The final days of the year I liken to the blast off of a great rocket ship. The launch pad is busy, near frantic in some corridors with final preparations, last minute adjustments, checks and double checks. There's no turning back — never is — and all systems are "go." The tense countdown commences mechanically as 2001 stretches out its dispassionate receiving hand. "Merry Christmas," someone offers to preoccupied passersby, the mood changes and comfortable loveseats are gathered while abundant treats and eggnog are shared.

My task as an observer is to detect any deficiency in the performance of the contributing workforce, the committed leaders who have struggled hard, overcome critical obstacles and endured for long months to assure a noble mission's grand success. Focus and stability, should they falter in these last days, will unravel bindings, loosen solid groundwork and frustrate bold efforts whose achievement cost much. They will disappoint the milk-fed new recruits who honor them and seek their direction.

They must not miss their designated workouts nor can they eat like barbarians till the year's end. I will accost them; it's my job. I will needle them, threaten and belittle them, expose, embarrass and generally harass them... er... no, no, no... wrong approach, wrong thinking. I will encourage them, engage and inspire them, persuade and coax them, positively suggest and remind them. Ah, so much better. But how? This I must give some thought.

I think of the sack of homemade cookies and chocolate that collects on our counter at the gym brought by caring members to make our holidays bright. Gently I move the colorful heap to one side and replace it with my microwave-reheated hamburger patty and baked potato snuggled on a paper plate decorated with clowns, balloons and streamers. Party time. The burger's cold in the middle. Love it. Celery stalks and red bell pepper provide my veggie requirements and not having maintained my fluid intake I chase the meal with bottled water. Is that tuna floating around on the bottom from my previous one o'clock feeding? I scribble calculations on a paper towel and discover I'm still short about 87 grams of protein. I'll blast another Bomber Blend... that'll do it, and I could use the calories. After a handful of aminos and some vitamins and MSM, I'll plan my workout.

Brett, my right hand man, and Ryan, my left, carefully pick through the holiday bounty sampling this and that with great delight and no guilt. They're kids, really, but they should know better. I flex, set my jaw and stomp over to this bizarre scene. Chocolate-coated toffee covers Brett's impish face as he says, "I love Christmas and New Year's. It's the only time I feel like a kid. Big D, you gotta try this stuff Rachel made."

He's right on. You've gotta try this stuff Rachel made. Merry Christmas, dear Bombers of all ages. Let the bombs fly.

God Bless You... Big D

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