Zoning out

Zones abound.

Municipalities designate industrial zones, retail zones, and residential zones. The airport has loading zones. Psychologically, we prefer our "comfort zone." Even Mother Earth is "zoned:" time zones, weather zones, coastal zones, and far above our head, in the stratosphere, is of course, the o-zone. (Sorry, couldn't resist...)

In order to change bad habits, job one is to create "safe zones." In other words, clean your environment; make sure it is devoid of temptation, and therefore increase your odds of success. When it comes to over eating, "Out of sight, out of mind," becomes the creed; or more accurately, "out of kitchen, out of mouth."

Dutifully therefore, I scoured my kitchen cabinets of sweets, treats, and other crunchy temptations when I embarked upon my journey for better health and a smaller waistline.

Naysayers and doubting Thomases questioned, "What about your kids?"

"They'll do fine," was my retort. "When they grow up, they can eat what they want."

They did. They do.

My youngest, who has never battled weight and has great control over fattening goodies (causing me to wonder if he is indeed my descendent), visited last week. To honor this occasion, we engaged in a ceremonial burning of foodstuffs over an open flame; referred to by those more adept at this skill as "barbequing." In town for only a short time, we suggested he invite his friends, who, due to a finely developed sense of appropriate etiquette, each arrived laden with food. Being young adults, still in the prime of life, blessed with flat stomachs and supercharged metabolisms, and nary a concern for middle-aged spread; did not transport with them, sparkling water, non-fat cottage cheese, or crudités. Au contraire! Rather, from bag, carry sack, and purse, emerged legions of chips, dips, chips, soda, and - did I say -- chips.

Possessing a strong affinity for chips, especially those in round pillar-shaped cans with flavors such as "loaded baked potato" or "kickin' cheese," I find they communicate with me. Once they have infiltrated the "safe zone," they seductively, slyly, sing their salty, spicy, siren song; most times late at night when all is still and none but I can hear. Unlike Odysseus, I am unfettered by mast; therefore, alone, in the dark, drawn against my will to the kitchen table, I find myself staring down several red, green, and purple potato crisp containers. Inside each pillar reside dangerous calories; only a snuggly secured plastic cap protecting my virtue. With only the sound of the ticking wall clock echoing from the tile counters and my cat intertwining himself around my ankles (preferring I opt for tuna), I am alone; directly facing the beast within.

"Don't eat it," whispered my thinner angel. "Be strong. You've done so well."

"Live on the edge. Go for it. No one resists," comes the salty, seductive reply, "You know you want it."

Realizing my well-planned environment was no longer safe, the answer abruptly became obvious, remove the temptation! Destroy the threat!
With lightning reflexes, I leapt into action; consuming every chip in the house, thereby restoring my safe zone while utilizing logic direct from the twilight zone.