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NATE'S NEW ROCK BOTTOM
by Josh Ellis
http://www.dallascowboysstar.com/article-details&nid=3520&vid=3521&uid=35812
Nate Newton calls it "The Incredible Weight of 235 Pounds or Less," and he's not there yet. He's trying, though. Good God he's trying.
One time, back when the Cowboys' three-time Super Bowl champion and Pro Bowl guard was in his prime at a playing weight of 318, so they claimed, Newton was talking to John Madden. He didn't mind being fat, he told the broadcaster, he just didn't want to be smelly-fat.
In his way, Madden would honor Newton and the rest of the mid-'90s Cowboys offensive line, the biggest in football, by taking his yellow telestrator pen and circling the stains formed by the sweat on their backsides to show how hard they were working on some Sunday afternoon in the Texas Stadium oven. Newton could sweat out 10 or 12 pounds during the course of a game, and gain it back just as quickly.
True stories:
Newton's nickname back in the day was "The Kitchen." He also went by the affectionately prescribed "Big Fella," "Big Newt," or his own creation, "Big Sexy."
Big Newt was blocking a guy one time when a Snickers bar he had stowed away in his uniform fell out onto the turf.
When he was in the pen at Seagoville, Texas, serving a 32-month prison sentence for trafficking those 388 pounds of marijuana in 2001, he traded cigarettes for Twinkies.
He's since reformed, living the straight and, now, narrow. Down at Cowboys training camp in San Antonio, a recurring topic has been the weight loss and conditioning of the players heading into the season. Marion Barber has lost some. DeMarcus Ware has lost some. Miles Austin, Patrick Crayton and Mike Jenkins are all on the weight watchers list. Wade Phillips has lost a lot.
But Newton alone has lost more than the entire roster. Since April 19, when his gastric sleeve surgery was performed, he's down 132 pounds, melting from a button-busting 396 to 264. Standing on the sidelines the first week of camp, watching practice as part of his radio duties, Newton and his shaved head were mistaken for Michael Jordan.
That's a 132-pound loss as of press time, but when this magazine reaches mailboxes it's liable to be 136 or 137, maybe 138 before Newton's story has been told here. The newly slender, newly healthy father of two has kept his big smile and personality, and people still refer to him as Big Fella.
"I answer to it," Newton says. "Whatever you want to call me. Now you can call me 'Late For Dinner,' because I ain't really hungry."
He had to make a change. Just a couple of years after his playing career ended in 1999, Newton was smelly-fat. And it was killing him.
"It's just like cancer," Nate says. He's right. Over 30 percent of Americans are obese. Even more demoralizing, the same percentage holds up for children.
Of course, Nate was always a big kid. He was too big to get picked on, and he wasn't even fat, really, just tall and broad. The last time he weighed The Incredible Weight of 235 Pounds or Less it was his junior year, when he was still athletic enough to play fullback for Jones High School in Orlando. It wasn't until college at Florida A&M that he realized he was going to be a very big person. And it wasn't until he got into the pros that he got to considering himself fat. About two years ago he realized he was too big of a person and started searching for ways to do something about it.
Through nothing more sophisticated than doing right and being his likeable self, Nate's rebuilt his reputation and good standing in the community over these last five years out of the joint. He's reconnected with his family and worked hard, sometimes for little or no pay, to fashion himself a pretty busy talk radio career.
But like everything in Nate's life, his size affected his job performance, keeping him from being able to stand and watch the Cowboys practice. His weight of nearly 400 pounds was bearing down on what were already bad knees from a 16-year pro football career that began with the USFL's Tampa Bay Bandits in 1984 and '85, kept him with Dallas from 1986-98 and ended with seven games for Carolina in '99. Nate figures he missed 30 or 40 percent of practice in search of air conditioning or somewhere to sit, making him inadequate as the expert he was supposed to be on the air.
Of course, the radio gig wasn't the first in which Nate's struggle with overeating hurt him. Early in his career, Tex Schramm reportedly sweetened his contract with an $80,000 incentive for reporting to camp under 310 pounds, which he didn't meet. Nate would pack on weight after every football season, then have to work extra hard just to get back into reasonable shape in time for training camp and the 100-degree two-a-days in Austin. Current Cowboys offensive line coach Hudson Houck, Nate's boss from 1993-98, says somehow he always managed to be presentable when the reporting day came, doing so a few times by disappearing to a "fat farm" in Florida.
"I think he could balloon up in a matter of days. He could gain weight real fast," Houck says. "Those buckets of chicken started mounting up. We would have preferred he stay in shape year round. But sometimes you don't have control to do that. One thing we were sure of, football meant enough to him that he usually got his weight down for the season. I never remember him not getting the weight down at the start of the year."
Nate still eats chicken, just not nearly as much. One Monday at lunch he finds a seat in the staff dining room at the Alamodome, setting in front of him a big white porcelain plate with a single lemon baked chicken breast in the center. He can't finish it.
"That's all I could eat, man," he says. "I remember when I could eat four pieces of chicken, a big ol' salad, then come back and get a big po' boy. Then go home and drink a six-pack of beer and eat a bag of fries. Yeah, I remember it. And right when I was sitting in the operating room I was thinking hard, 'Should I do this? I do enjoy eating and I do enjoy food.' Like today when I was going to lunch I was thinking, 'Man, I hope they have something good.' Then I get there and regardless of whether they have something good I can't eat but about three or four ounces and I'm full.
"You can re-stretch your stomach over a year, so I could go back into the same position again, being overweight and where I can't move around. I don't want that. It's a solid tradeoff."
After the show he does in the evening, Nate and his 13-year-old son Nate King Newton pop by the Cowboys' dinner area back at the team hotel, spotting some fried catfish in front of a colleague. It's not really oily and it doesn't look overly breaded. Nate is pretty obviously intrigued, which gets him to asking questions. Is it good? Is it still hot? The fish gets a bad review from an intern, which makes Nate think again. He walks over to check out the rest of the buffet line, which ends with the fish. Not meaty enough, he concludes, and too much crust. Nothing there for him, Nate puts his arm around his boy's shoulder and they walk out of the room.
Dr. David Kim, the Dallas surgeon who performed Nate's sleeve operation, has gotten the Big Fella deeply into nutrition. Nate, who some would've liberally called a world-class athlete, never minded it before.
"If you can only eat three or four ounces of food, nutrition becomes really important," Dr. Kim says. "That's prime real estate that can't be filled up with beer and French fries. Protein first, vegetables, then small carbs for energy. He's gotten into the science of this."
Nate's been committed to dropping the weight mainly for his sons. Right now, King is over a foot shorter than Nate. In a few years he's going to be tall and broad like his daddy was, but now their most clear resemblance is in the eyes. King's got these big, soft eyes of burnt sienna. Nate's older son is Nathaniel Newton III. He goes by Tre' and plays running back for the University of Texas. He's got his pop's eyes, too.
Some months back, when King was 12, his big eyes started welling up to cry. The intuitive pre-teen could sense the serious health problems his dad was facing. His arms couldn't wrap more than halfway around the Big Fella's waist, but he hung on tight and told him, "I don't want you to die, Daddy." Nate's personal mortality came closer and closer into focus for him then, but he would soon be reminded of it again ... and more than once.
He had a steady job working for ESPN Radio in Dallas, but Nate's insurance wouldn't cover a surgical weight loss procedure. Diet and exercise might have helped him lose 50 or 60 pounds, but it would've been extremely difficult to achieve and maintain because of his bum knees. Without drastic measures there was a good chance he wouldn't get to see 55. Even bleaker were his prospects for 60, and 70 was almost an impossibility. The foremost worry was his overexerted heart.
"He also has the heart of a champion," Dr. Kim says. "He made his decision that, 'Hey I can't live like this anymore, but I need help.' We all need help sometimes."
Then suddenly there was hope. About nine months ago Dr. Kim approached Nate about performing surgery pro bono. A nurse in his office later described her own successful experience with the sleeve, and the Big Fella said that's what he wanted. The consultations continued for weeks.
Unfortunately, before literally a third of Nate could disappear, he had to deal with losing some of the people around him, which crystallized his impending fate and furthered his determination. Within three or four months he had two aunts die, as well as his father. Busy with funerals and grief, he stopped communication with Dr. Kim, losing touch and more or less resigning himself to the possibility he might never get the surgery. Finally in late March, Nate got the call, and he and Dr. Kim agreed on a date to change Nate's life.
"What inspired me was my father dying," Nate says. "He saw me become a grown man, he saw me live to be 48 years old. All of my brothers are grown; all of my sisters are grown. My dad died at 70. Here I am a 48-year-old man and I've got a 12-year-old son. I've got high blood pressure, I've got diabetes, sleep apnea, I'm a candidate for a heart attack, or a stroke or some physical ailment that's going to stop me from being able to function with my kid. And I didn't want that. I really didn't want that.
"It got to the point where I was sending my kid to the refrigerator. 'Go get me this' or we would be at the mall and I'd say 'Ya'll go ahead, I'll be here when ya'll get back sitting on a bench.' Can't go to an amusement park. That's sad."
Nate's dream-come-true moment was three weeks away. Dr. Kim had informed him of all the things he couldn't have - no beer, no soda, none of this starch or that starch - but the advice had no effect. Nate was going to die by remaining fat, and as with any internal surgery, there was some small chance his organs would give out on the operating table.
"I was a little concerned because I didn't really know about the procedure," King says. "I didn't know what was going to happen, the things that could go wrong."
Big Newt stretched out his Last Meal for three weeks, eating whatever he wanted.
"Nate's a very honest man," Dr. Kim says. "You know from Nate's past that he never makes excuses. He had a love for French fries and beer. In small amounts it doesn't matter, but in large amounts you're going to get in trouble with that. Nate openly admitted that he just loved them, especially the beer. He just liked the taste of it."
All of that changed on April 19, when Nate says he started his "mission." He says his three-month weight loss is a record for Dr. Kim's patients, and it looks like it. Gastric sleeve recipients usually experience a 40-pound decrease in the first 40 days, with results leveling thereafter based on their own commitment. Nate has hit the accelerator.
"At first I was shocked," Tre' says. "He looks more like me now. Mom was real excited. It shocked everybody when we saw how much and how fast he was losing it. I joke around with him; I'll tell him he's going to disappear on us. But it's a good thing. His body will let him know when he needs to stop. He had a hard time the older he got doing simple tasks. His knees would always bother him. I was glad to see that load lifted off of him. He likes showing my little brother things and he wasn't able to do that. Now he is. I'm real happy for him."
When the smaller Big Fella is spotted on the Alamodome sideline by those who know him, the first thing that comes up, the only thing that comes up, is his dramatic change. He's done all the local television interviews he can stand, dreading the attention that will come when the national media make their rounds. It's not that Nate isn't proud of himself for losing the weight, it's that he's been patted on his back before by coaches and teammates throughout his football career. Having been congratulated time and again only to relapse, he knows he isn't safe just yet, though the high blood pressure and diabetes concerns have subsided and he now sleeps all through the night.
"The ticket ain't now," the Big Fella says. "The ticket is six months from now, a year from now, five years, 10 years. Can I keep coming out to Cowboys practices and still be moving around? That's the key, the key to all of this. Now I've got my weight down, but I won't really know if I've got this thing under control until a year from now, two years from now. If I'm 250 or less two years from now I can say I'm a third of the way there. This is a lifetime commitment."
It's made easier by now being able to do the things he likes to do. Nate now exercises at least once, many times twice a day, and says he feels great. Whereas before he could only stand for a short while, he's now able to walk four to five miles, or ride a bicycle six or seven miles. Would anyone have ever known that Nate Newton loves to ride bikes? He's now able to, and often does with King. He's happy. But then again he was always happy.
"A lot of people when they saw me, they saw a fat, happy, jolly guy," Nate says. "Well, I'm still that same guy. I'm still happy and jolly. I just ain't fat no more."
He hates to admit it, because he says he does want to help others, but Nate can't stand to be around overweight people anymore. He can't stand the thought of sitting around lazily and overeating. At a July 4 cookout Nate says he looked around the table and everyone was happy, laughing and eating. And eating. And eating.
There have been times before when the Big Fella has removed himself from the bad influences in his life. Long gone are the friends who made him believe he could be a kingpin making $75,000 per drug run, a scheme that forced him to cut off his family, before too long landing him behind bars, embarrassed as a high-profile failure. He once said it was the competitor in him that made him truck vans full of herb all over the South. He was a six-time Pro Bowler and a two-time All-Pro. How could he not be the biggest dope man?
He doesn't want to be the biggest anything now. In turn, those around him say he's becoming the best Nate he's ever been. Upon his release from prison, Nate told the Dallas Observer he didn't find God in prison, only "hatred and the devil and dudes scheming up better ways to break the law." Half a decade and 132 pounds lighter, Nate has cleaned up his life and found new purpose.
"When I look at him now I just don't see the same person," King says. "I see a strange man now. To me he's more spiritual too, and he's a better man than he was before."
He's the same happy, jolly person he always was. Through effort, dedication, love and clarity, he gets to stay that way for a lot longer.
"It just makes me feel good," Nate says. "A lot of people don't realize they need help and they'll find any excuse not to do what needs to be done. A lot of people can't get it right. I've never had a bad day in my life, even when I was in trouble. Life has been so good to me. I seem to come through everything with flying colors.
"I've never been in prolonged states of sadness. Whatever I've done, right or wrong, I've been able to adjust mentally - when I was in jail, when I wasn't in jail, when I was in trouble or when I wasn't. I've just always been good with myself about my life. A few panics, a few great highs, not a lot of lows."
The newest low, the one Newton is now spiraling toward, is The Incredible Weight of 235 Pounds or Less. The Big Fella has yet to reach rock bottom, but he's getting closer every day.
Dallas Cowboys Star Magazine, August 7, 2010
by Josh Ellis
http://www.dallascowboysstar.com/article-details&nid=3520&vid=3521&uid=35812
Nate Newton calls it "The Incredible Weight of 235 Pounds or Less," and he's not there yet. He's trying, though. Good God he's trying.
One time, back when the Cowboys' three-time Super Bowl champion and Pro Bowl guard was in his prime at a playing weight of 318, so they claimed, Newton was talking to John Madden. He didn't mind being fat, he told the broadcaster, he just didn't want to be smelly-fat.
In his way, Madden would honor Newton and the rest of the mid-'90s Cowboys offensive line, the biggest in football, by taking his yellow telestrator pen and circling the stains formed by the sweat on their backsides to show how hard they were working on some Sunday afternoon in the Texas Stadium oven. Newton could sweat out 10 or 12 pounds during the course of a game, and gain it back just as quickly.
True stories:
Newton's nickname back in the day was "The Kitchen." He also went by the affectionately prescribed "Big Fella," "Big Newt," or his own creation, "Big Sexy."
Big Newt was blocking a guy one time when a Snickers bar he had stowed away in his uniform fell out onto the turf.
When he was in the pen at Seagoville, Texas, serving a 32-month prison sentence for trafficking those 388 pounds of marijuana in 2001, he traded cigarettes for Twinkies.
He's since reformed, living the straight and, now, narrow. Down at Cowboys training camp in San Antonio, a recurring topic has been the weight loss and conditioning of the players heading into the season. Marion Barber has lost some. DeMarcus Ware has lost some. Miles Austin, Patrick Crayton and Mike Jenkins are all on the weight watchers list. Wade Phillips has lost a lot.
But Newton alone has lost more than the entire roster. Since April 19, when his gastric sleeve surgery was performed, he's down 132 pounds, melting from a button-busting 396 to 264. Standing on the sidelines the first week of camp, watching practice as part of his radio duties, Newton and his shaved head were mistaken for Michael Jordan.
That's a 132-pound loss as of press time, but when this magazine reaches mailboxes it's liable to be 136 or 137, maybe 138 before Newton's story has been told here. The newly slender, newly healthy father of two has kept his big smile and personality, and people still refer to him as Big Fella.
"I answer to it," Newton says. "Whatever you want to call me. Now you can call me 'Late For Dinner,' because I ain't really hungry."
He had to make a change. Just a couple of years after his playing career ended in 1999, Newton was smelly-fat. And it was killing him.
"It's just like cancer," Nate says. He's right. Over 30 percent of Americans are obese. Even more demoralizing, the same percentage holds up for children.
Of course, Nate was always a big kid. He was too big to get picked on, and he wasn't even fat, really, just tall and broad. The last time he weighed The Incredible Weight of 235 Pounds or Less it was his junior year, when he was still athletic enough to play fullback for Jones High School in Orlando. It wasn't until college at Florida A&M that he realized he was going to be a very big person. And it wasn't until he got into the pros that he got to considering himself fat. About two years ago he realized he was too big of a person and started searching for ways to do something about it.
Through nothing more sophisticated than doing right and being his likeable self, Nate's rebuilt his reputation and good standing in the community over these last five years out of the joint. He's reconnected with his family and worked hard, sometimes for little or no pay, to fashion himself a pretty busy talk radio career.
But like everything in Nate's life, his size affected his job performance, keeping him from being able to stand and watch the Cowboys practice. His weight of nearly 400 pounds was bearing down on what were already bad knees from a 16-year pro football career that began with the USFL's Tampa Bay Bandits in 1984 and '85, kept him with Dallas from 1986-98 and ended with seven games for Carolina in '99. Nate figures he missed 30 or 40 percent of practice in search of air conditioning or somewhere to sit, making him inadequate as the expert he was supposed to be on the air.
Of course, the radio gig wasn't the first in which Nate's struggle with overeating hurt him. Early in his career, Tex Schramm reportedly sweetened his contract with an $80,000 incentive for reporting to camp under 310 pounds, which he didn't meet. Nate would pack on weight after every football season, then have to work extra hard just to get back into reasonable shape in time for training camp and the 100-degree two-a-days in Austin. Current Cowboys offensive line coach Hudson Houck, Nate's boss from 1993-98, says somehow he always managed to be presentable when the reporting day came, doing so a few times by disappearing to a "fat farm" in Florida.
"I think he could balloon up in a matter of days. He could gain weight real fast," Houck says. "Those buckets of chicken started mounting up. We would have preferred he stay in shape year round. But sometimes you don't have control to do that. One thing we were sure of, football meant enough to him that he usually got his weight down for the season. I never remember him not getting the weight down at the start of the year."
Nate still eats chicken, just not nearly as much. One Monday at lunch he finds a seat in the staff dining room at the Alamodome, setting in front of him a big white porcelain plate with a single lemon baked chicken breast in the center. He can't finish it.
"That's all I could eat, man," he says. "I remember when I could eat four pieces of chicken, a big ol' salad, then come back and get a big po' boy. Then go home and drink a six-pack of beer and eat a bag of fries. Yeah, I remember it. And right when I was sitting in the operating room I was thinking hard, 'Should I do this? I do enjoy eating and I do enjoy food.' Like today when I was going to lunch I was thinking, 'Man, I hope they have something good.' Then I get there and regardless of whether they have something good I can't eat but about three or four ounces and I'm full.
"You can re-stretch your stomach over a year, so I could go back into the same position again, being overweight and where I can't move around. I don't want that. It's a solid tradeoff."
After the show he does in the evening, Nate and his 13-year-old son Nate King Newton pop by the Cowboys' dinner area back at the team hotel, spotting some fried catfish in front of a colleague. It's not really oily and it doesn't look overly breaded. Nate is pretty obviously intrigued, which gets him to asking questions. Is it good? Is it still hot? The fish gets a bad review from an intern, which makes Nate think again. He walks over to check out the rest of the buffet line, which ends with the fish. Not meaty enough, he concludes, and too much crust. Nothing there for him, Nate puts his arm around his boy's shoulder and they walk out of the room.
Dr. David Kim, the Dallas surgeon who performed Nate's sleeve operation, has gotten the Big Fella deeply into nutrition. Nate, who some would've liberally called a world-class athlete, never minded it before.
"If you can only eat three or four ounces of food, nutrition becomes really important," Dr. Kim says. "That's prime real estate that can't be filled up with beer and French fries. Protein first, vegetables, then small carbs for energy. He's gotten into the science of this."
Nate's been committed to dropping the weight mainly for his sons. Right now, King is over a foot shorter than Nate. In a few years he's going to be tall and broad like his daddy was, but now their most clear resemblance is in the eyes. King's got these big, soft eyes of burnt sienna. Nate's older son is Nathaniel Newton III. He goes by Tre' and plays running back for the University of Texas. He's got his pop's eyes, too.
Some months back, when King was 12, his big eyes started welling up to cry. The intuitive pre-teen could sense the serious health problems his dad was facing. His arms couldn't wrap more than halfway around the Big Fella's waist, but he hung on tight and told him, "I don't want you to die, Daddy." Nate's personal mortality came closer and closer into focus for him then, but he would soon be reminded of it again ... and more than once.
He had a steady job working for ESPN Radio in Dallas, but Nate's insurance wouldn't cover a surgical weight loss procedure. Diet and exercise might have helped him lose 50 or 60 pounds, but it would've been extremely difficult to achieve and maintain because of his bum knees. Without drastic measures there was a good chance he wouldn't get to see 55. Even bleaker were his prospects for 60, and 70 was almost an impossibility. The foremost worry was his overexerted heart.
"He also has the heart of a champion," Dr. Kim says. "He made his decision that, 'Hey I can't live like this anymore, but I need help.' We all need help sometimes."
Then suddenly there was hope. About nine months ago Dr. Kim approached Nate about performing surgery pro bono. A nurse in his office later described her own successful experience with the sleeve, and the Big Fella said that's what he wanted. The consultations continued for weeks.
Unfortunately, before literally a third of Nate could disappear, he had to deal with losing some of the people around him, which crystallized his impending fate and furthered his determination. Within three or four months he had two aunts die, as well as his father. Busy with funerals and grief, he stopped communication with Dr. Kim, losing touch and more or less resigning himself to the possibility he might never get the surgery. Finally in late March, Nate got the call, and he and Dr. Kim agreed on a date to change Nate's life.
"What inspired me was my father dying," Nate says. "He saw me become a grown man, he saw me live to be 48 years old. All of my brothers are grown; all of my sisters are grown. My dad died at 70. Here I am a 48-year-old man and I've got a 12-year-old son. I've got high blood pressure, I've got diabetes, sleep apnea, I'm a candidate for a heart attack, or a stroke or some physical ailment that's going to stop me from being able to function with my kid. And I didn't want that. I really didn't want that.
"It got to the point where I was sending my kid to the refrigerator. 'Go get me this' or we would be at the mall and I'd say 'Ya'll go ahead, I'll be here when ya'll get back sitting on a bench.' Can't go to an amusement park. That's sad."
Nate's dream-come-true moment was three weeks away. Dr. Kim had informed him of all the things he couldn't have - no beer, no soda, none of this starch or that starch - but the advice had no effect. Nate was going to die by remaining fat, and as with any internal surgery, there was some small chance his organs would give out on the operating table.
"I was a little concerned because I didn't really know about the procedure," King says. "I didn't know what was going to happen, the things that could go wrong."
Big Newt stretched out his Last Meal for three weeks, eating whatever he wanted.
"Nate's a very honest man," Dr. Kim says. "You know from Nate's past that he never makes excuses. He had a love for French fries and beer. In small amounts it doesn't matter, but in large amounts you're going to get in trouble with that. Nate openly admitted that he just loved them, especially the beer. He just liked the taste of it."
All of that changed on April 19, when Nate says he started his "mission." He says his three-month weight loss is a record for Dr. Kim's patients, and it looks like it. Gastric sleeve recipients usually experience a 40-pound decrease in the first 40 days, with results leveling thereafter based on their own commitment. Nate has hit the accelerator.
"At first I was shocked," Tre' says. "He looks more like me now. Mom was real excited. It shocked everybody when we saw how much and how fast he was losing it. I joke around with him; I'll tell him he's going to disappear on us. But it's a good thing. His body will let him know when he needs to stop. He had a hard time the older he got doing simple tasks. His knees would always bother him. I was glad to see that load lifted off of him. He likes showing my little brother things and he wasn't able to do that. Now he is. I'm real happy for him."
When the smaller Big Fella is spotted on the Alamodome sideline by those who know him, the first thing that comes up, the only thing that comes up, is his dramatic change. He's done all the local television interviews he can stand, dreading the attention that will come when the national media make their rounds. It's not that Nate isn't proud of himself for losing the weight, it's that he's been patted on his back before by coaches and teammates throughout his football career. Having been congratulated time and again only to relapse, he knows he isn't safe just yet, though the high blood pressure and diabetes concerns have subsided and he now sleeps all through the night.
"The ticket ain't now," the Big Fella says. "The ticket is six months from now, a year from now, five years, 10 years. Can I keep coming out to Cowboys practices and still be moving around? That's the key, the key to all of this. Now I've got my weight down, but I won't really know if I've got this thing under control until a year from now, two years from now. If I'm 250 or less two years from now I can say I'm a third of the way there. This is a lifetime commitment."
It's made easier by now being able to do the things he likes to do. Nate now exercises at least once, many times twice a day, and says he feels great. Whereas before he could only stand for a short while, he's now able to walk four to five miles, or ride a bicycle six or seven miles. Would anyone have ever known that Nate Newton loves to ride bikes? He's now able to, and often does with King. He's happy. But then again he was always happy.
"A lot of people when they saw me, they saw a fat, happy, jolly guy," Nate says. "Well, I'm still that same guy. I'm still happy and jolly. I just ain't fat no more."
He hates to admit it, because he says he does want to help others, but Nate can't stand to be around overweight people anymore. He can't stand the thought of sitting around lazily and overeating. At a July 4 cookout Nate says he looked around the table and everyone was happy, laughing and eating. And eating. And eating.
There have been times before when the Big Fella has removed himself from the bad influences in his life. Long gone are the friends who made him believe he could be a kingpin making $75,000 per drug run, a scheme that forced him to cut off his family, before too long landing him behind bars, embarrassed as a high-profile failure. He once said it was the competitor in him that made him truck vans full of herb all over the South. He was a six-time Pro Bowler and a two-time All-Pro. How could he not be the biggest dope man?
He doesn't want to be the biggest anything now. In turn, those around him say he's becoming the best Nate he's ever been. Upon his release from prison, Nate told the Dallas Observer he didn't find God in prison, only "hatred and the devil and dudes scheming up better ways to break the law." Half a decade and 132 pounds lighter, Nate has cleaned up his life and found new purpose.
"When I look at him now I just don't see the same person," King says. "I see a strange man now. To me he's more spiritual too, and he's a better man than he was before."
He's the same happy, jolly person he always was. Through effort, dedication, love and clarity, he gets to stay that way for a lot longer.
"It just makes me feel good," Nate says. "A lot of people don't realize they need help and they'll find any excuse not to do what needs to be done. A lot of people can't get it right. I've never had a bad day in my life, even when I was in trouble. Life has been so good to me. I seem to come through everything with flying colors.
"I've never been in prolonged states of sadness. Whatever I've done, right or wrong, I've been able to adjust mentally - when I was in jail, when I wasn't in jail, when I was in trouble or when I wasn't. I've just always been good with myself about my life. A few panics, a few great highs, not a lot of lows."
The newest low, the one Newton is now spiraling toward, is The Incredible Weight of 235 Pounds or Less. The Big Fella has yet to reach rock bottom, but he's getting closer every day.
Dallas Cowboys Star Magazine, August 7, 2010
