Page 10 THE OGDEN VALLEY NEWS Volume X Issue IV June 1, 2004 Overweight/Obesity— Prevention or treatment Obesity among American adults has increased 16 to 32% in the past 30 years. Food available to the American consumer in the past 30 years has increased from 3300 to 3800 calories per day. Consider the following. Supersizing has banished the shame of gluttony and opened the jaw of the American eater wider than anyone ever imagined. Meals per day among Americans have increased from 4 to 4½ in the past 30 years, resulting in a 10% increase in caloric intake. Most of the caloric increase has occurred from snacking. Fat in foods eaten away from home made up 19% of the calories eaten in 1977. Now, it is up to 38%. If foods eaten away from homes had the same caloric density as foods served at home, Americans would consume 197 fewer calories per day. In five years, average soda consumption jumped from 34.7 to 40.3 gallons per year per person. On average, each person currently consumes 170 calories per day from soft drinks. Educational dollars used for physical exercise classes have been reduced by half in the past 30 years. People consuming 1200 mg of calcium per day have a 60% reduced risk factor of being overweight compared to people consuming only 300 mg of calcium per day; try substituting that soft drink with “Moo-juice.” Energy Facts that don’t Change Carbohydrates/Proteins: 4 calories per gram Fats: 9 calories per gram Every 3500 calories you intake adds one pound of weight. Weight is not gained or lost in an instant. Be patient and apply facts. You can bring about change. Choose variety, proportionality, and moderation in your diet; exercise and consume foods with adequate calcium. Before consuming that 300-calorie, transfat-laden doughnut, consider eating something that will satisfy basic nutritional needs. It is a far less radical remedy than gastric bypass surgery! If you are serious about health and weight loss, consider as a resource Covert Bailey’s easy to read and understand “The New Fit or Fat.” Note: Most of the information for this article came from the USU Weber County Extension November-December 2003 Newsletter. Obituary of a Close Friend Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend by the name of Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such value lessons as knowing when to come in out of the rain, why the early bird gets the worm, and that life isn’t always fair. Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don’t spend more than you earn) and reliable parenting strategies (adults, not kids, are in charge). His health began to rapidly deteriorate when well intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a six-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition. It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer aspirin to a student; but could not inform the parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion. Finally, Common sense lost the will to live as the Ten Commandments became contraband; churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims. Common Sense finally gave up the ghost after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot, she spilled a bit in her lap, and was awarded a huge settlement. Common Sense was preceded in death by his parents, Truth and Trust, his wife, Discretion; his daughter, Responsibility; and his son, Reason. He is survived by two stepbrothers; My Rights and Ima Whiner. Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone. If you still know him, pass this on; if not join the majority and do nothing. WHISKEY JOE cont. from page 9 The Battle of the Shootin’ Star There have been conflicts in the firmament, Clashes near and far, Battles with stone, or knife, or gun, Have left many a scar. Armies have charged into battle, Fighter slug and jar, But the battle of the centuries Was fought at the Shootin’Star. More fame is heard of Deadwood, Or the fight at the O.K. Corral, Waterloo and Concord hold Glory, fame, and spell But the angels in the heavens Will certify before the bar There never was a battle Like the one at the Shootin’Star. The Shootin’ Star had quenched the thirst Of men for years four score. As the only tavern in the mountain glen, It might for sour score more. The Shootin’ Star from morning rest Burst to life at close of day, As mountain men stopped for a brew Then continued on their way. Of all those who entered there None did come nor go With greater camaraderie than ‘One-Tooth’ and Whiskey Joe. One-Tooth was from the foothill clan, A man of hunting fame, He had but a single tooth (up front) ‘Twas how he got his name. He had stretched the truth in stories told For over seventy years, His tales all gained in valor When mixed with extra beers. City folk came his tales to hear On this he took great pride, But terrible was his temper If it was inferred he lied. Now Whiskey Joe was a younger man Any old brew he would try it. He lived and drank at the Shootin’ Star, Thirty years on a liquid diet. He shot the fish and poached the game, His tales were often heard, He could empty a quart of mountain brew Never missing a single word. These two each shared their drinks Toasting each other many a night, Never knowing the time would come They would wage the greatest fight. A couple gents had offered a beer To hear the top mountain story. Whiskey Joe and One-Tooth Were vying for the glory. Each wanted to be selected To demonstrate his lore, To prove to all who heard his tale That he could offer more. One-Tooth claimed it was his place, His position to hold. Whiskey Joe claimed it was his turn, Besides “One-Tooth’s stories were old.” One-Tooth cried with disdain, “Your tales are told by a liar.” Whiskey Joe capped that remark, “Your soul will rest in fire, For the tales you tell have never Bore any likeness to fact.” One-Tooth shook his aged fist, “That ends our drinking pact.” When pride and honor are ridiculed One must set it right. Those drinking men by mutual accord Agreed to a mountain fight. Each round would end when a man is down; No sticks, no knife, no gun. At the start of a round, the man standing alone The victory will have won. The gathering crowd was roaring Creating a holiday flair, As the two prepared for battle A tenseness filled the air. A quiet settled over the crowd, One-Tooth set wide his feet, Shaking his scrawny fist to heaven Promising Whiskey’s early defeat. “I’ve never been whipped in battle, No one can withstand my blow. Especially a skinny gent like you,” He yelled at Whisky Joe. But Whiskey was bobbing and weaving Circling around and around, Flicking and jabbing and dodging Promising to put One-Tooth Down. “Watch out old man,” cried Whiskey As he gave a confident smile. “I’ll jab and punch you black and blue Even though it takes awhile.” Then as if his skills to show And if to offer a little truth, Whiskey ducked and jabbed six times And almost hit that tooth. “Hit my tooth, I’ll really get mad,” Shouted One-Tooth with a frown, “I’ll tear you to pieces, and Scatter you over the ground.” To show his temper was rising He swung his horny fist. Beginning with a ferocious wind-up The blow narrowly missed. But the force of the swing was mightySpinning Whiskey like a top That raised a dust cloud choking OneTooth, Bringing round one to a stop. More cursing, jabbing, and shuffling With each holding his place, Round two ended with another missed swing As One-Tooth fell on his face. The battle was getting fiercer As any man could see, For the threats were getting louder At the beginning of round number three. The skill of Whiskey was reflected In his shuffling, dancing feet, But round three ended quickly When he tripped and fell in the street. From round to round it continued As epitaphs filled the air, Many watchers were gathering To observe the ferocious pair. Though the battle really had started Late in the afternoon, It ran into the evening, Illuminated by the rising moon. Exhaustion ended round ninety-nine. As both fell on the street, Finally supporting each other, They struggled to their feet. Then by mutual agreement They paused to share a beer. The battle never resumed Thought the reason was never clear. Oh it wasn’t the length of the battle, Nor the fact it came out a draw, Nor was it the ferocious swinging, Nor the exercise of the jaw. Nor the threats and the cursing, Though both were quite unique, Nor was it the dancing nor jabbing Or the old bones heard to creak. But as the Battle of the Centuries, This one fact makes it so: There ninety-nine rounds of conflict With neither landing a single blow.