© Catherine Haslag

Yoga

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There was a new person next to me in yoga class today. Young, about 25, flat stomach, and curves where they should be. Her seemingly perfect, young body makes me very aware of my own.

As I bend into forward fold, I am aware of my ankles. They are my mother’s ankles when she was forty. I don’t remember asking her for them. I prefer she’d kept them.

I become keenly aware as I step back into downward dog that I am not as flexible as I was when I was 30. Did my hamstrings get shorter?

Child’s pose is awkward. COVID weight gain has put my stomach in my way. I have to open my legs wider to let the extra me fall between them.

In high lunge, I stare up at my arms. They are soft. I remember that my arms continue waving after my hand stops. A bonus wave that I wish didn’t exist.

In forward standing A, I get a good look between my legs. My thighs are good buddies now when I walk. They press and rub together. They don’t seem to understand social distancing.

I realize my t-shirt keeps riding up on me when I bend over. I make a mental note to order some long-tail shirts from Duluth Trading Company. I must guard against plumber’s butt.

Forward low lunge requires an extra blanket under my knees so it doesn’t hurt. My hips resist the stretch.

Fierce pose makes my quads burn. They are far from ready for the long days cycling at RAGBRAI coming this July. I am reminded that I need to start training.

Balance poses make me feel strong and competent again. Tree, Eagle, Warrior 3. I flow in and out of them with confidence. Steady. Strong. Focused.

I am sure no one notices my inner turmoil. Everyone in the class is focused on their own, but in my mind, everyone sees my rolls and imperfections. My limitations and gracelessness. All the extra me I wish wasn’t. I feel like I don’t belong here.

But, I do belong here.

This is temporary.

All of it is temporary.

The tight hamstrings, the bonus wave, my mom’s ankles. They will all change. The extra me will melt away as I bike this summer. My hamstrings will elongate and feel less tight. My hips will open to lunges. The fire in my quads will calm. This is where I am now, but not who I am. The day will come when I may not be able to do yoga at all. When I may not be able to bike long distances or even walk short ones.

So I smile at the resistance in my hips, the extra me that rubs when I walk, and the strength in my tree pose. These too are temporary. I will embrace them for the time they are with me.

© Catherine Haslag

8-8:30

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It’s unseasonably hot for this early in June. Already in the low 90s and it’s just the first week of June. Summer came early this year in Minnesota.

By 9am it is 78 degrees and sunny. The humidity isn’t high and the breeze makes it bearable. I made a vow last night to ride today. I prepped my water bottles and riding clothes last night to make it easier to get going. My attempt to lower the activation energy for this endeavor. I eat breakfast, journal, put on my clothes, and hit the trail. My goal is to start between 8 and 8:30a. This way, I can be home before it starts getting too hot. I mount my bike at 8:24a.

The heat is a serious demotivator for me. I grew up in Missouri along 2 rivers, so I am used to the heat and humidity, but it’s harder for me to tolerate this summer. I don’t know if it’s turning 40 or being the most overweight I have ever been…or both. I long for the Minnesota Junes where the daily high didn’t often top 85 Fahrenheit. Temperatures in the upper 60s to 80 is my sweet spot.

View from behind the handlebars.

I decide I will ride for about an hour and see how far that gets me. Starting is the hardest part. I feel strong in the saddle. Despite not riding on my trainer regularly this winter, my legs quickly hit a good cadence. The air on my skin feels luxurious as I roll through neighborhood streets to the paved trails. Under the interstate, through Todd Park, and around Eastside Lake. I glide through town, passing many walkers and cyclists along the way. They have the same idea – exercise before the heat of the day.

I was hesitant to ride in the morning. I usually get up and work in the morning and then play later in the day. I am a “work first, play later” kind of person. Riding in the morning feels like the opposite of that, but I quickly realize that my body is awake enough to ride and my mind enjoys the quiet before the work of the day. It’s just me, my bike, and the pavement. My mind wonders as I cruise. As my heart rate rises, it feels like my arteries and veins are being flushed, the stagnant areas refreshed. I feel renewed for the day…and very sweaty.

I arrive home 55 minutes and 11.5 miles later. Not bad for the first day. I stretch, hydrate, and cool myself in front of a fan before showering off the sweat and sunscreen. A successful start to the day.

My bike will rest against a shelf in the kitchen until tomorrow morning when we ride again at 8-8:30a.

Northern Migration, Part 3

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I drove north to Austin, MN on the second day of 2011. By the time I drove through the middle of Iowa, the ground was totally white. I wouldn’t see green grass or experience temperatures above 20 degrees for nearly 2 months. I stopped twice to sob uncontrollably and otherwise cried tears of joy, sadness, and utter fear off and on during my 8-hour drive north. Most of my possessions were loaded on a U-Pack truck that would arrive about a week later. My little Mazda 3 Sport was loaded to the ceiling with what I would need until then: clothes, a few cooking items, my TV and laptop, sleeping bag, inflatable mattress, breakables, a stadium chair, and every one of my plants. I am still amazed that none of them tipped over on the trip north considering how precariously they were lodged in my car.

My new home in Austin, MN.

I unloaded my car, set up the few items I had, and then collapsed on the floor in tears in the living room. The events of the past few weeks had caught up with me. I called my close friend Susan and sobbed to her. She would get me through the next months of adjustment to my new life. We would spend 1-2 hours on the phone nearly every night. Our conversations helped keep me grounded and cut the loneliness of this new world. I met new people all day, every day, but I had no friends yet in my new town. It would be a few months before I started to make friends and a year before I felt anchored in this place. She got me through those first and hardest months.

The next morning, I headed to a local coffee shop to use their internet and then to a local clothing store to purchase a pair of snow boots – the first pair I had owned since I was about 11. These weren’t moon boots but rather a warm and sturdy pair of Keens that came halfway up my calf. They kept my feet much warmer and drier than the sneakers I brought with me.

Over the next week, I was consumed with getting oriented to my new position. I completed lots of paperwork, met a ton of new people, and prepared for the spring semester, which started one week after I arrived in Austin.

My campus office.

Learning to cross-country ski at the nature center.

I threw myself into the work and started to settle into life in Austin. I discovered the nearby nature center and tried cross country skiing for the first time. I bought a heavy, marshmallow winter coat from Eddie Bauer. I learned how to drive on snowy roads. I grieved the loss of the life I had built in Springfield and explored my new Minnesota home. I started seeing a counselor to help navigate all the changes life brought my way. My life opened up to me in a way I had never experienced as time went on. I realized I could be as big as I wanted in my new home and was able to reinvent myself in many ways. Sometimes we have to move to a new place to find ourselves. While it seemed like I was losing so much when I moved to Austin, I was gaining more than I could have ever imagined.

The Brickhouse

On Thursdays, I had a break between classes that allowed me to take lunch at a little café called The Brick House. This delightful establishment had delicious food and a relaxing atmosphere. It reminded me of my favorite restaurant in Springfield, MO – Tea Bar and Bites. The Brick House quickly became a respite for me. I would take a book, find a corner table, and read and enjoy a wonderful lunch. Often, a retired couple would have lunch there at the same time I did. Sometimes, I could hear their conversations with the owner of the café when the other customers cleared out. I realized we had similar politics and one day chimed in on their conversation. This happened several times before they invited me to have lunch with them. This eventually turned into a weekly meal and a wonderful friendship that survives to this day. Thanks to eavesdropping and politics, I made my first friends in my new home.

That first year in Minnesota was challenging and amazing. I went “Up North” and walked across the Mississippi River at Itasca State Park, attended the Great Minnesota Get Together (aka the Minnesota State Fair), walked across a frozen lake for the first time, bought a bike and started cycling, found my way in my new career as an educator, made some new friends and stayed connected with old friends, and did a lot of work on me. Above all, I made a new life for myself. At the end of 2011, I was amazed at how much life had changed in just one year because I said “yes” to a job offer in the parking lot of a Hobby Lobby.

It’s the best “yes” I uttered in my life.

 

This is part 3 of a 3-part blog.

If you missed part 1, click here.  If you missed part 2, click here.

© Catherine Haslag

Northern Migration, Part 2

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When I woke up the morning of December 22, 2010, the world came closing in on me. I was leaving Springfield, my home for the past 11 years, all my friends and family, and moving 500 miles north to a place where I didn’t know anyone or anything…alone. I thought I had to be insane to do this. How was I to find an apartment in 10 days? Most of my furniture I could handle on my own, but the bigger stuff…how was I going to move it from the truck into my new place? How was I going to move that far away? U-Haul? Hire a moving company? How was I going to afford this move? All the details of the move overwhelmed and suffocated me.

Waves of glorious excitement and crippling fear crashed over me for the next 12 days. I couldn’t envision what my life would look like past January 2, the day I would drive north and begin my new life in Austin as college faculty. While I was being given the opportunity I had hoped for, my future appeared as a black void in my head.

I celebrated Christmas with my family. I was barely able to talk about my new career move and upcoming relocation. Thinking about the move to Austin made me cry. While I knew the career move was the right thing to do, I was terrified by all the other changes that came with it. I was given the chance to wash my life clean in the Minnesota snow, reinvent myself, and pursue the career of my dreams, but I was frozen in fear.

I wasn’t really moving to Austin alone, even if it felt like I was. I was surrounded by people who loved and supported me the whole way. I had time over the holiday break to catch up with two old friends, Scott and Lara, back home who let me unload some of my concerns and get my head together. My family was excited about my new job and offered support in any way they could. My friends, Susan and Jessica, came to my house a couple of days after Christmas to help me pack boxes and decide what would go with me in the car and what would be loaded into the U-Pack truck to arrive in Austin about a week after I did. Co-workers celebrated my move and bid me farewell at my favorite bar, The Mudd Lounge. More friends came over and helped me load the truck on December 31. My friend, Heather, connected me with a church group in Austin that could help me unload my stuff from the truck when it arrived. Tammy listened to me as I cried and swept the empty living room of the 2-bedroom bungalow that had been my safe haven for the past year. I even managed to find an apartment in Austin and arranged to sign the lease when I rolled into town.

In The Alchemist, it says, “…when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you achieve it.”  All the pieces that fell together in those 12 days are evidence that this statement is true.

The journal I was using when I moved to Austin, MN.

On January 2, I woke to a young year and a fresh start. I wrote in my journal that morning:

“Goodbye, Missouri.

For 30 years I have called you home. Now I leave for a new home and a new life. Thank you for the walks, time on the river, and beautiful places I’ve lived.

Dear Minnesota,

Please be kind to me and let me get some good winter gear before you baptize me in snow.”

 

 

I headed north that morning with my car full of plants, clothes, and a few other items to get me by until the rest of my stuff arrived. I was a mix of sadness and excitement as I headed up Highway 13 and eventually I-35. I pulled over twice in Iowa to cry. Everything looked so new, so fresh. Life was new and unknown…and full of potential.

 

This is part 2 of a 3-part blog.

If you missed Part 1, click here to read it.  If you are ready to read part 3, click here.

© Catherine Haslag

Cream of Creature From the School Cafeteria

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When I was in second or third grade when a copy of Cream of Creature From the School Cafeteria by Mike Thaler made its way onto my bookshelf. I am not sure where it came from. It wasn’t from a Scholastic book order and I didn’t get it from a bookstore. Nonetheless, it was one of the coolest books I read as a kid…mostly because of the ridiculous gross factor.

It is the story of lunchtime at an elementary school. The students are headed to the cafeteria and smell something bad in the air. They also hear strange noises coming from the cafeteria. As the students lined up to get their food, they discovered Lunch was alive and coming for them. Lunch bubbled out of the pot and proceeded to chase them through the school, eating the lunch lady and principal in the process. The more Lunch ate, the more it grew. The police and fire departments tried to stop it, but their attempts failed. The army used flame throwers to try to stop Lunch but just ended up getting eaten by a now hot Lunch. When the air force was called in, Lunch ate the bombs they dropped along with the school’s playground equipment. Everything just made it angry and more hungry.

Mickey, a student at the school, was the last hope. Mickey would eat anything. Mickey agreed to help. He walked onto the playground, pulled out his spoons, and waited for Lunch to come to him.

If you want to know how this book ends, you will have to read a copy of it. I don’t like to spoil such a dramatic ending.

The thing I love about this book is how ridiculous the story is. The idea that the cafeteria lunch could eat the school is impossible, but it’s also fantastically fanciful and enthralling for an 8-year old. Even when I read it as an adult, it tickles the kid in me. That a burbling, gurgling, green lunch could consume a school and those in it is hilarious. That the only hope to defeating it could be a quiet, little kid is the cherry on top.

I always like it when the quiet kid saves the day.