The study, Societal Values and Policies May Curtail Preschool Children’s Physical Activity in Child Care Centers, found that preschool kids are getting very little exercise during the day, a problem since a sedentary lifestyle may contribute to obesity. According to the National Association for Sport and Physical Education (NASPE) guidelines, preschoolers should spend 120 minutes every day doing physical activities, but few reach that goal. Says the study:

“Children spend most (70%–83%) of their time being sedentary in child care — even when excluding time spent in naps and meals — and only spend 2% to 3% of the time in vigorous activities.”

Researchers conducted the study to figure out what’s contributing to the lack of exercise and activity. They found that there are three main reasons for kids’ sedentary lifestyle at school and daycare: concerns about injuries, financial limitations, and a stronger focus on academics.

I get the injuries thing. Little Girl got pushed through a playhouse window her first week at school and ended up with a huge scrape on her belly. Those are, I’m sure, the types of injuries parents and educators are worried about, and the reason fear of injuries was the number one worry of those interviewed for the study. I guess we’re all a little crazy these days when it comes to keeping kids safe. Still, as my husband reminds me kids are not veal. It’s okay for them to get bumped and scraped and bruised while they are playing. Or, even more direct: No, I cannot wrap Little Girl in bubble wrap to keep her safe.

As to the financial issue: Schools and daycare centers can’t afford “expensive” outdoor equipment or an indoor gross motor room where kids could play and run during inclement weather. Besides, they are being pressured by parents and regulations to make sure kids know their ABCs, colors, and shapes before entering kindergarten.

The study concludes with the following statement about kids and activity: “Child advocates must think holistically about potential unintended consequences of policies designed to protect children’s safety (eg, licensing codes that have rendered climbers uninteresting, or early learning standards that encourage child-care providers to cut time dedicated for outdoor play). Given that childhood obesity is quickly eclipsing childhood injury as a leading cause of morbidity, and that time in child care [including preschool] may be the child’s only opportunity for outdoor play, licensing standards may need to explicitly promote physical activity in as much detail as is devoted to safety.”

In other words, parents should encourage kids to run and jump as much as possible, and tell schools and daycare centers to do the same.

I don’t worry about my own preschooler. She never stops running here at home, doing laps around my house in her natural speed: fast. In addition, the preschool that she goes to has a policy to let kids play outside every single day as long as it’s not raining and the temperature is above 32 degrees. Between running my halls and running at school, Little Girl is definitely getting the recommended two hours of activity, but I can definitely see how that might be difficult for kids who are in daycare all day or those, like my older child, who prefers reading and art to jumping and climbing. There are things you can do to get kids moving, though.

For example, I bought Big Girl an indoor trampoline and one of those foam hopscotch boards and made sure she was spending time on both daily. I took her to parks, which are free, and on walks — also free — when it was nice outside. When it wasn’t, I made sure she had access to our doll carriages, to encourage indoor “walks.” We also played — and still do — hide-and-seek as well as other imaginative games that include running and moving. One of the easiest is freeze dance, which asks kids to dance until they hear the music go off. Another indoor favorite is family dance party, which gets kids up and moving. Bottom line: Aside from the trampoline, I didn’t need fancy equipment or have to spend a lot of time or money encouraging and fostering a love of movement and exercise. As I learned very quickly, kids want to move and will take your lead, so which path are you going to lead your children down today? I’d love to hear how you’re getting your kids moving indoors and out, especially since another study out of the Archives of Pediatrics & Adolescent Medicine found that kids who exercise more do better in school. Yet another reason to make sure kids are getting plenty of activity throughout the day.

I was no stranger to the practice. The first time I did hot yoga — a series of 26 yoga poses and breathing exercises done in a room heated to 105 degrees — I was 18 weeks pregnant. Sounds crazy, I know. I was expecting Big Girl at the time, and away by myself for the first time ever. Sure, it was a work trip — reporting on Thai Yoga Massage for several publications — but the location was pretty sweet.

I was at Kripalu, which is my ultimate happy place. (Kripalu is first; Woodloch Pines and Disney World are tied for second and third.) I decided to give it a go because I was there on a long weekend, mentally struggling being pregnant, and just wanted to expand my mind and repertoire. Besides, I wasn’t showing yet, and I was extremely fit. I had just taken 2/3 of a black belt test; I was doing two exercise classes a day, and I was teaching yoga, too, so I knew I could handle it. And I had plenty of water with me.

I fell in love with the class. The yoga itself was nothing, but the mental challenge was huge. In that hot room I had plenty of time to think about my pregnancy and how it would change my life, what I wanted for myself and what I wanted to be when I grew up. I finished the class, and felt invigorated. Once Big Girl was born I continued the practice at a studio about ten miles from my house, but I had to stop after a short while. It was too far and too much of a time suck to continue going. That said I expected the same experience yesterday when I finally walked into my local hot yoga place. I was sorely disappointed.

First off, the room was much hotter than I remembered. Much. And the 26 Bikram yoga poses aren’t really my favorites aside from Garurasana (Eagle pose) and Trikonasana (triangle pose). And even Trikonasana didn’t deliver because Bikram practitioners do it differently. They bend their front knee, which eliminates the incredible hip stretch that I love. And yes, I was struggling mentally, but mostly because I was so uncomfortable. I truly wasn’t having fun. My heart was beating so hard I could hear it in my head, and I felt weird. It wasn’t even a challenge. It was just annoying. (It could have been that I was not drinking enough, too. The instructor yelled at me when I took a sip after the third pose telling me the “class all drinks together after Garurasana.” And asking me to refrain from drinking until then — the fourth pose.) The class was 90 minutes. I stuck it out for 75 minutes before giving in and leaving.

I arrived at home and had to knock on the storm door, locked to keep the ever-fearless Little Girl from escaping. My husband stared at me incredulously. “What is wrong with your face?!?” My entire body was bright red. I looked like I had rosacea all over my body. I was dizzy. I was actually feeling cold and it was in the 70s yesterday. My hair was soaked. My clothing was soaked. I needed a shower, some fluids and a quick rest. I started feeling better after an hour or two. My pasty-white coloring came back around the same time the spinning stopped.

This morning I woke up and, despite the fact that I am proficient if not really good at most of the 26 poses, I was hurting all over. My hamstrings. My back. My triceps. The front of my quads. It’s been a while since I’ve felt like this. I’m almost thinking I should give the class another try. Maybe I went into the room dehydrated. Or maybe the room itself was too hot. Or maybe I didn’t drink enough. Or maybe, as an old karate friend on Facebook said: I’m not a kid anymore. I’m not sure. So after mulling all these thoughts I have decided that I am going to rest for a day or two and give hot yoga another try — a different night and hopefully a different teacher. (And I’m going to sit right next to the thermostat so I can see if it is indeed too hot in the room.) And if I feel as terrible at that class? I’m going to respectfully and quietly leave the class. I’ll let you know how it turns out.

What’s your take on Bikram or hot yoga? Crazy? Wonderful? Have you ever left a yoga class or any class for that matter? I’d love to hear about it.

I walked into the 7 p.m. Monday spin class I like to take. I usually get there close to 7, and don’t have many options when it comes to choosing my spot. I couldn’t complain, though. At least I always get a spot. On Sunday I go to the gym and fork over $2 for one of ten prepaid spots to make sure of it. It’s my only option since I can’t be there at 6 p.m. on Monday when the list comes out for free sign ups.

Okay, so again, despite the fact that I shell out cash every week, I usually get stuck at the back of the room. Sure, I am saddened and a little angry that all the good bikes have been reserved by the time I arrive, but what can I do? This week, however, I got there at 6:40 and what did I find? Someone had tied strips of paper towels around the handles of all the good bikes. There was only one person in the room. I was mad. I was yet again going to end up at the back of the room sweltering; away from the fans or the door. I started thinking about all the other Mondays when, without fail, the “owners” of reserved bikes trickled in slowly sometimes at or even after 7 p.m. It became clear to me at that moment: They weren’t the ones who were reserving the bikes. Someone else was doing it for them, which is against club rules.

The people are the lucky seven or eight who last night I dubbed the spin bike mafia. After talking to people as they came into the room, watching who they talked to and hearing their “thank yous,” I figured it all out. One girl — the equivalent of the bag man — gets there early and reserves all the bikes. She even reserves extras. (Last night, for example, two prime bikes went unused for the entire class, their white paper towels flapping in the fan breeze.) Incidentally, only one or two of the reserved bike beneficiaries pay $2 on Sunday. Most have freebie reservations, which are also handled on Monday night by the bag man — err, girl.

Once I talked it through, I was boiling mad. I did something that I never thought I’d do. I removed the paper from one of the prime location bikes and got on. When the bag girl got to the room I could tell she was mad, but she didn’t say a word because she knew she didn’t have a leg to stand on. Reserving spots is a big club no-no. Besides, the girl who she was saving it for waltzed in at 7:03. According to club rules — once the class starts you lose your bike even if you’ve paid for your spot — she would have lost it anyway. I guess she figured, being part of the bike mafia, she was afforded a little extra time.

At the end of the class I decided that I needed to take down the bike mafia so I went to talk to the club manager. I laid out the situation. The bike holding. The fact that, as a paying attendee, I shouldn’t have to be stuck with the one old bike (it’s happened) that’s smack in the middle of the room. The fact that paper towels should not be used to hold bikes. That people should be in the gym if they want to reserve a bike. He listened and he agreed. He said he’s going to implement a new system for the ten people who sign up ahead. You pay for a spot, you reserve a specific bike. Sweet!

On Community, the episode ended with the chicken finger mafia being dismantled. Everyone went back to being regular schlubs. I don’t know if that’s going to happen to the spin bike mafia. They may just decide to get there extra early on Sunday and reserve their spots. And I’m okay with that. No matter what happens I’m sure they are not going to be thrilled. I’m sorry about that. I really like them as people. They are nice. They are fun to ride with. Almost all of them were right with me during my last pregnancy. But enough is enough. All is fair in love and (gym) wars, right?

How’s your week going? What’s your take on the spin bike mafia?

First I had to get rid of the watermelon rinds left over from breakfast. At lunchtime my cargo was a bunch of strawberry stems that needed to find their way into their new home. A dustbin full of cheddar bunnies around 2 p.m. came next. Then I came across the SunChips bag I had stowed away for when I got my bin. I had to throw that in before my husband tossed in a bunch of lawn clippings. Around 5 p.m. there were more watermelon rinds. By the time dinner scraps made their way outside — broccoli stems, left-over smushed up potatoes and an apple core — I realized that this bin might end up doing more than just reducing our garbage stream. It actually might reduce my rear end while boosting my mood, too.

Let’s do the math. Okay, I’ll concede that right now I am in the honeymoon stage. Eventually, I’m going to start using a coffee can or some other receptacle so I will only be making two or three trips a day. Still, that’s 180 steps a day. 5,400 steps a month. 64,800 steps a year. That’s more than 30 extra miles of walking. Incredible and important. I’ll be able to keep my metabolism humming more effectively while at the same time doing great things for the earth.

It’s going to get me outside more, too. Those brief forays into my backyard will expose my arms (but thankfully not my super-sunscreened-at-all-times-face) and legs to Vitamin-D-enriched sunshine. The light will also boost my mood. I’ll be getting fresh air and getting a glimpse at nature. Maybe I’ll even linger for a few minutes, gazing up at the clouds or — at night — the stars.

And what about the byproducts of the compost bin? All that great, sweet-smelling (mostly) organic dirt might inspire me to garden more. Or maybe I’ll get really excited and start a vegetable garden. Gardening is in my blood, after all. (Check back this week for a blog post about my wonderful Italian grandma and her many gardens.) At the very least I’ll have fresh soil to sprinkle in my flower beds and scatter under my bushes.

Bottom line: I think my compost bin is a good example of how one small change can create a tidal wave of new experiences and habits. I can’t wait to see how it all plays out.

Happy Monday! Hope you’re enjoying your day. I was so pleasantly surprised to see how many people stopped in and commented about the new compost bin. Would love to hear about how your bin has inspired changes in your life!

We were sitting at the table eating dinner yesterday. It was a nice dinner. I baked sweet potatoes. We had broccoli and rolls, too. Everyone got to pick their protein from leftovers: hamburgers, turkey burgers, grilled chicken, or uncured, organic chicken hotdogs. Everyone was calm and eating. And then Big Girl dropped that bombshell on me.

A little background: I work. A lot. Often late into the night sitting in a single chair, so I do try and make a 7 p.m. spin class a few nights a week. When that happens I get dinner for the girls and run out around 6:35. (Get there late and you don’t get a bike. Even if you’ve paid for your spot.) I don’t eat because I find it’s difficult to spin on a full stomach. On those nights I come home and pick. A bowl of cereal, some pierogies, a sandwich — whatever happens to be around.

Big Girl’s words stung because I didn’t realize how carefully she is watching me. I am her mother. I get that. But it’s scary to see how much she sees and, even worse, the fact that she’s trying to process it all on her own. I was really glad she asked me that. Really glad. I gave her a big smile and told her that of course I ate when I got home. That after spinning my body needed fuel and that I would fall over if I didn’t eat something. (This is true. That class makes me hungry.)

Then I was quiet for a minute and told Chris that tomorrow — today, that is — and from now on we’d make sure we eat at 6 p.m. so we could sit as a family. If I don’t want my daughter to inherit the crappy relationship with food I have to make sure she interacts with it differently. And if that means I go to spin class with a half-full stomach so be it.

Do you eat dinner as a family? If so, do you think it benefits you?

This week I purchased the following items (things I could touch): groceries (milk, bread, hummus, berries, the usual stuff), a subway ride card, and a pack of gum. I feel most guilty about the pack of gum. I needed cash and didn’t want to pay an ATM fee so I went to Kmart in Penn Station. There I bought the gum with my ATM card so I could take cash back. The gum has a lot of packaging and it was blue. Not good for me or the environment. Next time I will plan ahead better.

And now on to the Favorite Things…

Stainless steel ice pop makers. When I was little one of my most favorite things to eat in the summer were the homemade ice pops that we made using our ice trays, tooth picks, and orange juice. Yum. I wanted to do the same with the girls, but hate the whole plastic/BPA/wasted toothpicks scenario. The SafeMama tipped me off. I’m passing the tip along to you. Yes, they still require Popsicle sticks, but I intend on washing them and reusing.

RecycleYourMat.com I have three yoga mats sitting in my trunk. One sitting in the house. This organization wants to help me lighten my yoga mat load. They take old yoga mats and upcycle or recycle them. You can search for a drop off location or, if you’re so inclined, ask your favorite yoga teacher to get involved with his or her own yoga recycling program. Studios that get involved have a chance to earn free yoga blankets — a nice thing to have during shavasana.

Great workout music. I love spinning. I love any exercise, really. Still, I dream of the day when I can buy my own spin bike and create my own 60 minute routines. Right now, I am making do with my treadmill, and it’s often difficult to find the right music to work out to. That’s why I really liked ISweat2theBeat.com. The site helps you figure out how many beats-per-minute your favorite songs have so you can create your own exercise mix on your iPod or MP3 player. I will be using this a lot when I get my Spin bike…someday…

Child bike seats. No, I don’t have a spin bike, but I do have my own bicycle, which I’ve been using quite a bit. Now that Big Girl can ride, we can all go out together. Right now, I have to use my husband’s bike since his is the only one that allows attachment of a rear child seat. I was pretty excited when I found something that would let me ride with Little Girl on my bike, too. (Hubby is six feet tall. I am 5′ 8″. His bigger bike makes me nervous.) WeeRide’s Kangaroo LTD puts the seat in front without impeding your movement — at least that’s what the Web site says. I’m hoping to try it out to review it. I’ll keep you posted.

Have a great weekend, everyone. It’s been a long, often-difficult week. I am so glad it’s over. How about you? How was your week?

A friend just e-mailed an article to me and a few other friends. The Washington Post has a story written about some time management stats out of the University of Maryland. According to John Robinson, a researcher and time management guru, moms and dads have plenty of free time. More than 30 hours a week, to be exact.

I’ll bet a lot of parents would balk at that number, as the Washington Post writer did, too. How could that be? We all work so hard. Kids make us crazy. Housework, bills, yard work. Where does 30 hours come from? You know what? I think Robinson is right. Even in this house, where we work really hard, we have downtime.

I go to the gym. I go to yoga. I see friends. I’m in a book club. I read. I watch television. I go to playdates. I take my little one to classes. I play Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook. I read blogs — lots of them. I write this blog. I read to my girls. I play with my girls. I laugh with them. I am on a bowling league. I go to volunteer meetings at my local beach club. I go out for coffee or dinner with my husband. We play board games. We have our alone time. All those things add up in terms of hours. Just last night I went to an hour of spin and, when yoga was canceled, ended up meeting two friends at a local coffee house. I got home and watched an hour of TV with my husband. That was almost five hours of downtime. Granted, I stay up way too late, and I work a lot, but I’m still getting in plenty of me-time.

If you take the time to read through the entire Washington Post article you see that the author, who was resistant to the idea in the beginning, slowly comes to realize that she has more time than she thinks she does. When she first starts out, some of the folks in the story — including the author herself — bemoan the fact that a good portion of so-called “leisure time” is actually spent exercising or spending time with kids, which doesn’t always feel like leisure. But as the story unfolds the folks that she interviews help her to realize that to-do lists often don’t need to get done, and leisure time is what we make of it. The author wrote that she, as a working mom, did actually have close to those 30 hours of time — she had about 28 — but that it didn’t feel like leisure because she was too busy worrying and thinking about other things that needed to get done. “Even during a so-called leisure activity, mothers are more likely to be worried about something, planning what to pull together for dinner or strategizing. Sociologists call that ‘contaminated time,’ ” she quotes Rachel Connelly, a labor economist at Bowdoin College in Maine as saying.

I think this story is pretty interesting, and hopefully something that will give readers hope. As someone who has always been selfish and self-centered when it comes to taking me-time, I can say it helped me re-discover the fact that it’s a wonderful thing that I do take that extra time for myself. That it’s important. That it helps me feel like me and be a better journalist, wife, mother, and friend. How about you? what have you done for yourself lately? What do you count among your 30 hours of weekly leisure time?

Me kicking butt at a blackbelt test.

Want to learn something else about me? I grew up thinking I was a klutz. Maybe I was one. (See proof: Saturday Stupidity.) The evidence was right in front of me on a daily basis. I was always the kid picked last for sports. Always the last one left in dodge ball — the one who got pelted with balls. I played Little League. I was the worst one on the team. I joined the badminton team. I lost. A lot. By the end of junior high I decided I hated all sports, and formulated a plan so I would be able to sit out all four years of high school gym. It worked, actually. Somehow I convinced a doctor to give me a get-out-of-gym note. Who knows what it said, but I can remember sitting in the library writing reports about obscure sports — my punishment for avoiding the field. Cricket, squash, table tennis. I can still tell you all about them. But then something happened when I hit my 20s. I realized I was wrong about sports.

It started with yoga. I took a community program with a group of my friends. I did it under duress. I wasn’t interested in yoga, but didn’t want to miss out on an organized, weekly social event. During that class we all sat together in the back, getting routinely yelled at for talking. The teacher was actually one of the scarier women I have ever met. But during those classes, a seed was planted. I loved the way I felt when I moved. I realized I am actually very flexible. I was — and am — dare I say it, really good at yoga. So good, in fact, that I was taking classes four times a week by the time we finished our community program. Eventually, I even became a yoga teacher.

From there I started taking classes at the gym. I started running. I signed up for another community program — volleyball — and I was good at that, too. Not Gabrielle Reece good, but good enough that I didn’t suck, and I actually had fun. Karate came next. Again, I was pleasantly surprised. All that yoga made my core strong. I am a pretty fantastic grappler, keeping even big men down on the ground. I took my passion all the way, going for my black belt test at 18 weeks pregnant. (Not the contact stuff, of course.) I took the test two more times since giving birth, and while I haven’t gotten my black belt yet, I know that someday that I will.

Okay, you might be wondering, what’s the point? Big Girl is an exact physical replica of me. I was tall and lanky as a child. Stringy, even, no matter how much I ate. (Too bad that didn’t last past my teenage years!) My oldest daughter has the same physical stature. Tall and skinny, I call her my tiny heiney. She actually went to physical therapy as a toddler to strengthen her legs. (An Early Intervention assessment showed she was slightly low tone, but she didn’t qualify for services, so we got them for her using our insurance.) But there is one big difference between us: Big Girl loves sports. She’s on the soccer team. She’s on the swim team. She takes dance lessons. She does yoga. She may not be the best one in the room, but she’s in there trying, and — at least in her mind — she is great at what she does. Most important: She’s having a lot of fun.

So if we have the same physical makeup, why is she in there going gangbusters while her mommy spent four years writing about sports rather than playing them? I think the main difference is that we always told her that there isn’t anything she can’t do once she sets her mind to do it. We also taught her that not every athlete is a natural. Sports and physical activities don’t come easy to everyone. Practice is key. I guess that’s why, although she may not be a professional athlete when she grows up, she’s certainly going to enjoy the ride — or game or lap or scrimmage.

I’m involved in a new sport right now. I’m taking a ballet class. This Monday, after working until 3:30 a.m. the night before and waking up at 7:45, I had to drag myself to the class. And I sucked. Big time. Everyone else in the room was catching on. And I was struggling. I was floundering. Truthfully, I was drowning. If I listened to the child Karen in my head, I would have let myself start crying and run out, never to come back. The mommy Karen, however, decided to stick it out. I had to believe my own hype — that anyone can do anything if they put their mind to it. And so next time Big Girl gets frustrated because, for example, she can’t do the walking backward drill in soccer, I can honestly tell her that even the most challenging skills can be learned, and it’s worth sticking with it until you get it right. (Or as close to right as you can come.) As for my dance career? I’m planning on being in the recital in June. I’ll never be a prima ballerina, but who cares? Most of the time I am having fun, and that’s all that matters.

Were you an athlete as a child? Do you still play anything? Do your kids play sports? What do you think they are getting out of their experience? I’d love to hear your thoughts.