“Faith is daring the soul to go beyond what the eyes can see.” — J.R.R. Tolkein
BY SCOTT MacGREGOR
The Cincinnati Enquirer
Scott MacGregor at 208 pounds.
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The miracle began on a chilly October's eve. I was only 25 and covering the World Series, living a dream. All I could see, however, was a nightmare.
MacGregor at 370 before dieting
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As I peered down the row of other sportswriters cramped into the press box, I noticed a couple of fat guys having trouble squeezing into their seats. It was a problem I knew all too well. As soon as I sat down, I was going to face it too.
It was as if I was looking at myself from the outside-in, from a distance. A shock of fear shot up my spine. My weight problem, I had known for months, was out of control. But now, clearly seeing what I had become, I knew it was time to do something about it.
“That's it,” I said to myself. “I'm going to beat this.”
I whispered a prayer: “Please give me the strength to conquer this, God.”
I felt emboldened. “I'm not going to fail.”
From 370 to 208
That was 15 months ago. I weighed 370 pounds and was classified as “morbidly obese.” Now, I weigh 208. I have lost 162 pounds, and gained a new life.
I could not have seen then what I do now. I could only see the enormity of my body in the mirror and the trembling of an addict who was using food the same way an alcoholic uses a drink.
But I had faith in something outside myself. I prayed for God to give me strength and courage to change my life. And that, to borrow from the famous poet, has made all the difference.
“How did you do it?” That's the first thing people ask.
The short answer is, I got the right help from the right people, worked hard and prayed harder.
It took tremendous discipline, perseverance and focus, and every fiber of strength in my being. I had to want it more than anything I have wanted in my life. I prayed often for the desire to keep pushing, and God granted it to me with grace.
I relied on my wonderful family and friends for encouragement. And I drew heavily on two of the most character-forming experiences of my past.
I had been an athlete, so I knew how to embrace physical pain. And I had been a musician in high school and college, so I knew how important discipline was in achieving a goal.
Duke University clinic
What started in my head that night at the World Series crystalized a few weeks later at Duke University in Durham, N.C.
There, I attended a two-week fitness and nutrition clinic that armed me with the knowledge I needed to make a change: the basics of good nutrition and the benefits of exercise. I didn't want to try one of the latest fads, like the protein or zone diets. I knew that once I lost the weight, I'd gain it back unless I changed my habits for a lifetime.
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WEIGHT LOSS RESOURCES
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Always consult your doctor before beginning a weight loss, fitness or nutrition program. Here are some numbers of local programs:
• Greater Cincinnati Nutrition Council: 621-3262.
• Jewish Hospital Weight Management Center: 554-3820.
• Overeaters Anonymous: 921-1922.
• TriHealth Weight Management/Nutrition Consultants: 891-1622.
• TriHealth Fitness Pavilion: 985-0900.
• Weight Watchers: (800) 651-6000.
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What I wanted was to make one swift change — to learn how to eat balanced, healthy meals the rest of my life, and to get back in the exercise routine I had let go nearly two years earlier. The people at Duke showed me how, and I will forever be in their debt.
There was one major catch, though. I knew that to change my life, I had to change my lifestyle. And that meant giving up my job as The Enquirer's baseball writer covering the Reds.
It's a fun job, a dream come true for a kid who had spent his summer afternoons lost in a Wrigley Field fantasy, longing for the smell of half-cracked peanuts and the sound of balls popping in leather mitts.
Unfortunately, it's also a brutal grind for the nine months of the season — games almost every night, what seems like an eternal road trip, bad food — and I couldn't make the changes I had to unless I had a more stable, routine schedule.
So I gave it up — everything I had worked so hard for at such a young age. It was an easy decision, and one I haven't regretted. Life is too precious to waste in a press box. I still cover sports, but my bosses were kind enough to carve out a new niche that would allow me to do what I had to do and still have a job.
Two-year goal
Still, I knew my journey would be tough, that I had grueling physical work and strange emotional changes ahead of me. What I didn't realize was that it would happen so fast — or that in the end, it would seem so easy.
I set a goal to lose 145 pounds, thinking it would take about two years. It was an arbitrary figure, perhaps a ridiculously high goal, but I wanted to shoot as high as possible.
It became the focus of my life. I exercised six days a week, for as much as two hours a day, and was meticulous in following the proper nutrition I had learned at Duke. The payoff was worth the work a thousand-fold.
Less than a year later, I reached my goal, and have kept going as my body reaches its optimal weight. It is, no doubt, the best feeling I have ever had. I feel as if I am standing on the mountain top.
But the physical work was just the instrument that played the music. The tune had been written a year earlier, when I had been moved to change. The moment I made that decision, I had a feeling of peace that I was going to achieve whatever I set out to do. It was that simple.
It was raining the night I reached my goal. I did not cry right there on the scale — the sight of a grown naked man crying in a men's locker room might have seemed a bit odd — but when I reached my car, in a cold and wet parking lot, the tears flowed, as steady as the rain pouring down my windows.
Skewed self-image
I had been fat since I was about 5. I was a normal kid, a decent football and baseball player, an outgoing, personable guy with lots of friends. But increasingly, being fat came to define how I viewed myself, which is why making such a radical change ultimately had to be so dramatic.
When I was 16, I had a crush on a cute brunette with killer legs. I heard her talking to her friends one day.
“He'd be OK,” she said, “if he wasn't so fat.”
That, it seemed all too often, was the story of my life. She wasn't a mean person; that's just the reality of things. And it's not like I never dated — I had a few brief relationships here and there. But that girl's comment was the ultimate insult. You're not worthwhile, we are constantly told, if you're overweight.
By the time of my epiphany at the World Series, I was beyond chubby. I had yo-yo dieted, losing 40 pounds here, then gaining back 50. When a car accident laid me up for several months, I began gaining more. Then, the summer I covered baseball, I ballooned. I had no energy, ate horribly, fell into a deep depression and battled physical illness most of the season.
As my confidence was shrinking, my waistline was growing. By season's end I had outgrown my clothes twice in seven months. I was now wearing a size 5XL shirt and a 48-inch waist, but I needed a bigger size, my enormous belly hanging over my trousers like gelatin. I hadn't dated in two years; many women just didn't find me attractive.
Honestly, neither did I. I liked who I was at heart, but was coming to hate what I was becoming on the outside.
If you've ever been abnormally large, you understand. How can you not hate being fat when every message of society is telling you you should? How can you not feel oppressively self-conscious when you have to ask the flight attendant for a seat belt extender? Or when you walk past stores filled with clothes you can't wear? Or when you want to kiss the girl, and every time, it seems, she just backs away in disgust?
That was life then. I knew my physical appearance had nothing to do with the quality of my character, but I was sick of living life on the fringe. And I wanted to be healthy. I've rarely been more scared than when a doctor used the term “morbidly obese” to describe me, and rarely more gratified by being able to look her in the eye a year later and thank her for her guidance.
That old life is dead and buried now, but I'll never forget how it formed my character: The toughness, conviction and compassion it developed. Some things, thankfully, make you stronger.
A new outlook
Life is radically different now, in some ways. I'm fitter and trimmer than I've ever been, 70 pounds lighter than the day I graduated from high school. I can buy clothes at any store I want, in any style. Dating is an actual part of my life, as opposed to something other people do.
People react differently to me. I get more respect. Where some people used to give me a frown of disdain when they'd see me squeeze next to them on an airplane or at a ballpark, I'm now just an average guy taking up average space. I notice second glances from women now, the kind I never received in the past, the ones you can only dream about when you never get them.
It's like seeing the world through two different pairs of eyes.
I have found the hardest thing about losing weight is staying true to yourself. The temptation to make up for lost time, and to run off and be an entirely new person, is at times overwhelming.
New look, new clothes, new confidence. Why not a new life?
Recently, I have been fighting myself over whether to completely bury my old body. I moved last month, and when I decorated the new place, I didn't put up many old pictures. I just got tired of looking at the old me. “It's time to move on,” I thought.
But the new me is still the old me. I am stronger, wiser, more courageous, more complete. But what makes me the person I am, what allowed me to accomplish such a radical task, remains fundamentally the same.
When I look in the mirror, I may see a different body. But when I look in my eyes, I see the same soul.
It took losing myself for a while to figure that out, and only through something very painful. There are certainly some things I'm happy to jettison — insecurities, mostly — but those are hard to overcome. You don't get over 20-some years of self-consciousness in a few months, no matter how much you think you've changed.
That can only come with time, with experience, and with acceptance. The psychological part of losing weight, I've found, is the really tough change.
All about faith
For me, the whole discussion comes back to faith. If you have the faith to change your life, you have the power to do anything. Faith gives you hope.
Norman Vincent Peale said, “Change your thoughts, and you change your world.” I hate to make it sound so simple, because I've worked hard. But that is, at its core, what losing weight is about: Believing you have the power to change. And having the faith to dare your soul to go beyond what you see in the mirror.
A few weeks ago, on a night I could not sleep, I walked to the edge of a field near my old house. It was cold and snowing, just as it had been more than a year before, on a lonely night when I took the same walk and prayed for strength.
That had been a weak moment, one that tested my faith, and one I count as one of the most important of my long journey. It was only through facing a moment like that that I was ultimately able to conquer, and to grow in perseverance.
This time, I stood in that open field, the snow falling on my face like feathers, and looked high into the night sky. “Thank you,” I said.
God had shown me what I could not see.
Scott MacGregor welcomes your e-mail at scottmacgregor@sprintmail.com.
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