His wife's hugs say it all

Vibrant Life, Jan-Feb, 2005 by Pam Mellskog

For 27 years fat--not fashion--forced Steve DePlato to boycott shorts. No matter how hot or humid, the then 381-pound man refused to make himself more of a spectacle. He'd rather sweat.

But his attitude, then his body, and finally his wardrobe all began changing in November 2002 when his doctor called with some bad news. At age 43, DePlato had diabetes. Earlier checkups had identified high cholesterol and elevated blood pressure.

"I went to a meeting on diabetes, and the speaker was explaining how it affects your kidneys, your liver," Steve explains. "When she got down the list to impotence, I thought, I'm out of here. It scared me."

Bringing his weight and other health-risk factors down meant conquering an old foe--an out-of-control food addiction. DePlato regularly consumed 6,000-plus calories daily. He routinely gobbled half a dozen donuts at a time, downed seven gallons of milk a week, and even raided the refrigerator for leftovers that wife Tammy had set aside to take to work. Often she'd place the food in sealed containers as a "please do not touch" signal, only to find their contents missing the next morning. "I'd just say to her, 'I'm sorry. I couldn't stop myself. Go by something else at the store,'" DePlato recalls.

Today the Longmont, Colorado, resident could be a poster boy for any weight-loss organization given his stunning "before" and "after" profile. At five feet, ten inches tall, DePlato weighs 178 pounds--less than half his top scale number. He has also melted two feet, three inches from his waistline.

Steve can lift 300 pounds and, though legally blind, walks six to 12 miles every day around town. A sensible eating plan has replaced fast food in his diet, and he has cultivated a taste for lettuce--a food he never touched before taking the American Heart Association's "Slim for Life" course.

His once-worried doctor now regards him as healthy, and cancelled medications for diabetes, high cholesterol, and climbing blood pressure because those symptoms vanished with the weight.

What kind of program or pill did DePlato discover to obtain these results? "Only and always prayer," he says. "By January 2003 I was on my knees begging like the alcoholic in the gutter, 'God, You've got to help me.' The only credit I can take for this is that I begged for the grace, and I cooperated with it when it came.

"My prayer," he continues, "goes something like: 'Lord, You've given me this gift of food. Help me to savor it and enjoy it, not just gobble it and move on.' Now I lift my temptations to overeat to the Lord. That's what I have to do with every forkful. If I'm eating too fast, I've got to beg Him to slow me down."

Those prayers form the front line of his battle against food addiction. But losing the weight took several very practical steps as well. During step one he tried fasting between dinner and bedtime. "With that success, I felt like the most powerful man on earth," DePlato says with a chuckle. "Then I asked God, 'What next?'"

It turned out that fasting between meals was action point number two--especially since he used to snack most of his waking hours.

By the end of February 2003 DePlato was ready to take his third big step toward a healthier life. "That's when I felt God telling me to start walking."

Still morbidly obese, DePlato struggled the most with this final piece of his weight-loss puzzle. After his first time out on a quarter-mile walk, he felt exhausted. His feet, knees, and back ached as if he'd hiked for 24 hours.

But he kept at it, praying his way over the miles, the daily fasts, and the meals. His wife began to notice his progress when she hugged him. First her fingertips touched. Then she could lace her hands together. Now she can grasp her elbows.

Besides tapping God's power through prayer, what is his second-best advice for getting fit? "Don't save your big clothes," DePlato suggests. "What you're saying by giving them away is, 'Lord, we've come this far. I trust in You to get this done.'"

For Steve DePlato, there's only one direction to go. Forward.

Pam Mellskog is a freelance health writer living in Boulder, Colorado.