Putting new exercise guidelines to the test

The federal government says all us fatties could get fit by exercising 90 minutes a day.

I had to shake my head when I heard this news last month. I think I also made that clucking noise that one reserves for a teenager who wants to borrow the car to “go to the library.”

Nutrition officials say the darndest things!

Then I was assigned to follow the exercise guidelines for a week.

And I’m here to tell you it can be done.

World peace is also possible, if we all join hands and sing “Kumbaya.”

Can I be frank? Ninety minutes of intense exercise a day is nuts. It’s insane. It’s like dropping a nuclear bomb on your normal life.

I ended up shorting work, family, friends and personal hygiene because of my ongoing date with the bike.

And I didn’t even try to follow a diet along with the exercise. In theory, you’re supposed to do both.

You can read all about it in “Dietary Guidelines for Americans 2005,” jointly published by the departments of agriculture, and health and human services. The document is at health.gov/dietaryguidelines /dga2005/document.

Be warned: The 80-page tome is a marathon in itself. You deserve a big slice of cheesecake if you make it through.

The guidelines call for daily exercise in 30-, 60- and 90-minute stretches, depending on whether you want to stave off disease, maintain weight or lose fat.

I had to exercise on the high end because at age 42 and with three kids, I’m packing some extra pounds, all right? No, you may not know my weight.

I started out on the treadmill, but a “vigorous” treadmill workout is defined as 4.5 mph. I can’t walk that fast. And with three knee surgeries in my past, jogging was out of the question.

So I rode a stationary bike a “vigorous” 10 mph. At that speed it didn’t take long before I was a sweaty mess. But when I wanted to stop I remembered the guidelines saying “greater health benefits can be obtained by engaging in physical activity of more vigorous intensity.” That, and I could just see my company giving me a pink slip for “dereliction of exercise duty.”

I found it impossible to exercise in one 90-minute burst. After trying a variety of combinations, what worked for me was 60 minutes in the morning and 30 minutes in the evening.

But 90 minutes of exercise does not add up to an hour and a half. It’s more like three hours, when you tack on travel time to the gym, changing clothes and showering. (I learned the hard way that you can’t skip the shower. Pity my co-workers.)

The hardest part wasn’t finding the time for exercise. It was finding the time for everything else I used to do.

The laundry. The housework. Helping the kids with homework. Making cupcakes for the class party. Paying the bills. Watching my soap opera on tape. Calling my sister. Fixing the garage door. Shopping for groceries. Reading the kids a bedtime story. Cheering at baseball practice.

All of the above were sacrificed in one way or another at the altar of the exercise bike.

Unless you’re a hermit with no friends, family or responsibilities, or a Hollywood starlet whose paycheck depends on the size of your waistline, I can’t see how all this exercise could be justified.

Another week of this, and my laundry pile alone would have posed a health hazard.

And the least little interruption in my schedule – a kid who missed the bus, a meeting that ran long, a cat who had an accident on the rug – threw everything out of kilter.

In the end I was stealing time from the things in my life that matter, just so I could stick to the bike.

There were some positives.

I actually enjoyed it. Endorphins are a beautiful thing.

My husband says my, er, physique is a little firmer.

I slept like a rock. I craved healthier foods.

If I kept all this up, I’d undoubtedly be a healthier American.

But if the federal government wants this to happen, it needs to do more than wag a finger and lay on the guilt trip.

We need major workplace reform with flexible hours so everybody can get to the gym. If I had a real job, one that didn’t indulge my exercise quest, my buff self would right now be on the unemployment line.

We need government-sponsored housework help. While I was huffing and puffing, my husband was picking up the slack at home and making sure our kids were fed and clothed. That meant, of course, that he wasn’t getting any exercise himself.

And what about the children? I wasn’t around to shoo them out the door for their own government-mandated 60 minutes of daily exertion. With recess being slashed in schools across the country – including my kids’ – exercise has become yet another thing we’re expected to provide at home in the three hours before dark.

How would a single parent manage to do all this?

What if you work late? Some nights I was huffing away at 11 p.m. in my safe, air-conditioned neighborhood gym. What if my only option were an unsafe walk around the block?

All that exertion also requires rest. That means no waking up in the middle of the night to paint a canvas or jot down an idea. No staying up late drinking beer and watching Letterman. No going out with the girls and getting all crazy at the … uh, never mind.

Honestly, you have to be a regimented, kinda boring person to get that much daily exercise. It sucks all the spontaneity out of life.

In the end, being Lance Armstrong for a week didn’t even change my weight.

I didn’t lose a pound. Not even an ounce. Bupkus.

But hey, I’d still do it again.

Just let me get the time off from work. And send my kids and husband away. And find somebody to come in to help with the laundry, dishes and cats.

Then it can just be me and the bike again. And you can stamp me government-approved.