Donnie Douglas
Columnist
I have a belt problem. I need to buy some new ones or gain some weight. Yes, gain.
The fault is my father’s. It was about three years ago that I was at my parents’ home with my sister Margaret and her children, Kenan and Douglas, and we were taking photographs. Kenan handed me one and asked, “Uncle D, you like this one?”
“No,” I said, “I look fat.”
My dad, seated a few feet away, simply said: “You are fat.” My dad doesn’t suffer fools, even if said fool is his own son.
He tried to walk it back, but that day I topped out at 249 pounds, not a good look for someone with a bad back and a stitched-together aortic valve. So I decided then I would lose 29 pounds and get to 220.
As I write this, I weigh 227, where I have been stuck for months, and the math is simple enough that I can do it my head. I need to lose 7 pounds to reach that goal.
Why do I share this?
Two reasons, and the first might make about 40% of today’s readers angry. We are a fat county, although I think obese is the term preferred so feelings aren’t hurt in an increasingly fragile society in which words must be minced.
The Robert Wood Johnson Foundation publishes an obesity study every year, and typically Robeson County ranks worst among 100 counties in North Carolina, which hovers around 20th worst among the 50 states. That explains in large part why so many Robeson County residents suffer from heart disease, diabetes and even cancer. We like our fried chicken and chopped pork, but it’s killing us.
So perhaps a few folks will join me in resolving to lose a little bit of weight — or even a bunch.
The other reason I share is because there is a precedent of me stating a goal in a column I penned and succeeding. The year was 1993 I believe, and I was working for the once-venerable Fayetteville Observer when I announced in a column that I would run in a 10-kilometer race that was sponsored by the Robeson County Road Runners. For those who don’t do meters, that is 6.2 miles long.
My running mate was my father, who actually ran two marathons. I did train for the event, and was told if I could run half a 10K, I could run the entire 10K. That logic escaped me, but I felt prepared race day, which I believe was in early December, and remember it as being a balmy day.
The race began in downtown Lumberton, weaved its way through the Tanglewood community where I grew up, giving me the advantage of knowing shortcuts, and finished behind Biggs Park Mall. So my dad and I took off, side by side, stride for stride. About three miles in, I knew I was in trouble, and told him so.
“I will slow down,” he said.
“No,” I said. “You go on. I will lie down.” And I did, in a yard as he disappeared into the distance.
Not long afterward paramedics arrived. I assured them I was fine, but they told me they could not leave me there in a prone position. I asked if they were trying to help me catch my breath or watch my last one.
I slowly got up, began jogging again and out of the corner of my left eye I saw a man running backwards as he passed me. I was wondering why he was running backwards when it became clear. He was being trailed by a child, perhaps 6 years old or so.
I determined then that I could not allow a man running backwards and a 6-year-old to finish the race in advance of me. And they didn’t, although everyone else did.
I still remember the last 50 yards or so, someone yelling “there he is,” and a small group of people cheering my every step toward the finish line. I should have been humiliated, but I was too tired to feel anything except relief, which I felt in abundance.
I am convinced that my lack of running prowess is because — and I didn’t know it at the time — I had a leaky aortic valve and my heart could not supply a sufficient amount of oxygen. Retrospectively, it was an heroic effort, one that could have killed me. Yea, that’s my story.
Now why do I share this story? To inspire others, but also to prove that once I set my mind to something and announce my goal publicly, I achieve it.
I will hang on to my old belts just in case.
Donnie Douglas is the former editor of The Robesonian in Lumberton.