Feb. 2 - And you thought only politics made strange bedfellows. Well, consider this: The President's Physical Fitness Test—that venerable, Eisenhower-era, strength-and-agility awards program—is now partnering with Burger King, that venerable, Eisenhower-era purveyor of food so disgusting that even Robert Atkins would prefer a bowl of pasta.

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That's not only strange bedfellows — it's miscegenation!

The issue, of course, is that the Presidential test has always been an incorruptible, albeit vaguely Hitler-esque, assessment of the physical fitness of our nation's youth. Even today, to get the cherished "Presidential" medal, an 11-year-old boy has to do 47 sit-ups in a minute, complete six pull-ups, stretch his fingers four inches beyond his toes from a sitting position, run a mile in an astonishing 7:32, and complete something called a "shuttle run"—sprint 30 feet in one direction, pick up a small block, run back, release the block, run back, pick up another block, race back to the starting line—in just 10 seconds. (Recalling the shuttle run, I am reminded how we used to complain to our math teacher, Mr. Stavropoulos, that we'd never need the trigonometry he was teaching us, yet we somehow never complained to Coach Jackman that the skills required for the shuttle run would be equally obsolete in our adult lives. The reason we never complained to Coach Jackman, of course, is because he would have hit us.)

For an obese kid like me (yes, I was ahead of my time even then), The Test was a cross between the Bataan Death March and asking a girl to the sixth-grade dance (and having your mother drive you). It was grueling and humiliating at the same time.

Of course, some 11-year-olds—darn you, Jimmy Franz!—were natural athletes who could seemingly run all day without so much as an extra breath, while the rest of us (and when I say "us," I mean "me") would hang on the chin-up bar for hours praying for the strength to rise even once.

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When the testing was concluded, Coach Jackman would add up the scores. The top 20 percent of finishers—darn you, Jimmy Franz!—would get the medal. The rest of us would get hit by Coach Jackman. (On retrospect, he was kind of mean. After one particularly embarrassing attempt to win the Presidential medal, Coach Jackman pulled me aside and recommended that I have a sex-change operation because I was, in his words, "such a girl.")

Since we are in the midst of an epidemic of childhood obesity (thanks to Burger King, et al), I called the President's Council on Physical Fitness to see whether the scores of Presidential medal winners have declined over the years and whether the Council and Burger King had relaxed its requirements (like all the other testing agencies). If standards have declined, perhaps I, at long last, have what it takes to get that medal. Perhaps I can finally silence the echoing Bronx cheers I received as I plodded towards the finish line—dead last—in the mile run. Perhaps I can finally show the world that I am in great shape for a man my age (if by "my age" I mean 84).

No, I can't. While our nation's youth has been getting fat these last 30 years, the Jimmy Franzes of the world are still running wild. "Childhood obesity is on the rise, but the top 20 percent of students has remained as athletic as ever," says Chris Spain of the President's Council. "If you have those athletic genes, you're going to get the medal." It turns out Burger King is merely underwriting the cost of the medals for the handful of inner-city kids who've managed to somehow stay healthy by avoiding the very product sold by Burger King.

Corporations call that "good citizenship," but it's nothing more than a convenient merger of a guilty conscience and a checkbook. "Five years ago, I wouldn't have been involved with fast-food companies," says Melissa Johnson, executive director of the President's Council. I reminded Johnson that a recent study in the journal Pediatrics showed that fast-food consumption results in greater intake of fats and calories and decreased intake of fruits and vegetables. I reminded her that 30 percent of all kids eat fast food on any given day and that when they do, they typically eat almost 200 more calories (which adds up to six pounds of flab a year). If I had more time, I would have reminded her that the journal concluded that "the nation's children deserve protection from damaging forces" like fast food, not partnerships with its purveyors.

"Burger King is trying to be part of the solution," Johnson said. "It's up to us to choose what foods we eat when we go there. Burger King wants to promote physical activity and they are using us as a tool." (I refrained from making the obvious joke.)

In a press release, Burger King CEO Brad Blum expounded on Johnson's theory. "We hope to reinforce the importance of physical fitness as a part of everyday life, help kids fuel the fire within and understand the concept of energy-in and energy-out." Since he didn't explain that concept, I assumed he was referring to the "double bacon cheeseburger-in and veg-out on the couch" concept.

As someone who works out regularly and has steadfastly refrained from eating Burger King hamburgers, I was certain that I could finally get my presidential medal. So I went to my local gym and re-created the test (minus Coach Jackman, thankfully). And here come the scores: 48 sit-ups (presidential!), 8:03 in the mile (vice- presidential!), 11 seconds in the shuttle run (Congressional!), four pull-ups (State Senatorial!), and a complete inability to touch my toes (dog catcher!).

I called Coach Jackman to get his reaction, but fortunately, he was dead (I don't say "fortunately" because I relish the misfortunes of others, but because had Coach Jackman been alive, our conversation would've invariably ended with me in tears and doing 20 push-ups as punishment). Instead, I spoke to his successor, Joe Bertino, who said he remembered me from my days at Ardsley Middle School (translation: he remembered that I was never able to get to the top of the rope at Ardsley Middle School).

"And you used to wear that coonskin cap everywhere!" he added (Joe, can we leave the humiliating personal recollections to me, please?!).

I told Bertino my scores. He was impressed by my 8:03 mile (I didn't tell him I was out of breath for two hours afterwards, which kinda defeats the purpose), but he was disappointed by everything else. "Eleven seconds in the shuttle run?! You couldn't even beat an 11-year-old boy. And how could you only do four pull-ups—especially since you can hold the bar with your hands facing you nowadays?" Bertino explained that such a grip brings into play another set of muscles. He told me what those muscles are called, but they sounded like the name of some dinosaur, so I moved on.

Then I told him about my anemic toe-touching. "You can't even touch your toes?!" Sorry, Joe. It must be all that healthy food I've been eating.

Gersh Kuntzman is also Brooklyn bureau chief for The New York Post. His website is at http://www.gersh.tv

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