Canadian Leg of Croatian Vacation

I am the first to admit that I'm not great with geography, but even I know that Croatia is not right beside Canada.

But!  That didn't stop us from taking an incredible opportunity (and advantage of Grandpa's generosity) to visit Huff House West (in Edmonton) and a Whole Bunch of Other Assorted Huffs (in Red Deer). 

We left Split at about 2:30 pm on a Saturday, and flew to Heathrow, then Pearson (quick stop at Tim Hortons for tea and timbits!), then Edmonton International Airport, arriving at 1:30 am on Sunday (which included -- and this is just an estimate here -- 85 hours of travel time and a scorching case of jet lag for all), to be welcomed by Uncle Rob (whose airport pickup skills are second-to-none), two Giant Dogs and one Little Fluffy Dog.  We somewhat-quickly got everyone sorted into beds (I found a piece of chocolate cake on the way), and fell asleep for, frankly, not long enough.

In the morning, we had a joyful reunion with Grandma, whom we hadn't seen for far too long, then hopped into the rental minivan for the (respectively) short drive to Red Deer.

Well.

I know/knew/totally understood that in Canada we have a lot of space:  open fields, big skies, large stretches of highways with nothing around... but seeing it again after spending a year in London made me realize again how lucky we are to have such a beautiful country.  The fresh air!  The green things!  The Tim Hortons!

The purpose for our visit was to celebrate Chris' uncle's 60th wedding anniversary, and boy, did we. The bride and groom were gorgeous, the kids had a group of second- and third- cousins to romp around with, and we enjoyed amazing hospitality and a level of event planning that I can only hope to aspire to.  Grandpa was there with us, and we all checked into a hotel for a few nights to stretch out the Red Deer experience. 

We went tubing down the Red Deer River, ate at A&W (Amburgers and Woot Beer!), and were treated to a guided tour of All the Places That Chris Lived in Middle- and High School, for which we were rewarded with a drive through the DQ drive-thru.

Grandpa then proceeded to buy us all cowboy boots (we protested, then thanked him effusively), and we returned to Edmonton for another two days of Canadiana, which in this context means Steak and Uncle Rob's Legendary Wine Cellar.  We hugged (and were hugged by) Grandpa, Uncle Rob, Uncle Ryan, and Grandma, gave the Ridiculously Big Dogs a final pat, and the Tiny Puffball a final cuddle, and that was it.

All told, it was a wonderful -- yet far too short -- visit "home".  I say "home" because the kids and I have never lived in Edmonton or Red Deer (just Medicine Hat), and does the entire, giant, green, fresh-aired country really count as "home"? 

Well, people say hello.  They smile at you, and say "excuse me" and "sorry".  They hold the door for you and stop their cars to wave you across the street.  The lineup at the airport, for our short flight between Edmonton and Calgary, was full of friendly strangers.  People looked us in the eyes.  They smiled.  So, yes, it is home.  As much as I hate mushy patriotism, I can't help but wax poetic (again) about what a wonderful place our home is. 

When Good Form Fails

Published on Medium.com.

Our Croatian Vacation (What a Sensation!)

Swimming in Darko's Cove

In the interest of taking as much advantage of our next three years' proximity to many, many other countries (instead of just the one), we have been gadding about quite a bit.  This will slow down soon, because I'm pretty sure we have now visited every country in Europe (really, how many could there be?), and also we "may" have to sell one or more of our children to start financing these trips.

In February, for (yet another) school break, we had driven to Pettneu, Austria (via France and Switzerland - which totally counts as 3 countries, right?), then Chris and I flew to Nice (France again, but with more actual Frenching... no, that's not right...) in April.  So, when the opportunity came up to rent a nice little condo in Trogir, I was the first to say, "Never heard of it.  Where is it?"

Trogir is here:

It doesn't matter where it is.  Because it's so beautiful.  Or would have been if it wasn't so freaking hot, but since it was only a short 7-minute stagger down the mountain to the clear turquoise sea, we managed.  The walk back up the hill was much longer and harder, of course, but we had air conditioning and Croatian wine* to look forward to!

The local soft drink:  Pipi.  Hilarity ensued at every meal.

Trogir is not a well-kept secret, as evidenced by the swarms of tourists and the many, many giant yachts moored all around.  I firmly believe that said yachts have had a troubling effect on the local economy, in that a meal for the five of us regularly cost us the same as a meal out in London, something that we try to avoid having.  But!  Despite that, we did ok by keeping a stock of groceries and cereal in the flat, and trying to always have water bottles and snacks in a backpack.

What did we do?

The local beach:  worth a 7-minute downhill stroll.

Everything and nothing.  It's very touristy, but with the beach at the bottom of the hill (and a fancier one over the hill), we spent a lot of time lolling about by the sea.  It took me only 5 minutes before I demanded that we shell out the equivalent of $10 for a beach umbrella rental, because, well, ginger, but the kids played like splashy ducks in their sun suits and hats (the only kids on the beach covered up for sun safety)(also the whitest), and we reapplied sunscreen often, and nobody got a burn, not even me!!!  Just for that, the vacation was a success.  When it got too hot, or when one of them needed rescuing,** we joined them in the pleasantly cold, clear aqua water till we cooled down enough to feel human again, and it was just really nice.

Super fun aqua bouncy castle thingy

Beach days aside, there was a huge market a short walk away, with food and gelato everywhere.  (Daily ice cream is important when it's that hot.)  I found some super-cute vacation dresses for the girls, but my efforts to haggle the price down were thwarted by Vaughn suddenly pitching forward and throwing up a LOT, right in front of her stall.  For the not-low-enough price of 90 kuna, we apologized profusely, took the dresses, helped the poor vendor mop up, and dashed back to the condo so Vaughn could rest in the lovely, lovely air-conditioning.  (And, full disclosure, I was feeling barfy myself...Tamsin had vomited copiously the night before we left, and we each got it in turn.)

Street urchins have lunch in Split.

Our host, who lived above our apartment, took us out in his boat the next day (we had both recovered), and we spent a day on his little boat, going around islands and swimming in coves and lagoons whenever he stopped.  The water was so bright blue and clear, and it looked about 3 feet deep, but he told us that it was 6 metres or more.  The kids fell in love with snorkelling and saw lots of fish (that's when I got out of the water), and the salt water buoyancy really improved their confidence to swim away from the boat.

We took a day trip to Split, as well, and marvelled at the oldness of the old city.  We wandered around Diocletian's Palace and saw ancient Roman monuments that were humbling and beautiful and mind-blowing and super cool, despite it being punishingly hot.  In short, I don't have the right words to describe its amazingness, and also, heatstroke.

Whole fam damily selfie (ussie?) in Split with Very Old Tower.

As we drove back to the airport, our host told us that we were leaving just in time:  a heat wave was on its way.  "Isn't this a heat wave?" I asked.  "No," he laughed.  "This is just summer.  Next week is going to be really hot."  Luckily, we were headed for home, with a short trip to Edmonton and Red Deer first...





* Note:  Croatian wine isn't a thing.  Do not drink it. 'Tis far better to drink Pipi.  Or peepee, really.

** This happened far too often.  At least twice a day, I got to sprint to the water and swim out to where one of my little idiots was drifting away on the current, then got to swim them back against the current.  I counted it as cardio (and impressed the kids) so I didn't mind too much.

So, I Didn't "Get" Yoga

My first experience with yoga was scarring.

I was running a corporate wellness centre, where weary IT employees would go to work up some good, clean, nerd sweat. I had been teaching all sorts of fitness classes, from step to cardio box to low impact aerobics, and even funk (because it was the late 90s, that’s why!). I had hired a yoga instructor to come in to teach weekly classes for a while, without participating myself, but decided that I should add it to my skillset, in case — god forbid — the funk thing was only a fad.

I chose a three-hour workshop as my starting point, a “yoga for fitness” certification. It was a terrible idea, I realized as soon as we started; I’d never tried the activity before, so why not destroy my soul by doing it for three hours straight? (It’s like the “box set” mentality: “I’ve never owned anything by this band. I think I want to own everything by this band!”)

It was agony, of course. The instructor “helped” me “go deeper” into various completely-unnatural positions, and talked about the meditation that is at the heart of yoga. Meditation? I gasped as my muscles and tendons screamed. How could I “meditate” when all I could hear over and over in my mind was, “How long do I have to hold this pose?” and “Why am I doing this?” These were, I suppose, a sort of mantra, but, I suspect, not the kind I was supposed to have.

As for the latter mantra, the answer to that arrived (eventually) in the form of the Best Part of Yoga, a.k.a. The Only Real Reason for Doing Yoga: corpse pose. Almost every yoga class has a five-minute nap built into the end. I’ve been told (repeatedly) that it’s not a nap, and I’m not supposed to fall asleep, but what am I, made of stone? They strain my body and mind for 60–90 minutes, then put me in a supine position to listen to soothing music. Ergo, I nap.

Image from DoYouYoga.com

But, back to the meditation/mindful bit. Some of my instructors have started classes with inspirational quotes, or suggested a focus for the class, like “strength” or “peace”. Some have even pulled out The Big Om, asking us to sing/drone a nasal, atonal song together. After the first few nervous times, I now enjoy that bit, even as I find it uncomfortable. It’s the bringing together of different voices and tones into a single (ish) tone that is, well, symbolic. Yoga, after all, means union.

The focus on the ujai breath, an audible nose-to-back-of-throat way of breathing, is another way to stop thinking about the minutiae of your day, and instead to turn breathing — an unconscious, automatic act — into a conscious activity (or, a focus on how irritating the yogi on the next mat is, and how special they must think they are to be able to breathe that loudly).

But I digress again. Meditation. Right.

The poses themselves are meditations. It took me many, many years to understand that. How could it be a meditation when all of my consciousness was tied up in thinking inhale/extend the front leg…lift the chest…exhale…inhale/reach higher….exhale/ground the outside of the back foot…don’t forget that front leg again… Ohhhh. The very nature of a pose’s overwhelming requirement of full concentration on practically every part of my body meant that I was no longer thinking about needing to tidy up the house or book the kids’ afterschool activities, or work in another 45 minutes of cardio somewhere. I was fully immersed in the moment. My mind, despite racing furiously to “achieve” the yoga pose, was completely focused on the now: the shaking muscles, the straining to breathe. The pose is the meditation.

As a fitness nerd admittedly more comfortable with the physical than the mindful, and always wanting to know the expected results and the why of exercise, I offer my professional opinion: should you do yoga? What is it good for: building strength, flexibility, burning fat? Wouldn’t you achieve better results running, lifting weights, and stretching?

Well, as a cross-training option, it’s a very functional workout, and non-impact. The poses require you to lift, move and hold your own body weight through a series of uncomfortable, impractical moves. It’s not a progressive workout, per se, but you will see improvement if you keep it up. For strength, it’s good, but not great. It does strengthen your upper body and core, but other workouts do it better, and the specificity is limited unless your sport or life goal involves being able to wrap yourself into the eagle pose, for example. Flexibility improves with repeated practice, but again, a concentrated regime of progressive stretching is more effective. And as a fat-burning exercise, yes, sustained exercise at moderate intensity burns fat, but there are better workouts out there if this is your goal. 

Mentally, there’s a lot going for yoga. Throughout each session, you are training equanimity, as you force yourself to stay calm in (sometimes intensely) awkward and embarrassing situations (like holding in your giggles when somebody farts… and someone always will) and discomfort. If you have kids, a partner, or a job, equanimity is an important life skill. You also get an entire session of turning your mind off of everything else, which results in a feeling of mental refreshment at the end of the class.

With all that considered, I would recommend, without reservation, yoga practice as part of your fitness program, a cross-training workout that does improve strength and flexibility, burns fat, and leaves you feeling relaxed and floppy, sweaty and peaceful. It’s mentally and physically challenging and intense, while giving your brain a welcome break from the rest of your stressors. And you can do it anywhere.

If you need to ask yourself one more convincing question, might I remind you to ask this:

Wait, and doesn’t this workout also incorporate a nap at the end?

Why, yes. Yes it does.

This article has been cross-posted on Medium.com and kapowfitness.blogspot.com.