The Power of Lard

When I was in grade school, Susie P. was fatter than me...but she always tried to tell me that she weighed less. "I only weigh 80," she'd boast and then cheat the scale in some crafty way when she'd try to prove it to me. I used to catch her dangling her foot off the edge. She'd deny it...but we both knew that she weighed 80 only when she'd lost a leg.

In fifth grade, I remember getting measured and weighed in front of the whole class. It was mortifying. I waited until almost the last kid to take my turn, and the nurse even whispered it to me, but she had to mark it on my chart. Everyone around could read it. She had impeccable handwriting. There it was in black and white: 5 foot tall and 112 pounds.

I could feel the shame of it roll over me as if I were dipped in oil and then set to dry somewhere.


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It's been a few years since fifth grade, but I still felt the familiar roil of shame as I climbed on the scale. I watched the digital numbers fight as they tumbled over each other.

When they settled for a steady weight, I had a bitter realization: I regained in two days what it took me two weeks to lose.

I fought hard to lose it. I fought hard to keep it off. But the taste of travel food and the allure of a new brewery? I thought for sure I'd walked it off. I walked for HOURS all over that town, up and down stairs and I didn't even sit down until late in the afternoon. I ate sparingly all day Sunday, except for this one small slice of carrot cake that I didn't even finish.

It's very hard to walk away from carrot cake. But I did. I swear I did. The husband happily finished what I'd left behind.

"It's made with lard," the woman confided to me as she whisked the empty plate away. "None of that fake shortening stuff; this is the real deal."

Ah, I answered with a knowing glance. The power of lard.