In some of the opening scenes of the second series of the acclaimed nature documentary Planet Earth, David Attenborough unfolds fondly upon the relatively quick reaction of an island-dwelling pygmy three-toed sloth. Our humble sloth is hearing from someplace in the distance the enticing call of a prospective mate.
Separated by deep water, the red-blooded sloth drops from his branch and begins to swim. This is an evolution which is estimated to have taken the docile animal around four million years to complete. Safe to say that our sloth reaches dry land somewhat more briskly, because in fact these sloths are very capable paddlers indeed.
Alas he espies his hoped for lover, only to notice as he encroaches that she is already with child, and will not mate again for six months. But as Attenborough roguishly proclaims, it has all surely been worth the effort, because the object of his desire cannot now be too far away.
We consider ourselves the most highly evolved of all the animals, and yet some of us seem to move less often and with less vigour than even the most conservational sloth. The world’s entire population of pygmy sloths is isolated on a speck of land no bigger than Central Park in New York City, where native New Yorkers and non-native huddled masses alike can cycle, jog, and walk. The beauty of Central Park, an oasis in the heart of the metropolis, is that rid of shanty towns and livestock, it offers so much for free.
Yet many of us opt to neither run nor jog nor even stroll at our leisure, through such bounties of nature landscaped by esteemed architects. Instead we would stuff ourselves with pastries while gazing at jewellery in Tiffany’s, or whistle down a cab just to cross the few blocks to the nearest Shake Shack. That black & white milkshake might well be delicious, but without a little exercise it will end up round your waist.
As we face an epidemic of obesity and spiralling healthcare costs, perhaps we should consider moving our portly to some island off Panama, or better yet getting their feet wet and forcing them to swim. Mangroves are nutritious, but the old adage about the carrot seems increasingly passé: why would anybody chase after even a chocolate bar or Chipotle, when they know that within minutes they can order up some sushi or pizza?
Even plonked right in the middle of Isla Escudo de Veraguas, some would still laze about and retain their excess weight. We must hoist them up and drop them in our lakes and oceans, and imminently, for unlike the sloth we can’t afford to hang about. For the sake of their health they must find their own way to shore.
