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The 10-Minute Desk Workout Soldiers Use to Stay Fit

The 10-Minute Desk Workout Soldiers Use to Stay Fit

Yahoo26-06-2025
For a lot of us, the better part of our waking hours is spent hunched over a desk, staring at a screen, with maybe a walk to the kitchen counting as our most significant movement for the day. Study after study has shown that sitting for hours on end is seriously detrimental to our health. Still, here we are, sitting our lives away.
While active-duty military members aren't exactly sedentary on the job, they face the same challenge we do when they're back home: finding simple ways to stay moving. That's where the Army's Holistic Health and Fitness (H2F) system comes in. As part of its 'All You' video series, Army Reserve Lt. Col. Jason Barber, PA-C, CSCS, TSAC-F, put together a quick, effective, 10-minute workout you can do right from your desk—no gym, no excuses."I'm actually doing this job as the health and wellness coordinator in the Army Reserve for their H2F system, and I am in a two-by-two cubicle working," Barber says. "So I'm noticing that I need to get up more. You notice that your tissue becomes stiffer the longer you sit. All these aches and pains come even though you're not doing anything because it's not motion, and so it's important for us to just be moving as much as we can."
According to Barber, little movements throughout the day can make a big difference. For him, it's as simple as taking the stairs to a different floor to grab coffee or stopping by a colleague's desk to catch up—just to move his body and give his mind a break. It's a little trickier if you work from home, but the same principle applies. A walking pad under your desk or a quick walk outside during your lunch break can go a long way.
"Quite frankly, if you've ever done any rehab for an injury before, you know that little bits more often during the day are actually better for you than a big chunk once during the day," Barber says. "So they've talked about one hour of sitting can almost debunk like 20 straight minutes of running, so that's just really an uphill battle and fight."
To help you get movement more often when you're typically sitting all day, Barber created a quick 10-minute workout you can do right at your desk—no equipment needed. Repeat for 5 to 10 reps per exercise, trying to get 2 to 3 rounds in during a 10-minute work break.
Stand with feet shoulder width apart and toes turned out slightly, to start.
Sit back with your hips and lower your body as far as you can without rounding your lower back.
Push your knees out as you descend and keep your chest up.
Rise to standing and repeat.
Start in a high plank position, stacking your shoulders directly over your wrists.
Keeping your spine straight and elbows veering out slightly, drop down toward the floor.
Touch your chest to the ground or a few inches away, making sure your elbows are bent at least 90 degrees.
Rise to starting position and repeat.Stand with a dumbbell in both hands and step back with your left foot, to start.
Lower your body until your front thigh is parallel to the floor and your rear knee nearly touches the floor.
Keep your torso upright.
Step forward to return to the starting position.
Complete all reps on one leg, then switch legs.
Stand holding a medicine ball or another weighted object in front of your body with your arms bent.
Your feet should be shoulder-width apart and knees slightly bent.
Rotate your torso, keep your feet planted, and your eyes straight ahead.
Rotate to the opposite side and repeat.
Jump your right foot to the right, bringing your left foot diagonally behind you, left arm across the front of your body, and right arm behind you as you land.
Don't touch the other foot to the ground.
Repeat on the other side; try not to stop once you start.The 10-Minute Desk Workout Soldiers Use to Stay Fit first appeared on Men's Journal on Jun 25, 2025
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How pediatricians are quietly preparing immigrant families for the unthinkable: leaving their children behind
How pediatricians are quietly preparing immigrant families for the unthinkable: leaving their children behind

CNN

time4 minutes ago

  • CNN

How pediatricians are quietly preparing immigrant families for the unthinkable: leaving their children behind

On a warm June day in Nashville, Briana cradled her one-year-old son in the pediatrician's waiting room. She was there for his routine checkup, expecting to talk about vaccines and growth charts. Instead, as Briana bounced her baby on her lap in the exam room, Dr. Linda Powell leaned in and asked a question that stopped her cold: If you were taken away, who would take care of your baby? It was a conversation Briana never imagined having in a doctor's office even though as an undocumented immigrant, the concern hit close to home. Just weeks earlier, her husband — the family's breadwinner — had gone to Walmart to buy sugar. He never came home. The next time she heard his voice, he was calling from a Louisiana immigration detention facility. Briana, 32, had no warning. She learned later he had been swept up in an Immigration and Customs Enforcement raid in Nashville, part of a broader campaign of mass arrests across the country. Within a month, he was on a plane back to Guatemala, recounted Briana, who requested use of a pseudonym due to concerns about retaliation. The life they had built together – modest but steady – fell apart overnight. Suddenly alone with no income, no transportation and no family nearby, Briana began taking whatever work she could find — selling ice cream on the street, cleaning homes. Her toddler missed his father so much he refused to eat, pushing away food for days afterwards, she told CNN. And Briana lived with a gnawing fear: that she, too, could be detained by ICE, leaving her US-born baby boy alone. So when her pediatrician – who has cared for the boy since birth – gently suggested she create a legal guardianship plan, Briana listened. The doctor explained Briana could draft a simple document allowing a trusted friend to care for her son if she were detained. She connected Briana with a local nonprofit that helps immigrant families prepare guardianship paperwork – a legal arrangement to ensure her son wouldn't end up in foster care if she were also detained. Briana made an appointment, determined to put something in writing. But the only person she could think to name as guardian was an undocumented friend she'd met just months earlier. It was a choice made out of desperation. She fought back tears as she explained, 'I'm worried, I'm scared because they (ICE) keep grabbing people outside. But I have a lot of faith in God.' Briana's predicament is far from unique. She is one of millions of parents facing the possibility of sudden separation from their children. Briana's son is one of an estimated 4.7 million US citizen children living with at least one undocumented parent, according to a 2025 Brookings Institution report. And about 4% of all citizen children in the US are at risk of losing both parents to deportation – sometimes without a chance to say goodbye. Mass deportations under President Donald Trump's second term have created an unlikely new responsibility for pediatricians — protectors of those children's futures. Long trusted by parents to safeguard children and trained to navigate sensitive topics, pediatricians are quietly initiating some of the hardest conversations of their careers: If you're detained, who will care for your child? Many of the people who spoke with CNN for this story requested use of pseudonyms out of concern for their safety and privacy amid widespread immigration raids. In exam rooms from California to Tennessee to New York, pediatricians shared with CNN how they are privately helping parents think through guardianship options – sometimes in hushed tones after the children have left the room. They connect families with legal aid nonprofits, explain options like caregiver affidavits and power of attorney and urge parents to make arrangements before an emergency. 'These people (immigrants) are being scooped up and taken without any warning,' said Powell, who is using a pseudonym out of concern for potential retaliation against the patients at her practice. 'This poses a significant risk to these kids. One in terms of just the psychological trauma of your parents being taken without notice and not knowing when you will see or talk to them again, but also just in terms of the safety and health of these kids.' Every day before school, a 10-year-old boy in San Francisco asks his mother the same question: Will we see each other again? The boy's mother, originally from Guatemala and seeking asylum in the US, says she tries to reassure him, but she's anxious too. She had received deportation notices in her mailbox, she later revealed to his pediatrician. During a routine food insecurity screening, Dr. Raul Gutierrez, former chair of the American Academy of Pediatrics Council on Immigrant Child and Family Health and pediatrician at Zuckerberg San Francisco General Hospital and Trauma Center, discovered the family was surviving on food bank donations rather than enrolling in the state's CalFresh benefits. The reason: the mother feared that applying could bring unwanted attention from immigration authorities. For over 20 years, Gutierrez has been helping families like hers create 'preparedness plans' in case of separation. He likens them to earthquake drills. 'As much as we can clarify and support families in these really hard decisions, the better we can try to mitigate some of these fears and anxieties,' said Gutierrez, who is using his real name. For doctors like Gutierrez, protecting children from the chaos outside the clinic walls is as wrenching as it is necessary. 'Health care workers are in a very unique and opportune position … to support families in guidance, to do it with compassion and to really advocate for safeguarding children and to help families navigate this uncertainty,' Gutierrez said. Often, these conversations begin when a parent's anxiety surfaces during a routine screening. Like other pediatricians who see families regularly and know their histories, Gutierrez has built relationships with parents who will share details they would never tell a stranger – like fears about applying for food assistance or hesitation to run daily errands during weeks of raids. His process is methodical – he walks parents through a step-by-step handout from the Immigrant Legal Resource Center and asks direct but sensitive questions: Who are the trusted people around you? What kinds of decisions do you want to make about your child? Will they stay here in the US, or join you if you're deported? How can we ensure you're reunited? Even for families with relatives nearby, the uncertainty can be overwhelming. In California, one in five children are part of mixed-status families, according to a 2024 report from child health equity advocacy group the Children's Partnership. Chronic stress from the threat of separation can harm those children's mental and physical health, according to Gutierrez. For children with complex medical needs, the stakes are even higher. Losing a parent who manages appointments, insurance and medications can disrupt treatment and trigger lasting harm. It can mean missed therapies, disrupted medication regimens and long-term emotional scars. 'There are plans in place to make sure that that child is supported by some other adult: someone who is given the authority to make decisions about school and medical care,' Gutierrez said. 'We really want to make sure that kids don't fall victim to being in a place of instability or to lose access to their care.' When the undocumented father of a 2-year-old girl with Down syndrome was asked by her pediatrician who could take care of her in his absence, he replied bluntly: 'Everyone else around us is the same.' She understood instantly – everyone he trusted was also undocumented. Choosing a guardian felt impossible. Dr. Nancy Fernández, who has treated immigrant families in New York City for five years, says the relationships she builds with patients are key to having these conversations. 'People just know that you care about them because you've shown up in many other situations over the years,' said Fernández, who is using a pseudonym to protect her patients from possible retaliation. In her practice, where 90% of her clients are immigrants, Fernández avoids asking directly if someone is undocumented; instead, she asks if they've been affected by recent ICE raids. She assures them the conversation won't be documented in their medical records or impact medical care. But the fear in her patient population is still palpable. One teenager at the clinic overdosed on Tylenol after panicking that her father would be deported. A 10-year-old boy began asking his mother if his dad should stop taking the subway to avoid detection. 'What should I say to my kid?' the mother asked Fernández. In those moments, Fernández said she realized how much of the burden children of undocumented parents are quietly carrying. Doctors in Fernández's network once hoped letters documenting the medical harm separation could cause would persuade ICE to exercise leniency. But after writing many such letters, Fernández hasn't seen evidence they work nor has she received any responses. 'We're trying to do something to help our families, but I'm not sure that it's really that helpful in this moment in time,' she said. In the Bronx, sign-up rates for guardianship workshops at nonprofit Terra Firma National were so low that they forced the organization to incorporate the topic into broader immigrant rights sessions. 'With our families, there's been a lot of trepidation, a lot of anxiety in even thinking about this concept of having a family separation due to ICE taking a parent away,' said Dr. Alan Shapiro, Terra Firma's co-founder and chief strategy officer. Shapiro is identified by his real name. Daniel, a 58-year-old undocumented hotel worker who has lived in the US for nearly 30 years, stopped sleeping at night when ICE raids began in Nashville this spring. Instead, he said he would toss and turn in his bed, kept awake by thoughts of being separated from his family and kicked out of his home with just one knock on his door. For the first time in his life, the Guatemalan-born father of four said he began experiencing anxiety so crippling that he needed medication. 'I feel something like a void inside of you, like a vacuum that's sucking you somewhere,' said Daniel, who requested a pseudonym out of concern for possible retaliation. Daniel's life before the raids had been steady: cleaning offices at Belmont University, then working at a hotel for the last 12 years. He and his wife raised their children with weekend trips to parks, beaches and aquariums. But after the first arrests, even grocery shopping became something only his children would do. And Daniel prayed daily he'd be able to return home from work. 'If it was just me, it would be one thing, but I have a family and kids and their well-being is in jeopardy, and that's terrifying,' Daniel said. With his wife also being undocumented, the question of who would care for his youngest son, 11, haunted Daniel. In early May, more than 100 people were detained in a joint operation between ICE and the Tennessee Highway Patrol. The fear that rippled through the city's immigrant neighborhoods in the weeks that followed had noticeable impacts: At Nashville's Siloam Health, where Daniel is a patient, cancellations surged to 40% — mostly from patients afraid to drive to the clinic. And at Powell's clinic, which serves mostly Hispanic immigrant families, appointment attendance dropped by half during the surge in raids. That means missed vaccines, delayed newborn checkups and untreated illnesses. 'There's always been barriers for those families in terms of navigating a health care system in a country that is unfamiliar to you and in a language that you're trying to learn,' Powell said. 'What's going on with ICE has just added another layer of difficulty, because now we have families that are just truly scared.' The Tennessee crackdown is part of ICE raids that have intensified across the country since January: parents are being detained at home, at work and even during routine traffic stops. Often, they have no chance to say goodbye to their children or arrange child care, pediatricians told CNN. Without a plan, children can be placed in foster care or with unfamiliar guardians chosen by the state. CNN has reached out to ICE for comment. 'For every 10 people that are deported, there may be 20 American children that are dependent on that adult,' Powell said she has observed at her practice and throughout the Nashville area. When Daniel confided in his doctor at Siloam Health about his fears, he was given a 'know your rights' card and advised to complete custody paperwork. He and his wife signed a power of attorney naming their 28-year-old daughter as guardian for their youngest son. But for many others, just imagining separation is overwhelming. Dr. Jule West, chief medical officer at Siloam Health, says she can often see her patients' fear manifest physically in real time the moment the topic arises: 'You can see their bodies tense up. You can see their respiratory rate go up a little. They become more agitated,' said West, who is using her real name. 'I see in people's eyes that it's very overwhelming, and they're already concerned with their safety, their family's safety, their children's safety.' That visible fear is often enough to stall the conversation before it begins. West says that for many of her patients, even talking about guardianship plans feels unbearable because it forces them to imagine a sudden and traumatic separation from their children. Some parents say they don't have anyone with legal status to name as a guardian. Others have options but feel paralyzed by the idea of entrusting their child to someone else. Despite the urgency, many parents don't formalize custody arrangements. The thought of preparing for separation feels like inviting it. For others, logistical barriers — like long wait times at overburdened nonprofits — stand in the way. And efforts by doctors to advocate more broadly – such as distributing 'know your rights' cards, mailing supportive letters to families or hosting informational sessions – are sometimes blocked by hospital leadership wary of political backlash, some pediatricians told CNN. Still, pediatricians persist – some after witnessing the consequences of family separation firsthand. Shapiro shared a case involving one of his patients during Trump's first term. He said an 8-year-old boy with a severe learning disability was placed in foster care after his mother was deported to Guatemala. When he called her for her son's medical history, she broke down, unsure if she'd ever see her son again. 'It was probably one of the most heartbreaking moments in my 35-year career as a pediatrician,' he said. The boy was eventually reunited with extended family in the Midwest, Shapiro said, but he worries about the long-term impact on both mother and child. Now, he discusses guardianship planning in the same breath as diet and exercise guidance, marking a profound shift in what anticipatory guidance means. He often has the child wait outside the room with a book as he privately asks parents a question that is now as routine as asking about car seats, smoke alarms or safe sleep. Shapiro reflects on the shift: 'I never thought anticipatory guidance would include anything like this … where we have to have parents prepared for their deportation and for their children to be placed with other family members.' For families like Briana's and Daniel's, those conversations could be the difference between a child finding safety in familiar arms or facing the chaos of the foster system. Daniel takes some comfort knowing his daughter will care for his youngest. 'Thank God, it is a relief to know of the well-being of my youngest kid,' Daniel said. But the future remains uncertain for Briana, who still hasn't completed her son's guardianship paperwork. After hours of waiting, she left the legal aid office to make it to work. If deported, she plans to take her baby with her to Guatemala. But she is still working to get her son a passport. For now, she pushes forward, faith in one hand and her baby in the other. 'Every day I go outside with faith in God,' she said in Spanish. 'And I just go out to work to make money for my son.' CNN's Caroll Alvarado and Jamie Gumbrecht contributed to this report.

It's rude to ask if someone is taking Ozempic. Here's why.
It's rude to ask if someone is taking Ozempic. Here's why.

Washington Post

time4 minutes ago

  • Washington Post

It's rude to ask if someone is taking Ozempic. Here's why.

There's a new kind of nosy parker on the rise in the United States, a person who thinks it's fine to blurt out 'Are you on Ozempic?' to those they barely know. This is probably a reflection of how many Americans are taking this class of medications known as GLP-1 inhibitors. Twelve percent of adults in the United States have taken them at some point, according to a 2024 KFF Health Tracking Poll, and prescriptions have soared every year in the past decade. This class of medications includes tirzepatide (brand names Zepbound and Mounjaro) and semaglutide (Wegovy and Ozempic), and I know numerous friends and colleagues who take one. They have been lifesavers for many people with Type 2 diabetes or who want to lose weight for medical reasons. As with other medications, like Botox, some thorny social dilemmas have followed: Is it rude to ask if someone is taking one? And what do you say if someone asks you that question? (Full disclosure: I was prescribed a GLP-1 for a cluster of medical conditions: prediabetes, insulin resistance and cardiovascular disease.) I talked to two physicians who prescribe the meds, two well-known advice columnists and two dozen GLP-1 users for their take on the big etiquette questions on the table. Here's what I learned. Two years ago, I reconnected with a former colleague who'd lost so much weight I barely recognized him. My first thought was, 'Did he have cancer' or 'Was something wrong?' Lucky me, he beat me to the punch by confiding that he'd been using Ozempic. While some of those on GLP-1 inhibitors say it doesn't bother them to be asked, Randy Jones, an author and podcast host, who is currently taking one, told me: 'I absolutely don't think people should be empowered to ask someone about their medications without an invitation to do so.' Lizzie Post, the great-great-granddaughter of etiquette guru Emily Post and co-president of the institute that bears her name, agrees, explaining the medications we take and the procedures we undergo are private. 'You don't walk up to a friend and ask if they're on Botox,' she says. Bottom line: Don't ask, mostly. (And it's probably a good idea to avoid speculating on social media about celebrities' mysterious weight loss, too. It's practically a sport for some people, but that doesn't make it okay.) Not really. Context matters, and you may not have all the details to navigate that tricky conversation without being offensive. A friend of mine, a pastor who is in front of a large congregation every Sunday, lost 52 pounds in nine months. She says she's been asked by just about everybody at one point or another, how she lost weight. While she appreciates the well-wishers who say, 'You look great! Do you feel good?' she also would prefer that people didn't make that big a deal out of it. For example, some people seem compelled to comment on her body every time they see her. 'Are you buying a whole new wardrobe?' 'You've gotten so little.' That gets under her skin because 'I don't like having my body size be the most interesting thing about me in their eyes.' David Wiss, a registered dietitian nutritionist who is based in Los Angeles and counsels patients on issues of weight and mental health, says he recommends avoiding 'body talk' of any kind. 'Body sovereignty describes the freedom and autonomy to make choices about your own body and health,' he said. Carolyn Hax, the longtime Washington Post advice columnist, says that if you're just being nosy, there's no good way to ask. But if you've struggled with weight yourself or know someone well enough to believe you can ask without giving offense, frame your question that way. Otherwise, Hax suggests, 'If people look well, look happy, look great in that color, then by all means say that.' But don't comment on their bodies. Bottom line: As I've often said, if it's curiosity that's driving you, curb it. Matt Hughes, a town commissioner in Hillsborough, North Carolina, told me he's hesitant to make the disclosure about using a GLP-1 because 'it's almost as if someone worked less hard to lose the weight,' he said. Even if that's not your intention, asking people if they are taking a GLP-1 might be mistaken for 'Ozempic shaming,' which is when people are criticized or judged for taking a drug to lose weight rather than relying on diet and exercise, even though lifestyle changes don't work for the vast majority of people. 'Weight stigma is deeply ingrained and almost unconscious,' said Caroline Apovian, co-director of the Center for Weight Management and Wellness at Brigham and Women's Hospital. She reminded me that GLP-1s are treatments for medical conditions — just like those for high blood pressure, cancer or anything else — which can empower those to reply to intrusive queries by being direct, humorous or just deflecting the question. Some snappy responses I've heard include: Bottom line: It's no one's business but your own, and you don't need to discuss your prescriptions with anyone but your doctor. People who start taking GLP-1s often experience major changes in appetite or have side effects like nausea, which can limit how much they want to eat. Some people find they are less interested in drinking alcohol as well. That means in social situations, you may not be able to eat or drink like you have in the past. If you're dining at a friend's house and can't eat as much as you used to, a simple 'no, thank you' should suffice — and a considerate host won't press the issue. When dining out, there's the age-old dilemma about splitting the check: 'I only had a salad. You had a steak.' Or, 'I don't drink alcohol, and you had three cocktails.' When someone is having smaller portions or fewer courses, splitting a check can be even more difficult. Hax reminds people 'to be mindful of fairness and not hide behind expediency to get the 'sober dieting vegans' to cover their champagne and lobster.' She also suggests 'reading the room,' which means sometimes you can get separate checks, or take half of your meal home, and sometimes you just overpay, for the pleasure of everyone's company. Post also has some specific strategies, like telling friends you dine with regularly: 'Hey guys, I'm eating a lot less these days. Is it okay if I get my own check?' Or offer to use check-sharing apps like Billr or Divvy so that all diners pay what they owe. When I host, I've started asking guests not only if they have any food allergies or preferences, but also: 'Is there anything else I need to know in preparing dinner?' That allows room for someone to let me know either that they're on a GLP-1, or simply that they're only able to eat certain amounts or types of food these days. For that reason, I'm also inclined to serve buffet style, letting everyone decide how much they want on their plate. Bottom line: Be prepared to communicate your needs ahead of time and don't pry for details if a friend's eating habits change. I've faced many well-meaning but intrusive questions myself, which is why I smiled when Hax told me: 'Too bad there isn't a GLP-1 for ignorance.'

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