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a personal story: FIFTH in a series
On top of the world
Scaling a sand dune is possible for Dan McFeely after a 154-pound weight loss.
August 29, 2004
I am standing at the foot of a giant heap of sand, debating which path to take. It's a long way up. We're at Warren Dunes State Park in Michigan for a day at the beach. For the family, the day is never complete without climbing to the top of the dune. I usually sat on a rock. My favorite part of any trip to the beach was finding a good place to eat at the end of the day. This dune towers about 240 feet above Lake Michigan. And each step is a struggle, the sand is so loose. Back when I tipped the scales in the mid-400s, the thought of walking up this sand dune was laughable. But this summer is different. Since bariatric surgery on Nov. 3, I have lost 154 pounds and 16 inches off my waist. Many of the habits I once shared with other obese Americans have gone by the wayside. Physical activity has become a habit, rather than a burden. That's why on this hot, sunny day in July, I stood at the foot of that sand dune with no doubt in my mind that I finally would attempt the climb. Still, old habits die hard: I looked for the path of least resistance. But there was none for this climb. The first few steps were no problem. It's pretty flat at the bottom. But after a while, I began to ascend at an increasingly steep angle. Step-sink, step-sink, step-sink. My heart rate was up in no time, and my breath quickly got short. The sweat began to pour. Doubts popped into my head: Maybe I should turn back. Maybe I am not ready. Flanked and encouraged by my wife, Sue, and grandkids -- Chelsea, Jaylyn and Kaylee -- I continued, stomping and sinking more than halfway up the hill before stopping for a breather atop a massive log in the sand. I looked up. The rest of the way was even steeper, but there were some trees I could grab to keep me from tumbling back down. So, off I went. Step, sink, breathe. Step, sink, breathe . . . huff, huff, huff . . . step, sink, breathe. Step, sink, breathe. Now, if I had tried this a year ago, I would certainly have died. In fact, before my surgery at St. Vincent Hospital in Carmel, my ability to achieve good health was about as reachable as the top of this sand dune. In other words, impossible. Instead, this gift -- this life-changing adjustment -- permits me to beat my old habits. I consume less than half the food I used to, but still feel full. If I eat too much, I feel like I will burst. If I eat too fast, my food backs up on me. And if I eat sugar, I risk a "dumping" episode, in which my body produces too much insulin and I get severe stomach cramps. It's happened once so far, and I am determined to keep it from ever happening again. As I near the top of the dune, I am sustained by an incredible burst of energy . . . one that has been cultivated over the previous nine months of healthful eating and exercise. It gives me the boost I need to keep on going. And I make it. Amid much fanfare from the girls and a kiss from my wife, I stand atop the sand dune -- take in the view for the first time in my life -- and do my best Rocky impersonation. Yo, Adrian -- I finally made it! Like that trek up the sand dune, I have taken baby steps to get to the point where I can exercise three times a week, walk for miles without complaining and easily turn away from deep-fried candy at the Indiana State Fair. Each moment of the day presents a little challenge for a "barry" (my term for those who have had bariatric surgery). Unlike my past obsessions -- where food was always on my mind -- my present obsession is all about keeping food off my mind. Clearly, much has changed in my life. But in many ways, life is still the same. And that can be challenging. I still work here at The Star, spending most of my time lodged at my desk. I still rush around in the morning and endure a commute of about 45 minutes. I still have the daily challenge of finding a healthful lunch. And I still have to find time for physical activity. Like a recovering alcoholic who works at a tavern, the temptations of daily life continue to haunt me. The only difference now is that I am better able to fight them off . . . one step at a time. Day in the life • 6 a.m.: The alarm clock goes off and I hit the snooze button. Sometimes I flip on the TV and listen to the morning news. And sometimes the TV anchors pop into my dreams when I fall back asleep. At least I'm not dreaming about doughnuts. • 6:09 a.m.: The alarm clock goes off again. By now Sue is up making coffee. We drink decaf now. On some days I will play "tag" a few more times with my oft-beaten clock. But on the good days, I will get up and start my day. • 6:15 a.m.: By now I have walked down to the mailbox to get my copy of The Indianapolis Star and am scampering back to the house to use the restroom. Bathroom habits are a big deal for barries. Rapid weight loss means we spend a lot of time in the, um, reading room. For me, it typically hits before I can pour a cup of coffee. And, on some mornings, it hits me multiple times before I leave for work. These are the days I run a little late. • 7:30 a.m.: It's time for breakfast. In the past, when I gorged myself on late-night snacks -- ice cream, popcorn, Coke -- I woke up full and could easily skip breakfast (feeling darn good about it!). But these days, with a calorie intake of only 1,200 to 1,500 per day (compared to 4,000 to 5,000), I wake up a little hungry. Breakfast is usually eggs, cheese and a toasted English muffin. Some days I cook at home; other times I swing through McDonald's for an Egg McMuffin or a fruit and yogurt parfait. I also try to drink the first of three glasses of milk -- doctor's orders for protein. • 8 a.m.: I usually spend some time reading the newspaper, depending on my schedule. I used to spend a lot of morning time praying or going to daily Mass at my church. Not so since I have been devoting more time to my physical needs. I have faith, however, that once I settle into the "finished product" (the new me), I will return to a more spiritually balanced lifestyle. At least two weekdays and one weekend day I try to work out, lifting weights, and swimming at the YMCA. My doctor has told me to lift weights because it spurs the body to burn more calories and promotes weight loss. My weekends have changed. Gone are the days when I sat in front of the tube, watching sports all day. Now I am much more apt to go on a long walk or a bike ride with Sue. Yes, this big old body is feeling much more comfortable on a bike. The tires no longer go flat, and the pedals no longer bend under pressure. A few weeks ago, Sue and I took Jaylyn (our fifth-grade granddaughter) on a ride down the Monon Trail. We started at 146th Street in Carmel and rode down to the Indiana State Fairgrounds. Round trip: about 22 miles. It felt great, and I hardly broke a sweat. • 9 a.m.: By now I am in the shower, and yes, I can see my feet. Getting dressed has become a challenge. Rapid weight loss can wreak havoc on a wardrobe. Check this out: In January, I was so happy to buy a size 58 pair of jeans. By April, I had to go back and buy a size 54. Today, I'm wearing 50s. Thankfully, a friend who also had the surgery gave me a bunch of his old pants, with sizes ranging from 52 down to 48. He wouldn't take any money for them, only a promise that when I get through those sizes, I'll pass them along to another barry, which I will. • 10:15 a.m.: I am at work (or darn close), sipping on another cup of coffee. I am also getting ready for a midmorning snack -- yogurt or fresh fruit. I have gotten into the habit of bringing a small cooler with me to work. I fill it in the mornings with yogurt, cheese, diet drinks, water and sometimes some sugar-free chocolate. This has saved me both time and money, since healthful snacks usually are the most expensive and hardest to find. • 12:15 p.m.: By now, I am starting to think about lunch. If this is a day in which I work out, lunch might come a little earlier. But usually, I wait until shortly after noon to ponder my options. And working Downtown presents many options. I like to pick a place that forces me to get outside and walk. From The Star building, it's a short walk over to a popular little Mexican restaurant (where I order crunchy tacos and cheese). It's a little bit longer to walk down to other places around Monument Circle, but I still enjoy seeking a variety of tastes, and the extra steps are no longer feared. Like most Americans, I frequently cut lunch hour short because of time pressure. I often find myself walking a block or less to grab the quickest -- and most healthful -- lunch I can find. I can now eat meat. I enjoy hamburgers, as long as the bun is either toasted or very easy to chew. The passageway into my stomach is still much smaller than the average adult's, so I can still have difficulty with dry and chewy food. And I will fess up: I am not supposed to eat french fries, but it happens. I also have developed quite a taste for onions. And lime. Not sure what has happened to my taste buds, but lately I have really craved fresh onions on a hamburger, and limes in my iced tea or Diet Coke. Perhaps this is my way of compensating for a lack of sugar? That remains a mystery. Let's turn the calendar back a little here, just to put lunch in perspective. Prior to my surgery, lunch meant ordering the biggest thing on a menu, topped with a sugary soft drink and dessert. Of course, I didn't do much walking back then. It was much more common for me to drive or order a big helping of Chinese food. And if I could not get dessert, I would find myself an hour later riding an elevator from the second- floor newsroom to the third-floor vending machines for a candy bar or apple pie. (These days I walk up the stairs, and I only purchase diet drinks, water or occasional bottles of milk). • 3:30 p.m.: After a couple of hours of working, it is time for a midafternoon snack. This is when I break out the cheese and have some crackers. Occasionally I will pop a bag of popcorn and wash it down with a diet soft drink. • 6 p.m.: My stomach is starting to growl a little for dinner. But on many occasions I am still working -- either writing or editing a story. I struggle with the temptation to find something to eat, knowing that even a little bit of food would certainly impact dinner. This is often when I go for my secret weapon: either a bottle of milk (which really fills me up) or a good, strong cup of coffee. While the milk works better, the coffee requires me to take a walk to Starbucks. And since taking short walks several times a day is a good way to live, I usually go for coffee. • 7:30 p.m.: By now, I should be home, although there are many nights when Sue and I will have places to go or friends and family to see. We are not unlike the rest of America. We probably eat out too much. Where does a barry go for a decent meal? A favorite spot is Cracker Barrel, where I can eat chicken or pork along with vegetables. We also enjoy a number of Mexican restaurants, where I still enjoy salsa and a taco, but no more refried beans. We hardly ever eat fast food. My doctor says she has no problem with me having a hamburger, as long as it is lean, high-quality beef. Occasionally -- and this will surprise you -- I will have pizza, the ultimate no-no for dieters. The meat, cheese and sauce give me no problems. The crust, however, has to be very thin; that makes it easy to digest. Our favorite is Pizza King, which has a restaurant not far from our home. On a few occasions, we have capped off a three-mile jaunt by walking down to the pizza place for salad and a small "royal feast" (which has meat and veggies on a thin crust). • 9 p.m.: As the day draws to a close, my wife and I will typically check to see if there is anything worth watching on the tube. Usually the answer is no. In fact, since my surgery, I have noticed quite a change in how I spend free time at home. I used to watch two to four hours of television, most of it at night. I used to stay up until midnight or later, munching on snacks and giving the remote a workout. Today, a combination of more exercise and less caffeine and sugar makes me pretty tired by the end of the day. I am lucky to make it to 10 p.m. without dozing off in my favorite leather chair. But there is one tradition I still enjoy: The nighttime snack, thanks to a growing number of low-carb, sugar-free offerings in the ice-cream department. We've been buying sugar-free fudgies, ice cream bars and drumsticks -- and the selection seems to be growing every day. They are usually made with Splenda or some other sugar substitute. They taste very good to a sugar-free guy, and they provide me with that little bit of bedtime sweetness I enjoy. It's a far cry from the monster bowls of ice cream (with 5 tablespoons of hot fudge or chocolate syrup) I used to pound down into my system. With far fewer calories and no sugar, I'm getting the same satisfaction. • 10 p.m.: I am either already asleep in my chair, or ready to go to bed. I take two pills each night -- one for my inactive thyroid and one for blood pressure -- and I chew two vitamins. The mild blood pressure medicine was prescribed a few months ago when my readings went up. Since that time, it has come back down and remained pretty stable. I know this because I continue to drop into Dr. RoseMarie Jones' office on a weekly basis -- usually Wednesday mornings -- to weigh myself and to have my blood pressure checked. It is also here that my favorite nurse, Marta Bennett (herself a barry), keeps me in line with encouragement and dietary advice. Both Marta and Dr. Jones have this crazy idea that I can lose another 75 to 100 pounds over the next year. I am already down to 306. I cannot imagine myself at 206 . . . but then, a year ago, I could not imagine losing 154 pounds. And I know there are a lot of barries walking around today who look nothing like their former selves. I think I still look the same. But I've noticed that to some I am no longer recognizable. On Aug. 4, when I celebrated my 40th birthday, I met my family at an Italian restaurant in Carmel. I arrived early and grabbed a seat at the bar. When the family finally showed up, my back was turned to the door and none of them, not even my wife, recognized me from behind. It's a little weird. I seem to be shrinking into a person nobody has ever seen. A person who rarely sweats; who enjoys walking up stairs; who no longer needs a seatbelt extender in his car; who can kneel at church without leaning back on the pew bench; who can take long walks on the beach and not be ashamed to take off his shirt. A person who can scale -- and now has scaled -- a sand dune that used to be an impossible dream. Call Star reporter Dan McFeely at (317) 444-6230.
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