerina who never flubbed or joked. Yes, the Simmons oeuvre prizes weight loss but not at the cost of self-judgment.
In the last decade, Simmons retreated. He stopped leading classes at the Richard Simmons Slimmons Studio. He wanted to live a quiet life. There was speculation—was he being held prisoner, was he dying—but I prefer to imagine he had simply relaxed into existence, a state of satiation. Not worried about worrying about his fans (he was a compulsive fan-mail responder), not worried about numbers: likes, follows, revenue, pounds.
In the years I did “Disco Sweat,” I often forgot I was working out. Sometimes, babysitting my little sister, I roped her into doing the video, too. We laughed a lot: Richard’s cherubic smile, his costumes, his charms and puns. Unlike running or my herky-jerky stints on the Nordic Machine strider in the basement, there was no specter of calories. Who could know how many calories I burnt during those 72 minutes? Sweaty, happy, I’d rewind the tape.
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Fitness
New workout makes fitness more accessible for moms
SIOUX FALLS, S.D. (Dakota News Now) – Finding time to work out as a mom with young kids can be a challenge in itself, especially when you’re new to an area and don’t know where to start. However, a new fitness option strolled into Sioux Falls today. iStroll offers moms the chance to work out and meet other moms all while their kids can play or even join alongside them.
iStroll is a national organization that has more than 35 locations in the country but this is the first time one opened in South Dakota. It’s a full body workout that incorporates dumbbells, body weight, and jogging strollers when the weather’s nice.
“I found iStroll in Oklahoma and fell in love,” said Kelsi Supek who started the affiliate in Sioux Falls. “We made friends. It became our entire social network. The kids loved it and then we moved to Arizona during COVID. And all the moms were stuck at home. They were inside with our kids and lonely, honestly. And we were like, why can’t we start an iStroll and be out at the parks with the kids every day? And it took off.”
When Supek moved to Sioux Falls, she was encouraged by her family to start an affiliate and own it herself.
“Gym daycares did not work out for my children,” said Supek. “I would get 10 minutes into a class and then I’d have that person trying to knock outside the yoga studio going, Can I have Kelsey and her kids screaming in daycare? And it just didn’t work for us. So at iStroll they could be with me or I could be breastfeeding the baby as I was teaching in class.”
Classes are planned to continue each Wednesday and Friday at We Rock the Spectrum and First Presbyterian Church. For a full schedule for January and February, you can look at their Facebook. The first class is also free and memberships are for the whole family.
“Letting the kids see you work out is, it’s similar to homeschooling where like, you know, how are they going to love working out if they don’t see you working out,” said Kelly Jardeleza, a stay-at-home mom of three kids. “Whereas at other gyms they put them in a room and they don’t get to watch you. And how are you going to inspire them if they’re not watching you do it?”
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Fitness
Share your health and fitness questions for Devi Sridhar, Mariella Frostrup, and Joel Snape
There’s no bad time to take a more active interest in your health, but the new year, for lots of us, feels like a fresh start. Maybe you’re planning to sign up for a 10k or finally have a go at bouldering, eat a bit better or learn to swing a kettlebell. Maybe you want to keep up with your grandkids — or just be a little bit more physically prepared for whatever life throws at you.
To help things along, Guardian Live invites you to a special event with public health expert Devi Sridhar, journalist and author Mariella Frostrup, and health and fitness columnist Joel Snape. They’ll be joining the Guardian’s Today in Focus presenter Annie Kelly to discuss simple, actionable ways to stay fit and healthy as you move through the second half of life: whether that means staying strong and mobile or stressing less and sleeping better.
To make the whole event as helpful as possible, we’d love to hear from you about what you find most challenging — or confusing — when it comes to health and exercise. What should you actually be eating, and how are you going to find the time to make it? What sort of exercise is best, and how often should you be doing it? Is Pilates worth the effort — and should we really all be drinking mugfuls of piping hot creatine?
Whether your question is about exercise, eating, or general wellness, post it below and we’ll put a selection to our panel on the night.
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Fitness
US FDA to limit regulation of health and fitness wearables, commissioner says
Jan 6 (Reuters) – The U.S. Food and Drug Administration said on Tuesday that it will limit regulation of wearable devices and software designed to support healthy lifestyles, issuing new guidance to clarify its regulatory approach.
The guidance, along with comments from FDA Commissioner Marty Makary, adds to existing policy that classifies low-risk wellness tools, such as fitness apps and activity trackers that encourage exercise, as non-medical devices exempt from stringent regulation, provided they do not make claims related to disease diagnosis or treatment.
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“We have to promote these products and at the same time, just guard against major safety concerns,” Makary said in an interview with Fox Business about artificial intelligence software such as ChatGPT, adding that “if people are looking up a symptom on an AI-based tool, let’s have that conversation when they come in to see their doctor or do a virtual visit.”
“We want to let companies know, with very clear guidance, that if their device or software is simply providing information, they can do that without FDA regulation,” Makary told Fox Business.
“The only stipulation is if they make claims of something being medical grade … like blood pressure measurement. We don’t want people changing their medicines based on something that’s just a screening tool or an estimate of a physiologic parameter.”
The agency also sent out a broader warning to consumers about the risks posed by unauthorized devices.
Reporting by Puyaan Singh in Bengaluru; Editing by Peter Henderson and Sherry Jacob-Phillips
Our Standards: The Thomson Reuters Trust Principles.
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