PLAYOFFS?!

I was pondering how I was going to approach the traditional "end of the year" post. Considering that 2011 wasn't exactly a stellar year for me, I decided to let Jim Mora, former coach of the Indianapolis Colts, do the talking for me.



I remember hearing this rant on the radio in 2001 and laughing my ass off. "Playoffs? Don't talk about playoffs! You kidding me?"

Substitute the word "goals" for "playoffs" and that's how I feel about 2011. Actually...this whole rant describes my year.

"Disgraceful performance."

"In my opinion, that sucked."

"Holy crap, I don't know who the hell we think we are."

"Unbelievable."

"Pitiful. Absolutely pitiful to perform like that."

Yep, that was my year. Pitiful. I didn't do one damn thing worth mentioning except blowing out my right calf in the middle of the Cleveland Half Marathon, after which I ran 7 more miles to finish the race. The best part about that debacle was seeing Red about 2 miles from the finish.

I'll say it again: I love, love, love this picture.

My injury in May set up the rest of the year: three months of physical therapy followed by a very careful return to running. I ran my first full mile at the end of August and I can now run about four miles at once. My formerly-shredded calf is holding up well. No twinges at all.

I got my act together after skipping last year and sent out a holiday card to my friends and family:

This, of course, is a picture from my AWESOME FANTASTIC AMAZING vacation to the Pacific Northwest with the Engineer back in September. This particular picture was taken a few miles from the ruins of Mt. St. Helens. For a geologist, this is one of those "must-visit" locations.

You can see logs lying flat on the ground behind me, indicating the direction of the blast which raked the landscape. The mountain itself, about three miles away, is missing its northern flank, because it blew off and slid into Spirit Lake. A blistering pyroclastic flow spread through the forest, flattening and burning everything in its path. Ash and pumice rained down everywhere. And yet, you can see that the landscape is green after 30 years of healing. Nature is attempting to right itself.

I picked up a few pieces of pumice as souvenirs; I kept several and gave one choice chunk to my nephew. I explained what it was and where it came from (in terms a 3-year-old could understand). Last weekend my brother informed me my nephew would not sleep without his pumice. I replied, "I rule." I think my brother has seen through my nefarious plan to turn my nephew into a geology nerd...