Lead us in leotards

As weight problems continue to pose a growing threat to the health of American citizens, scholars continue to list as many complex factors that contribute to the problem as the consequences of it. We point to poor eating habits and the trend of growing portion sizes, and we blame the technology-based pastimes that propagate our sedentary lifestyles. The surgeon general has warned us of the medical trouble we will face if we don't address the problem.\nBut it's becoming evident that our societal shift toward lethargy will soon leave us with an even more troubling fact. Our overweight nation is causing a certain part of our culture to become extinct. Characters in our media are becoming noticeably absent, and it's possible you didn't even realize this. But it's true.\nIt has been years since America has embraced a neurotic but lovable fitness celebrity. \nTwo decades ago, we saw Jane Fonda in her prime. At her Robertson Boulevard studio in Beverly Hills, she became an aerobics instructor to the stars and an inspiration to many, showing common women just what they could become with a little dedication and a good pair of leg warmers. Her presence plastered workout records a plenty, and those images of Jane with her toe poised skyward in a high-cut pink leotard ensemble established not only the definition of an immaculate thigh, but of exercise fashion as we once knew it. Since that era, Fonda has juggled many interesting reputations, but none quite compare to workout goddess. \nIn the early '90s, Susan Powter woke up from her self-diagnosed fat coma just in time to hit the infomercial circuit and insist that America "stop the insanity." After overcoming alcoholism and an ugly divorce, Powter adopted a Sergeant Savage haircut and attitude that shaped her identity and made her fitness plan famous. It also made her irritating and easily mockable, which is probably why we don't see much of Susan these days. But you might be interested to know that she has grown herself a ponytail and just released a new book, "The Politics of Stupid." \nRichard Simmons has been rocking the exercise world for 25 years, but hit his peak with the "Sweatin' to the Oldies" series that debuted in 1986. The flamboyant fitness phenomenon proved that weight watchers could be charmed with a pair of dazzling striped shorts, a well-groomed crop of chest hair and the perpetual invitation to "give yourself a hug." Simmons still motivates many with his FoodMovers and Cruises to Lose, but will probably never again see the success he enjoyed by sweatin' to various types of music.\nSo where does this leave us? I suppose we could turn to Tony Little, the California body builder who remains ever-persistent but has never quite risen as a full-fledged fitness star. His trademark ponytail and disturbingly rhythmic fitness machine, the Gazelle, could make him an idol America hangs on to. But other than that, we have little more than mere exercise nostalgia, and that dates as far back as our Mousercise records.\n If the role of fitness celebrity is never refilled, we may never again see a field where personality idiosyncrasies can be channeled into motivational attitudes. There may never again be a public figure who passes off quirks as colorful characteristics and strange fashion choices as image builders. There may never again be a media position that achieves such a balance between commercial gain and social good.\nSo I must leave you with a challenging question: Have the habits of overweight Americans squelched the need for a fitness icon? Or has the lack of a fitness icon generated overweight Americans? Determining the cause of this drought in our culture may be the only way to make it rain again.