NO MORE FRIAR TUCK LOOK FOR FAT-FREE BROTHER CRAIG.

Byline: William A. Davis Boston Globe

Brother Craig Driscoll, his loose monk's robe hanging about him like a sack, stares meditatively at a plate of luscious fig Newtons (``They're low-fat,'' he notes defensively) and ponders the peculiar connection between weight loss and fame in America.

``I think it's because I'm a monk that there's so much interest,'' he says. ``A lot of people imagine all monks look like Friar Tuck in `Robin Hood.' ''

The founder of a two-member Roman Catholic order here, Brother Craig is the author of ``Love Yourself, So ... Hate the Weight'' (Woodbridge Press; $9.95). Just published, the 123-page paperback includes diet and exercise tips that worked a near-miracle for him.

Slim and boyish, he now looks rather like a 38-year-old altar boy. The pre-diet Brother Craig, however, would definitely have been a contender in any Friar Tuck look-alike contest. At 5 feet 7 inches he weighed in at 237 pounds.

But using the regimen he developed - based on a vegetarian diet, aerobic exercise and other metabolism-rate-raising techniques - the fat friar became a fit one, dropping 114 pounds in 14 months.

In our weight-obsessed society a poundage loss of this order can make you famous, at least briefly. Brother Craig - whose order is so obscure it's listed under ``miscellaneous'' in the local diocesan directory - seems poised to become a celebrity diet guru.

``The phone rings all the time, even in the middle of the night,'' he says. ``I've been on television, and reporters have called from as far away as Bogota and London.''

David Letterman's show even phoned to discuss a possible appearance, Brother Craig says.

``I haven't heard from Oprah yet,'' the monk notes ruefully. ``but she's probably working on her diet book.'' He, of course, is working on a video and a motivational tape based on his book.

But before thin and fame there was fat and misery.

Showing a visitor through the monastery chapel, where he spends several hours each day praying and reciting the rosary, Brother Craig eyes the rows of pews and shudders when he recalls his purgatorial years of blimpdom.

``I got so fat that I couldn't kneel down because my abdomen bumped into the pew in front of me, and I had to pray sitting down,'' he recalled. ``I was tired and felt lousy all the time. Now I feel good, the way God wants me to feel.''

After getting lay degrees in religious studies and theology, Brother Craig, who grew up in Fitchburg, says he traveled around America and Europe looking to join a religious order based on ``perpetual adoration.'' That is constant prayer and vigil before a consecrated host displayed on the altar. ``There were orders of nuns like that, but nothing for men,'' he says. ``So I decided to use American ingenuity and start my own.''

In 1984, with encouragement from Vatican officials and permission from the bishop of Worcester, Brother Craig moved to this quiet central Massachusetts hill town where several other Catholic religious communities were already located. The order he founded here was literally singular, but optimistically called the Monks of Adoration. Initially, he rented a house in Petersham, but through contributions solicited through a newsletter he produces, he was able to purchase a house in the town.

The embryonic community became plural in fact as well as name in 1986 when a 36-year-old Michigan man, John Raymond, joined Brother Craig. A third recruit is expected shortly. ``As soon as he can sell his car, he'll be here,'' Brother Craig says.

The monastery of the Monks of Adoration, a brown-shingled former farmhouse just east of the town common, is surprisingly homey. ``This is our country kitchen,'' says Brother Craig, waving a proprietary hand around a spotlessly clean, sun-filled room that looks out on a vegetable garden, woodpile and a rolling rural landscape.

Just off the kitchen is a sun porch furnished with a treadmill and rowing machine.``I buy all my exercise equipment cheap from the Salvation Army. People donate it to them when they can't keep their resolutions to get in shape,'' says Brother Craig, a tad righteously.

In this pleasant space, where today jars of grain and dried beans share shelf space with tofu cookbooks, Brother Craig in pre-diet days was often tempted and usually succumbed. Meat and sweets loomed large in his life then, he confesses; exercise did not.

When he arrived in Petersham, Brother Craig says, he was a little chubby but definitely not fat. ``I weighed about 160 pounds then,'' he says. ``But when I got into my 30s I began putting on weight and couldn't stop.'' He blames his relentless weight gain on a diet of ``regular American food'' and an extremely sedentary lifestyle. ``When I wasn't praying, I was sitting down reading or writing,'' he says.

Then one morning in March 1994 he woke up feeling wretched and weary despite a full night's sleep. This was his epiphany.

``I shouted out loud, `I hate all this fat!' '' he remembers. ``And I decided to do something about it.''

He began jogging ``very slowly'' and ``went into research mode,'' poring over diet books for tips and suggestions. He also experimented with food and exercise combinations. In the end, he says, what worked for him was daily aerobic exercise and a strict vegan diet: no meat, fish, poultry or dairy products, only cereals, vegetables and low-calorie fruits.

Taken in moderation, spicy foods seemed to speed up his metabolism rate, he says, and definitely killed his sweet tooth. ``Instead of having a bowl of ice cream before going to bed the way I used to,'' he says, ``I'd make a delicious sandwich of whole-wheat bread and raw onion smeared with chili sauce or hot mustard.''

His monastic day starts at 5 a.m. with a breakfast of toast spread with unsweetened applesauce or a bowl of cereal moistened with orange juice. ``Cereal and orange juice took some getting used to,'' he acknowledges, ``but now I like it.''

Lunch is usually a large salad, and dinner typically a tofu dish or a baked potato doused with fat-free tomato or chili sauce and served with steamed or boiled vegetables.

When his weight dropped below 200 pounds people began asking him how he did it, Brother Craig says, and a friend nicknamed him ``the metabolic monk'' because he talked incessantly about his metabolism rate.

``That's when I realized there might be a book in what I was doing and began keeping good notes,'' he says.

Based on his diet jottings, ``Love Yourself, So ... Hate the Weight'' consists of 100 tips, thoughts, observations and recipes ranging from the spiritual (pray for help and strength) and obvious (don't eat fattening foods) to the tasty (an asparagus sandwich) and quirky (when you get a craving for a snack, brush your teeth instead).

Although he had written for religious publications, Brother Craig says he knew nothing about secular publishing and found the name of his publisher in the kitchen: ``Woodbridge Press was the publisher of my favorite bean cookbook, so I figured they'd be interested in a vegetarian diet book.''

All Brother Craig's profits will go to support his order.

Brother Craig admits he has put some weight on since finishing his book, but says he still jogs 4 miles a day, follows a vegan diet and has stabilized at a lithe 145 pounds.

``I had to gain weight because of my mother,'' he says. ``I was so thin at 123 pounds that she cried when she saw me.''

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Photo: Brother Craig Driscoll, who lost 114 pounds in 14 months, is the author of ``Love Yourself, So ... Hate the Weight,'' a 123-page book of diet and exercise tips.

The New York Times