Holiday Spirits and Heart Burn


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I just switched on the space heater sitting alongside my desk. There’s a chill in the air and I’m giving it the ole’ heave ho. Chilled muscles, I contend, do not grow. Molecular action of the cells is slowed down upon a decrease in ambient temperature and diminishes their intimate relationship preventing them from producing, enlarging, enjoying life fully and, eventually, getting huge and ripped.

Chilled long enough, my logic continues, and muscles shrivel and shrink, sag, smooth and soften, particularly the muscles of the arms, which is a personal tragedy and an intolerable abomination. I shall not accept it, I shall not allow it and I shall no longer talk about it.

Just thinking about it is frightening and might trigger a subconscious catastrophe, a mental cascade, a physiological plunge, and the muscle cells by subliminal command may reverse their recovery and growth process despite all the training and protein and rest and clean living I apply.

Creepy stuff like this keeps me up at night. I had a dream last week I was handcuffed in a room full of dumbbells.

It’s gonna be a long winter, my mighty, mad and merry musclemaking mates. Bundle up. Gee, listen to me... and I live in California, a giant snowball from Minnesota and Nova Scotia and the North Pole.

Speaking of the North Pole, guess who’s dropping by next month? Hint: Renowned for peace, he brings a message of hope and good cheer, has a bunch of elves working for him and a sack full of stimulating  presents for everyone who’s been nice... no, he doesn’t work for the government; that’s the other guy. I’m serious. He rides in a sled pulled by his spirited team of reindeer.

Give up? Okay, one more hint: He’s fat, white beard, wears red and is closely associated with Christmas. You remember Christmas, December 25th, our favorite time of the year to party, spend money and buy gifts for our friends and loved ones?

Oh, yeah, right, the Happy Holiday Season in all its glory. Drink up, stuff down, let go. Good news minus the Good News.

I especially like to go to the mall where, after parking anyplace I choose, I join the friendly folks who gather to shop for neat little things for stocking stuffers, like necklaces, watches, rings, the latest iPod upgrade, fine perfumes, silk ties and undies and small caliber handguns. And, we, Laree and I, are going in together on a big-ticket item the two of us can share. Guess what? Go ahead, guess... a Gravitron XLS with a circular staircase, fountain and built-in large screen plasma TV.

Jolly Holiday jingle bell joke, ho ho ho. I have a hunch it’s gonna be slim pickens in the Five ‘n Dimes this December. Congress has acted, the cupboards are bare and NYC is having garbed visitors from outta town.

Have no fear, bombardier, exercise, sets and reps are here: The iron continues to provide its generous supply of gravity day after day. There’s no holding the steel down or the metal back, Jack. Our spirits rise with the dumbbells, up they go with the Olympic bars and higher and higher the plates go as the pulleys turn.

Here’s a thought we fail to consider this time of year: The wisest, smartest, best, most responsible and most satisfying thing we can do between now till 2010 is to train consistently, eat smartly, play sensibly and live wisely. No records, no contest, no targets, no pressure, no big guns, no 450-bench. Simply work out regularly with a dash of grit and a cunning grin.

Bombers are pure iron lovers: inspired, creative, courageous, amazing and gratified. There’s more. They’re smart, sure, safe (not exactly), sane (not exactly) and sorta spiritual. Bombing is a door that continues to open, a path that continues to lead, a way that continues to unfold, a window full of light and fresh air. At our fingertips, you might say, within our reach and an arm’s length away.
 
Easy does it, clinkers. Just do it, clangsters.

Hello, gym -- curls, presses, grunt, pulldowns, extensions -- goodbye, gym. See ya lata, alligata, after while, crocodile.

Daily cruisin’-- Whistle while you work, life is but a dream. You ate and drank too much at the office party? Chin up, tuna down, salad and water and rest. Good night, sleep tight, see ya in the mornin’ for a Bomber Blend breakfast smoothie and an early morning jog.

Hello, gym -- rope tucks, hyperextensions, groan, squats, deadlifts -- goodbye, gymbo, gotta go; latter steel, gotta peel.

At a party -- Yeah, I’ll have a drink, hostess with the mostest. Make mine collard greens and carrot juice. No cigar, thank you; I gave up smoking with armed robbery and grand larceny. No more food, thank you for asking. 60 grams of protein, a few good carbs, some essential fat and water on the rocks is just about right. Is that cheesecake?

Yo, gym -- run, jump, huff, puff, superset, triset, multiset, sweat -- Gone

Get my drift, snow plow? T’is the season to be jolly and healthy, disciplined and caring, not rolly poly, dumpy and dopey. Indulge, you’ll bulge. Be good, not perfect. Smile, push a pile of plates, eat right and delight.

Interesting! Something just occurred to me as I scanned me memory banks for subject matter, any subject matter. Like I said, cupboards are bare. I used to drink alcohol like it was H2O. Gulp. That water bottle in my gym bag? Not water. Today -- this very day -- I am 26 years without a drop. No biggee braggee, kiddies, I’m jus’ diggin’ deep in the memory banks.

Laree and I became a pair of mutts not long after my dusting the habit and she, in support of me, hasn’t had an alcoholic drink either. She liked to have a sip of wine, or a beer with her buds once in awhile... relax, take the edge off, socialize.

Sorry, Sweetie... bye-bye booze. It was her generous, self-sacrificing choice.

And, now, of course, we have credible proof from scientific research that a glass of wine a day is good for the heart and a variety of other legitimate health issues -- digestion, blood pressure, relaxation and stress reduction, smiles. Alas, today we wonder if we are depriving ourselves of a valuable health ingredient by refusing to break our long-standing and noble achievement, alcohol-abstinence.

Totally wreckreation-drug free, we get high on Bomber Blend and Super Spectrim.

Till 2010, savor 2009... DD

Happy Holiday Spirits without Merry Christmas equals the Bad News Blues. God loves us.

Which reminds me, 29 down, 11 to go.

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Scoop the blend into a glass, stir and drink with pleasure and satisfaction, when you need to, want to or should. All the time.

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