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Losing, and Loving It
JOE POSNANSKI
March 21, 2011
Rulon Gardner has almost died quite a few times in his 39 years—just how many is open to interpretation. He certainly could have died in 2002 when he got lost on his snowmobile and spent the night almost freezing to death in the Wyoming wild. He concedes that the motorcycle crash in '04 could have done him in, and the plane crash in '07 could have too. But as for the times as a child when he was pierced by an arrow or fell out of the back of a truck or tumbled into a hay hauler, or when a Russian bear of a wrestler named Alexander Karelin broke his neck, well, as Gardner says impatiently, "those don't count."
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March 21, 2011

Losing, And Loving It

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Rulon Gardner has almost died quite a few times in his 39 years—just how many is open to interpretation. He certainly could have died in 2002 when he got lost on his snowmobile and spent the night almost freezing to death in the Wyoming wild. He concedes that the motorcycle crash in '04 could have done him in, and the plane crash in '07 could have too. But as for the times as a child when he was pierced by an arrow or fell out of the back of a truck or tumbled into a hay hauler, or when a Russian bear of a wrestler named Alexander Karelin broke his neck, well, as Gardner says impatiently, "those don't count."

Funny thing, then, that the one time Gardner truly felt as if he were staring death in the face was in a hotel room in Stillwater, Okla. He was there last June to be inducted into the National Wrestling Hall of Fame, and afterward he watched a clip of himself on TV accepting the honor. Only the image wasn't him at all. It ... was ... this ... thing. He squinted at the television, and every part of his mind screamed to turn away. "I forced myself to watch," he says.

And forcing himself, he stared hard at the enormous mass of flabby skin and muscle that had once been Olympic gold medalist Rulon Gardner.

Where does a lost soul turn in modern America? Where does a proud athlete turn when he steps on a 435-pound scale and maxes it out, when he sneaks into convenience stores late at night to buy nine candy bars ("Three for a dollar, right?" he says), when he gets winded walking down a hallway? Where does a man turn when nothing makes sense, when he feels unworthy of love, when he sees his glorious past as something he can never relive or escape?

That horrible day in Oklahoma, staring at his bloated image, Gardner decided that the only thing that could save him, the only thing that could help him live again, was to go on NBC's reality TV show The Biggest Loser.

"Seventy calories," Rulon says as he points at a bag of apple slices on the table. He is sitting by the pool at the ranch, in Calabasas, Calif., where The Biggest Loser is filmed. He can tell you how many calories are in everything. And he can tell you how many calories every exercise burns. He expects to burn at least 7,000 calories during the show's workouts today.

"I didn't watch reality TV," he says. "I always said that my own reality was depressing enough. But I needed this show. I needed the pressure. I'm an athlete. It sounds corny, but I needed to beat Karelin again."

At the Sydney Olympics in 2000, Gardner beat Karelin for Greco-Roman heavyweight wrestling gold. It remains one of the great upsets in the history of the Games. Karelin was a marvel: He wrote poetry by day and trained by carrying refrigerators up stairs. He had won three gold medals and yielded only a single point in two years. Gardner was, in his own words, "a pudgeball who had grown up milking cows in Wyoming." The only other time they had fought, in 1997, Karelin broke two vertebrae in Gardner's neck. Here's how absurd the mismatch was: Henry Kissinger was there to celebrate the Russian's victory.

But in the second period of the match Gardner broke a hold to go up 1--0. The crowd gasped. Then, still trailing in the final blurring minutes, Karelin could not penetrate Gardner's defenses. "I was just willing to go places he wasn't" is how Gardner explains it. With five seconds left the great Karelin bowed his head in defeat. Rulon Gardner was a sensation.

"The problem is, in the real world, everything goes 10 mph, and I'm used to going 100 mph," Gardner says. He won a bronze medal in Athens in 2004, but over the next four years his life began to spiral down uncontrollably. He divorced his second wife; struggled to get financing for a health club he wanted to build in Logan, Utah; lost faith. He wondered what he could do with the rest of his life. "When you're used up as an athlete," he says, "people forget you."

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