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Roy Taylor, 69,
performs a deadlift in the garage of workout partner
Greg Baxter (left) in Lomita, California.
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HUNTINGTON BEACH, Calif. — He is a rarity.
An odd sight in the ballroom of the Riviera Hotel in Vegas,
where the world's strongest strongmen have gathered in
competition.
Mingling with the World Powerlifting
champions is a great-grandfather who calls Bingo and takes
daily blood-pressure pills, helping those in need of a
leg-wrap or other assistance.
"You're looking good today," he
offers with a smile, "What numbers are you going to put
up? You ready to break a record?"
What's rare is that this man — Roy Taylor,
a few months shy of 70 — is about to attempt a world record,
himself.
"Go Grandpa," someone yells as his
turn approaches.
Taylor discovered powerlifting at age 64.
Dived in. And fell in love with the sport.
But there's a reason why his weight
plummeted since then. Why his rooting section is so large this
day. Why another world-record powerlifter is videotaping this
moment.
The projection screen says Taylor will
attempt to dead lift 451.94 pounds.
But what he's doing ... is much more than
that.
HOOKED
By accident. That's how Taylor became a
powerlifter.
He used to pitch softball. Back in the
1970s, he had five pitches -- his best topping 70 mph.
"I had a record of 11-1 and threw two
no-hitters in the championships," he says.
He's always kept in shape. He was a
dockworker. Then a truck-loader who tossed 100-pound boxes
around with guys half his age.
In 2003, his brother-in-law, John Krystyan,
asked a favor. Should anything ever happen to him, would Roy
keep an eye on his son? Sure, said Roy, a family man who's
attended the birth of all 10 grandchildren. Be happy to ...
Krystyan died later that year, so when his
son invited Uncle Roy to attend one of his powerlifting meets,
Taylor was there. And impressed.
"I asked the guy in charge: 'Do they
have this for old guys?'"
"Yes," said the man running the
meet. "I'm one of the old guys that does it."
Three months later, in September 2004,
Taylor entered his first competition. He took third place in
his age and weight division.
"I was hooked," he says.
In 2005, he got more hooked, winning three
of his six meets. In 2006, he broke his first U.S. record.
But then he started missing meets. Losing
weight. And telling doctors that, no matter what, he wouldn't
accept a feeding tube.
THE COMEBACK KID
"What's this?" his doctor asked in
March, 2007.
Back in 1999, Taylor had skin cancer. In
2003, he had tonsil cancer. Now it had returned. Worse. In
lymph nodes in his neck.
Chemotherapy produced a rash from the bottom
of his feet to the roof of his mouth. So 33 times, over the
next few months, they strapped him to a table, with a mask and
mouthpiece, and beamed radiation at his throat. He lost his
saliva gland. His appetite. And pretty much his ability to
swallow. Drinking water hurt.
Daughter Jeannine Bagley, of Moreno Valley,
Calif., recalls: "It killed me. I just hugged my dad, and
said, 'I'm sorry it hurts.'"
His weight dropped from 195 pounds to 161
pounds. Doctors wanted to insert a feeding tube.
"You're not going to put that in
me," he vowed. "I won't take it."
Before his hair had even grown back, Taylor
resumed workouts so strenuous that he had to sleep the rest of
the day.
"He's my hero," says Greg Baxter,
55, of Lomita, Calif., a world-record powerlifter who trains
with Taylor. "He looked muscle-wasted. But he wouldn't
let it stop him."
By March, 2008, Taylor was back. He broke
his second U.S. record and was gunning for a world title.
Then, in good health, he quit.
MORE THAN A RECORD
This time was different.
"I realized powerlifting wasn't as
important as other things," says Taylor, who quit to care
for Kathy, his wife of 50 years, diagnosed with cancer.
Look at the photographs in their home: Roy
and Kathy. Kathy and Roy. Roy and Kathy.
"They're always, 100 percent of the
time, together," says daughter Bagley, who recounts the
time her father (who can't sing) dressed as Elvis and sang to
Kathy one birthday. Or the time he nearly burned down the
house, filling it with candles for Valentine's Day. Or the
time he booked the Disneyland Hotel to celebrate their
anniversary.
Kathy had always been his biggest
cheerleader.
It was Kathy who bought Taylor his first set
of weights and convinced him to eat right. Who became famous
for yelling, before his every lift: "Taylor, get it
up!"
Now she needed him. So he quit. And nursed
her back to health.
It took more than a year for them to reclaim
their lives. Finally, in November, 2009, they found themselves
at the World Powerlifting Championships in the Riviera Hotel.
Family and friends huddled around Taylor,
some cheering, some crying, as he sought to dead lift more
than any man his age and weight had ever lifted.
"His peers are in rocking chairs,
watching Oprah," says powerlifter Baxter, who was
videotaping. "To lift that kind of weight, at his age,
it's almost unheard of."
Three deep breaths and one dead lift later,
Taylor held the world title. The projection screen read 451.94
pounds. But what he did was much more than that
"It doesn't make any difference if he's
a champion or not," says Kathy. "He's my man."