The florid face, the heaving gut, that terrible wheezing he makes just getting out of the sleigh and landing with a thud on your roof like a pallet of cinder blocks.
Let's not even get into blood pressure issues, cholesterol levels and body mass index. "A heart attack in a red flannel suit" - that's what they whisper at the doctor's office when he shows up for his annual physical.
The question is this: Should Santa Claus be hitting the StairMaster?
Is it time for the big guy to sign up for NutriSystem, join a gym, slim down, tone up and try to fit into those Dockers with the 36-inch waist again?
Sure, he's an international symbol of good will, selflessly dedicated to bringing Christmas toys to good little boys and girls all over the world, etc.
But isn't the image of a red-faced, jowly, flabby Santa at odds with a society wrestling with childhood obesity problems and struggling to get kids to eat right, put down the Xbox 360, and get exercise and fresh air?
Well, some might think so. But ripping Santa for being a fat slob is still a bad career move and brings immediate repercussions.
Recently, for example, the U.S. surgeon general, Rear Adm. Steven K. Galson, was accused of calling out Santa for being a poor fitness role model.
"It is really important that the people who kids look up to as role models are in good shape, eating well and getting exercise," the Boston Herald quoted him as saying. "It is absolutely critical ... Santa is no different."
The remarks circulated quickly over the Internet, fanned by irate bloggers who poked vicious fun at the good doctor and accused him of being a politically correct Grinch.
Galson's media rep, Jennifer Koentop, says the fat-boy remarks about Santa "were completely taken out of context."
"We believe that role models come in all shapes and sizes and anyone, no matter his or her physique, can be a positive role model by making healthy choices and by exercising," Koentop said in a statement. "Even Santa would agree with that."
Which, whether he's backpedaling or not, puts the surgeon general in lock step with everyone from Santa impersonators to weight-management experts to parents of young kids, who say Santa still gets a pass on his girth, even in this era of heightened body-image concerns.
Tim Connaghan, a longtime Santa and president of the Kringle Group, which books Santas for appearances and runs a Santa school, says he "never" hears that he and his fellow Santas need to go on a diet.
"In fact," he says, "I've heard just the opposite. I've heard, with thin Santas: 'Oh, you need more cookies, Santa.'"
But Connaghan, past president of the Amalgamated Order of Real Bearded Santas, admits he's heard that the organization will be holding a "weigh-in" at its annual convention in Kansas this summer, and that current Bearded Santas President Nicholas Trolli is urging members to get in shape.
"I think people are trying to push the idea of being politically correct on Santa," Connaghan says. "We can't say, 'Merry Christmas,' we can't say, 'Ho, ho, ho,'" - it smacks of the derogatory street term for women - "and [now] we've got to lose weight and be thin.
"Santa's up on a pedestal, and people are throwing rocks at him."
Which raises the question: Is he too fat to duck? According to a survey of Santas done by the Amalgamated Order of Real Bearded Santas, the average Santa stands 5 feet 8 inches and weighs nearly 257 pounds, which puts him way over the ideal weight in those actuarial tables.
But lots of Santas, such as Conrad Bladey of Linthicum, remain blissfully above the fat-guy fray.
Bladey, a member of the Bearded Santas and a Santa for 18 years - he's currently a Santa-in-residence at Arundel Mills mall - says he encourages kids to leave milk and cookies for Santa on Christmas Eve.
"And I don't want diet cookies," he says. "Or 2 percent milk."
Bladey, 54, who stands about 6 feet 1 and weighs a sturdy 220 pounds, says kids don't care whether Santa looks as if he cruises the buffet line or works out with an Ab Roller.
"Kids just want to see a man in a red suit and a beard," he says. "And he should be jolly and fatherly."
Still, Bladey gets the sobering e-mails from the Bearded Santas, the ones that make him reach for a granola bar instead of a fistful of Oreos.
"You hear of the list of Santas who have died at an early age or died from weight problems," he says. "Then you get the e-mails that say: 'We should all be healthier and eat right.'"
Larry Larsen of Towson, a Bearded Santas member in good standing, gets the e-mails, too, and takes them to heart.
At a recent party for the Evesham Park neighborhood at Zen West restaurant near Belvedere Square, Santa Larry is working the room as if he's running for mayor of the North Pole.
Along one wall sit warming trays filled with fried chicken and Italian food, and nearby are platters of delicious-looking desserts that would make a Jenny Craig disciple gnaw off her arm.
Larsen, 68, doesn't eat at these Santa gigs. But if he did, he'd probably scout around for the hummus and vegetables. He weighs 191 and is trim enough to require a prosthetic belly under his Santa suit.
He stopped smoking five years ago. He gave up booze 18 years ago. When he walks into a restaurant, he laughs and tells the hostess: "Gimme a table where the nonsinners sit."
"I'm quite active," he says. "I'm not a couch potato."
Still, the kids at the party don't seem to mind that there's a fitter-than-usual Santa in their midst, a Santa who might know his way around a treadmill. The parents don't seem to notice, either.
Professional Santas say it's usually the parents who freak out when Santa is thinner than the fat, jolly Santa of their youth.
But Alyssia Essig, who helped organize the party and is there with her two young daughters, says she's trying to raise two "self-assured women" and doesn't "put a lot of focus on what your body looks like."
"I would never put Santa on a treadmill," she says with a laugh.
Then, perhaps envisioning Santa stepping on a bathroom scale and sending it crashing through the floor, she delicately adds: "If he had health issues, he probably would have to change his diet."
Santa Larry appears to have no such problems. As he wends his way between tables, he lets a visitor know, sotto voce, that he's playing golf first thing in the morning.
And walking the course.
Still, even if some Santas are watching their weight these days, the image of Santa as a big guy with a jelly belly who could make a sleeve of Chips Ahoy! disappear in a heartbeat is so ingrained it'll probably endure for generations.
"There's such a long history, I'm not sure you can make Santa Claus skinny without soliciting comments like 'What's the matter with Santa?'" says Lawrence J. Cheskin, director of the Johns Hopkins Weight Management Center.
"But maybe we can encourage actors who [play] Santa Claus to say this [to kids]: 'Eat healthy, let's go outside instead of playing video games, and ... don't look like Santa.'"
Imagine: Santa as public health advocate.
Maybe one day he'll chair the President's Council on Physical Fitness and Sports.
Or ... maybe not.
kevin.cowherd@baltsun.com