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Strong new start

A former Mr. Universe leaves the past behind and focuses on a future of making good choices and helping others do the same.

By EMILY NIPPS
Published August 19, 2005

HERITAGE ISLES - Ron Coleman and his wife, Beth, swore they would never do another interview. When they moved to New Tampa in 1997, they didn't think they'd have to. Few in their New Tampa neighborhood and outside of their close circle of friends know of Ron's brush with fame.

It's not that they didn't like the publicity that came from Coleman's 5-foot-9, 198-pound chiseled physique, which helped him win a Mr. Universe title in 1994. It was that all the publicity seemed so negative, only focusing on Coleman's darkest period, the two years he used steroids.

It was weird when strangers in their hometown of Scranton, Pa., would come up to them while they were out shopping or having dinner.

"People would come up and say, "Hi, Ron, how are you doing?' " Coleman said. "And I'd say, "OK.' And they'd say something like, "Oh, because my sister drove by you the other day and said you didn't look happy.'

"I just felt like I was always under scrutiny."

Even Beth felt like she couldn't just run to the store or take the kids anywhere without fixing her hair or wearing a decent outfit.

"I didn't want people saying, "Did you see Mr. Universe's wife? She looked terrible,' " Beth said.

The last straw came when a Scranton newspaper interviewed Coleman about his life and bodybuilding conquests. Coleman talked about his wife and kids, his childhood, the time he tried steroids and the time he stopped steroids. He talked about his faith, his morals and his travels to Austria, Russia and China.

On Christmas Day, the story came out on the cover of the sports page. His entire family, including his mother who didn't know about his past steroid use, saw it. The headline read: Former Drug User, Now Mr. Universe.

An opportunity to leave Scranton came when Coleman began working for Twinlab Corp., a nutritional supplement company that sponsored him. Ron and Beth always wanted to move to California, but friends urged them to try Tampa.

Coleman went for a quick visit to his friends' place in Tampa Palms, and he toured Tampa Palms Elementary for his three children. He loved the perfect green lawns and diversity in the schools.

That visit was just after Thanksgiving in 1996, and when Coleman returned, Beth laughed at his gushing description of what she called, "La-La Land." By the time the new year began, the family was settled in New Tampa.

It was exactly the fresh start the family wanted. Coleman was able to move on with his life and focus on new ventures, like launching his own business and starting a television ministry.

His dreams and goals never strayed too far from the one thing he always valued from the time he was a little boy:

His body.

Coleman was 11 when he started noticing his arms and legs, his stomach and his weight. His build was stocky and out of shape, and to make matters worse, he was awful at sports. In basketball, kids called him "The Brick." In baseball, he swung at the air. In football, he ran the wrong way.

He envied one of his older brother's friends, who was one of those tough kids, the type who would slug Coleman in the stomach to see if he would cry. He had a small waist, broad shoulders and a long, lean look.

"He had the look I wanted," Coleman said. "All I really wanted was a swimmer's body."

There was a community center gym about a mile from his house. He began walking there every day after school to work out, stopping for ice cream on the way home. By 12 he was hooked on weightlifting, though he barely knew what he was doing.

He joined the wrestling team when he was 14, and by the time he was 16, he felt confident enough to walk into Peffer's Athletic Center, a gym for serious lifters. He'd been eyeing it for a while and mustered the nerve to open the door and look inside.

"I'd never seen so many big people in my life," he said. Several of the big people stopped and stared back at him.

"Come on in and work out," Coleman remembers one of the guys saying, "Frank will be back soon."

Frank Peffer, he learned, was the owner. And when Peffer returned and saw Coleman, he yelled, "You! Out of my gym!".

"Here I was, the only black guy in his gym," Coleman said. "Everyone was looking at me. I started to leave, but then he said, "Wait.' "

Peffer walked up to Coleman and studied his legs. He had Coleman make a bicep. Then he asked Coleman to start coming in for training, and the two began working together almost daily.

"It was sort of a love-hate relationship," Coleman said. "He was always hollering at me, but I think he grew to like me."

Under Peffer's guidance, Coleman's body transformed quickly. When he was 20, Coleman entered Scranton's "Mr. Anthracite" contest and won in the overall division.

Then came the Mr. Pennsylvania title.

Then came the steroids.

It seemed like a natural transition at the time. This was 1986, when steroids were not only legal but as common as vitamins in some gyms. Coleman felt that the only way to take his workouts and size to the next level was to "start the shots."

Ron and Beth, who dated through high school, were married by then and had a son. Beth noticed a change in her husband almost immediately.

"He became more edgy and touchy about things," she said. "That definitely wasn't him. I normally get mad because things don't bother him when they should."

It was even worse for Coleman, who became so moody and agitated, he felt suicidal at times. He also hated the fluid retention and skin problems. Almost two years after trying steroids, he decided it wasn't worth it.

He stopped using steroids and focused on a calmer life as full-time trainer. But he always missed the lights, the stage and the adrenaline rush of competing.

"I was brainwashed," Coleman said. "I just thought, why compete? I could never get on stage without drugs."

But he wanted to. Badly. So he turned to the only other source he felt could help him.

"I just said, "Lord, I love bodybuilding,' " Coleman said. "If you bring all the right people in my life to help me pursue what I love, I will give glory to your name.' "

Thus began the road to Mr. Universe.

Not long after Coleman began praying for a way to become a steroid-free competitive bodybuilder, he met a naturopathic specialist who taught him about natural supplements and the importance of diet. She taught him about high- and low-glycemic foods, a concept well known to devotees of the Atkins and South Beach-style diets.

"All of a sudden, my body started getting real lean and I had more energy," Coleman said. "It was like finding the truth."

He started entering small competitions around the country. He met a female bodybuilder who liked the way he posed and asked him to start competing in couples events at bigger, national-level events.

That led to national events, where he competed solo. The next thing he knew, he was on his way to Poland, competing on the international circuit.

"What an experience, to get to go to England and Poland for the first time," Coleman said. "I was seeing the world and I wasn't paying for it."

Competing as an amateur, Coleman was invited to pose all over the world, including China and Russia. The Russians especially loved the prayer-style stances he used while posing to Whitney Houston's Star-Spangled Banner.

"They thought I was unique and different because I put a lot of prayer into my poses, when all the while I was just giving glory to the Lord," Coleman said.

The national events were tough to win because they did not disallow steroid use, making it an uneven playing field. But even placing fifth or six at nationals would often qualify him for the Mr. Universe competition, which is a drug-tested event. Coleman was often the only drug-free national competitor who could advance.

In his first trip to Mr. Universe in 1991, Coleman placed fourth. The next year, he placed third. Then he came in second.

Finally, in 1994, Coleman reached his dream. He won the Mr. Universe title in Shanghai, China.

He won a gold medal in the 1995 Pan American Games, where bodybuilding was an exhibition event, and he entered some other smaller events.

For the most part, though, Coleman was ready to move on with his life.

After moving to Tampa, Coleman did some marketing and promotions work for Twinlab and then branched off to start his own supplement and fitness business. What he really wanted was to serve a higher calling.

Coleman has always believed that choices, not chance or fate, dictate someone's life. He thought it was odd when he attended a Promise Keepers men's ministry convention and heard testimonials involving battles with cancer and diabetes, then saw men lined up outside buying pretzels with cheese.

Seeing so many people who were uneducated about their own health, Coleman decided to do something about it. He began Fitness Crusaders, a health and fitness-based ministry aimed at helping people make better choices.

Recently, he began working with Clearwater-based radio talk show host Deborah Ray, who promotes alternative medicine. He's hoping to launch a television program called Get Fit with Ron and spread the word about nutrition while speaking out against unhealthy choices, including steroids.

"Ultimately, we choose the way we live," Coleman said. "I can't change the world. What I can do is educate people about what they put into their bodies."

Coleman never thought health and fitness would be a lifelong crusade. Now, at age 41, he looks back at all of the places he went, the people he met and the decisions he made. He believes he was put on the Earth for one reason: to learn everything he could about health and fitness and then spread that knowledge to the rest of the world.

His Mr. Universe title, while well in his past, comes up from time to time. At a recent New Tampa Community Council meeting, Coleman was invited to speak about health and wellness. He occasionally trains a client or two, though he spends a lot less time in the gym than he used to.

He would rather spend time with Beth and the children. By the time this story appears, he may have a fourth child.

Destinie, 9, asks the most questions about his medals, his magazine photos and his Mr. Universe title. "She doesn't really understand the competition part," Beth said. "She just knows that Daddy has muscles."

The middle child, 16-year-old Christina, seems to be the only child so far who inherited Coleman's intensity and competitiveness, though none of the children are into bodybuilding. The oldest son, 18-year-old Ronald Michael Jr., is more laid back. He just graduated from Wharton and is mostly into running. Coleman admires him in many ways.

"Believe it or not," he said, "my son has the type of body I always wanted."

Emily Nipps can be reached at 813 269-5313 or nipps@sptimes.com

[Last modified August 18, 2005, 11:46:08]