The
water is your friend. You don't have to fight with water, just share
the same spirit as the water, and it will help you move. ~Aleksandr
Popov
Since May of 2012, I've been exposing myself regularly to cold water. During the summer months it was easy to do as I swam nearly every day of the week. Instead of toweling off, I'd let the dry desert air evaporate the water off my skin. Through the heat of the summer, I enjoyed cold showers and an occasional cold bath. I found mountain streams whenever I could find the time, and set myself down amongst the rocks, algae, and the sing-song of the river.
At the same time that I started embracing the cold water, I also started the practice of sitting on a cliff-edge, where I would write, reflect, and observe. I didn't realize it for most of last year, but what I was doing was the combined practice of cold water therapy and grounding. It made me happy! Thus began my N=1.
For
nearly all of human history, humans have been in intimate contact with
the Earth and her elements. We slept on the ground, or in caves or mud-floored huts and houses. As the modern age has evolved, however, humans have been
disconnecting from the earth more and more. Tall buildings were erected, asphalt laid down, sidewalks constructed, shoes became sturdier, transportation became more efficient. People wear shoes everywhere,often constructed of thick rubber or plastic, a platform is created between the feet
and the earth. We sleep in our houses, above the ground, in our beds,
above the floor. We wake from our raised beds and put on our shoes. We
get in our cars and drive to our work places where we sit in our chairs, in our offices that are usually
above the ground.
Then it's back to our workspace where we sit for another few hours before driving home. Once home, many numbers of things require our attention, and so we tend to those things before finding a comfortable spot on the sofa, where we rest for a bit before heading off to our raised beds.
It is fairly surprising how easy it is to never touch the ground. We can go for days, weeks, even months without feeling grass beneath our feet, or mud between our toes. And how many people make it a priority to ensure they maintain a connection to the Earth? How many people think that's just plain "woo?" Conversely, how many people make contact with the Earth without even thinking about it, just following their desire to sit in the grass, or lie down on a rock, thus nurturing their connectedness with their selves and the Earth?
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My younger, more idealized self wanted to live in a cave. I live where there are caves, cavates, actually, and I visit them frequently. When I lived in the Pacific Northwest, I wanted to move home and live in one of these caves, like the Anasazi did hundreds of years ago. I felt an indescribable draw to these caves. I still do. Just sitting in them, or near them, imparts a feeling of peace, awareness, tranquility. I've slept in some of these caves, many moons ago, and enjoyed evening on the "patios" outside of them.
The ancient pueblo people lived in these caves, as well as stacked-rock dwellings with Earth as their floor. They used skins for their warmth and protection from the elements. They made shoes from yucca fiber or skin. But always, they were ever-connected to the Earth.
There are times when modern-day people connect with the Earth. Beach vacations, ski vacations, Sundays at the shore, swimming at the lake, a day at the ocean...people do these things because they are enjoyable, reviving, relaxing, and energizing.
We spend the afternoon/day/weekend/week/vacation at these lovely locations, and we recharge. We come home feeling rejuvenated. But, as life has it, we get back home and return to our busy, full lifestyles and quickly fall back to our typical status quo.
For some reason, as outdoorsy and connected to nature as I am, I realized that work and schedules and personal goals were somehow working to create a disconnect in my life. Even though I still strived to be outside as much possible, I discovered that I had become reliant on driving everywhere for everything, in this teeny, tiny town where I live! Where I used to bike commute 90% of the time, I was biking maybe 0.5% of the time (that stat still stands, at the current moment). Where I used to hike up in the mountains outside my door several days a week, I discovered I was hiking maybe once every couple of months, if that. I used to mountain bike all the time, and my bike was covered in dust in the garage. The lack of snow each year meant that I wasn't snowboarding, skiing, and snowshoeing as much as I used to.
Time was slipping away, my babies were getting bigger. I was working, cooking, cleaning, shopping, trying to maintain my household. Even though I'd make concerted efforts to workout, to swim, to run, I still was not doing what I would call "real connecting" with the Earth. With Nature. Experiencing that quiet, still reflection on being alive and part of this world.
When I climbed regularly, I used to lie on rocks for hours each weekend, in addition to the time spent actually climbing them. Often I was tired and sore from the energy spent trying to figure out the movements necessary to get up a rock face or crack, but I felt sublime.
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After the first snow fell, I stopped going outside to my spot. I started giving in to indulgences. The holiday excuses crept in and I gave in, because, "nobody likes a fanatic," right? I started having headaches regularly. My hormones suddenly tanked. I was irritable, and my previously blissful sleep started heading to the shitter.
It wasn't until someone brought up grounding that I realized what I might be missing.
Around Christmas, the winter MovNat workshop presented itself. I received a holiday bonus and decided to go for it. MovNat does not necessarily incorporate cold water immersion into it's programs, but connection with nature is key. Because I signed up, and I knew we'd be experiencing cold, I was determined to increase my cold adaptation.
I started by taking ice cold showers after swimming. Then I graduated to ice cold baths in my own bathroom. Once we received snow, I buried myself in snow and stayed in it for as long as time allowed. I continued with the cold baths and showers.
When the workshop began, I was definitely adapted to the cold. The first day, we didn't do any real cold immersions, but we were outside, at altitude, in the cold all day. We finished the day with bare-skin, breathing/meditation. The second day involved much natural wet, cold conditions, but we had the absolute remarkable treat of spending a number of hours at Ten Thousand Waves, a Japanese-style spa where a cold-plunge tub sits alongside a large heated tub and sauna. Talk about bliss extreme!
At the spa, workshop participants experimented with longer and longer cold-tub immersions, while rewarding themselves with the hot tub or sauna. This was repeated innumerable times throughout the afternoon, all with the excellent conversation, illumination, and debate with the venerable Jack Kruse, as well as Erwan LaCorre, and each one of the workshop participants..
The third day was spent at a beautiful, high desert lake environment. The starkness of sandstone cliffs, rugged, desert river setting, and frozen lake provided ample opportunity for each person to relish in the absolute beauty, ruggedness, and winter coldness.
After learning and practicing new natural movement techniques along the canyon floor, we all coated ourselves in mud. I, for one, enjoyed the zing of the cold water rush experienced while washing myself off. It was truly exhilarating. For most of the afternoon, we had been walking barefoot, along the river, and doing new and more involved movement exercises for quite some time. The mud bath, which was a simple reminder of what most of us enjoyed as children, seemed to enhance the connection to the Earth. Erwan reminded us that many people pay a lot of money for mud wraps, etc. Mud is free. It is available. But most people are unwilling to find it because they simply don't even think about it. After the exhilarating rinsing in the river, we headed down stream to where the river met the frozen lake.
The fourth MovNat day was the most physical, mental, and difficult, in my opinion. I will leave that day for another blog.
The final day involved hot springs and cold river soaks, along with a whole host of new movement techniques and a final MovNat ending. By this day, I truly was tired. Other than Jack Kruse and Erwan, the MovNat founder, I was the oldest participant, and the only Mom (the only female, too...), and I was definitely feeling sore. Not physically tired, really, but just sore. And a bit emotionally tired.
I had prepared to spend our final day in the weather. I thought that we would be along basalt cliffs, and using the Rio Grande for cold immersions. This is what our plan had been. As I was driving to Santa Fe, it was blizzarding. Apparently it was blizzarding from where Erwan was coming from, as well. As a result of the really extreme weather, and being that it was our final day, and most of us were physically tired, we ended up retreating to an alternative location. We ended up spending the morning doing more hot/cold therapy. The location was beautiful. Natural hot springs, a very cold river, easy access, and some excellent ground for putting all the MovNat lessons into practice.
Inspired by the workshop, and having a slightly different mind set regarding where to focus my energy and which physical activities I really wanted to invest my time in, I've continued with regular cold water immersions.
I have been walking barefoot on cold earth. I've been sitting outside on the grass, lying on rocks, sitting next to trees, whenever I can.
I have continued to practice the MovNat techniques, like hanging, climbing, moving on trees, practicing jumping techniques, balancing on trees and rocks, and seeing obstacles all over the place. I haven't been able to find it in my heart to go to the class I loved so much.
Instead, I have been seeking out cold water in my environment. Living in the mountain/desert climate I'm in, especially during a long-run drought, does not allow for easy access to ample water. However, I have my secrets. And I'm a water person. I'm intutively drawn to water like a dragonfly. I have some stashes.
So, despite fire and drought, I set out to see whether or not the water I knew about was still there.
It turns out, it is.
So, now I have a new draw. A passion that pulls me, even when I think perhaps, that I should be doing something else. For the past three weeks, I've been to this water. I've sat my naked body down into the chasm of a canyon, where natural spring water pumps out and rushes down to the canyon floor.
I heard a great-horned owl the first time I left the canyon. It who-who-hooed me as I walked out with frozen feet. Several times now it has who-who-hooed me again.
I will continue to note the effects that I can observe, which will be a post for another time.
