There have been a great number of petty and unfair attacks
leveled at George W. Bush in the past five years. He’s slow witted.
He surrounds himself with incompetent “yes men.” He’s Hitler.
But the pettiest and least fair to date is the charge that
President Bush exercises too much. For whatever reason, liberals
have developed an obsession with the president’s “obsession” with
physical fitness.
Last month the New Republic’s Jonathan Chait, writing in the Los Angeles Times,
castigated President Bush for his “obsession with exercise that
borders on the creepy.”
“Bush’s insistence that the entire populace follow his example,
and that his staff join him on a Long March — er, Long Run —
carries about it the faint whiff of a cult of personality. It also
shows how out of touch he is,” wrote Chait. “It’s nice for Bush
that he can take an hour or two out of every day to run, bike or
pump iron. Unfortunately, most of us have more demanding jobs than
he does.”
The Democratic National Committee similarly attacked the
president for spending too much time exercising and not enough on
public policy.
On every other page of every other newspaper, meanwhile, you
will read about our nation’s “obesity epidemic,” followed by calls
for emergency remedies ranging from class action lawsuits against
fast food companies to crackdowns on vending machines in public
schools. Some might think a physically fit president would serve as
a good role model for America’s youth, especially in light of the
rapid decline in the quality of our heroes from the world of
professional sports.
Paradoxically, while Chait and others ridicule the president for
being too active, other liberals have attacked him for relaxing too
much. President Bush’s vacation habits have become another bizarre
obsession among the political Left. Speaking as a guest on the Imus
in the Morning show earlier in the week, for example, Howard
Fineman railed against the president’s “almost religious devotion
to his vacation time.”
But President Bush doesn’t vacation in the same sense that you
or I do. He doesn’t unplug all of his appliances and toggle the Out
of Office AutoReply on his Outlook. He’s working. He’s just doing
it in Texas instead of Washington, D.C.
Time was our nation’s sophisticated opinion leaders wouldn’t
dream of scrutinizing the president’s personal life. For example,
it was considered bad form to question what President Bill Clinton
did in the privacy of his own bedroom — even though he did it in
the Oval Office and while punched in on the taxpayers’ time clock.
And oh yeah, he was married and doing it with an intern.
Didn’t matter. It was none of our business. But put in a little
too much roadwork or clear a little too much brush at your ranch
and you give people like Jonathan Chait the creeps.
Come to think of it, I seem to recall the mainstream media used
to delight in showing us almost constant footage of President
Clinton jogging, jogging, always jogging; him with his amoeboid
torso, pale, toneless legs and duck-footed stride, the press with
tongues wagging and elbows jabbing one another.
Wasn’t he dreamy?
And what about John Kerry? I mean, who had time to windsurf and
toss the pigskin during “the most important election in our
lifetimes,” anyway? Who can hunt ducks during “the worst economy
since Hoover,” and while Iraq makes Vietnam look like Granada?
Unless, of course, Kerry just did all that stuff for show. And
Clinton, too. You think?
Well, of course they were just doing it for show. And that’s the
point. All the sophisticates want is a show. Put on some trendy
jogging shorts and the latest Nikes and we’ll take the shot. Don’t
worry, we’ll edit out the Golden Arches in the background. But if
we ever catch you breaking a sweat for real without a big media
hullabaloo, you’ll never work in this town again.
The media doesn’t resent George W. Bush because he exercises too
much or takes too many vacations. They resent him because he’s
authentic when he should be artificial, reserved when he should be
resplendent.
But if a show is all the media want, I’ve got just the guy for
them. There’s this fellow at my gym who makes a big to do about
stacking heavy, clanging plates onto the barbell. He stomps around
the weight room floor, snorting and huffing, often clapping his
hands loudly, sending off plumes of chalk dust while his pals shout
out various inspirational plaudits. He’s the man, all right. But
now that I think of it, I’ve never actually seen him lift any
weights. And he isn’t very big.
Maybe he should run for president. The media would love him.
