Sadness, Stress, Hormones, Urgency

Saturday evening I started writing about the Boston bombings.  I was struck with an urge of creativity and began a piece that is harsh, raw, brutal...just like the reality of what happened to the people who were injured during the explosions.  Not being squeamish, I sought out and found the worst of the worst pictures.  I do not know what prompted me to see such horror, or to witness the kind of pain, shock, awe, terror, horror, bravery, and response that all the people who were there saw and dealt with. But for some reason, I just needed to see it.

Last Monday, prior to the bombings, I had risen early and gone to Kettlebell.  I had gone to work.  At lunch, I couldn't decide whether to run, or walk, or lie on a rock and do some grounding, or whether I should drive the 20 minutes up into the Jemez and soak in the cold river.  After some deliberation, I decided that cold-soaking is what I wanted, so I headed up into the mountains.  When I do this, I experience several levels of emotion.  Guilt for driving so far for such a short period of time.  Guilt and some worry for not telling anyone where I am going.  Protectiveness over what I'm doing and the reasons for doing so. Excitement for the rush I get every time I set myself down in cold water. Peace at being in the car alone for a little bit of time.  Contentment at my own thoughts and my ability to discern them.

I arrived at the river and was surprised to see the Forest Service gate open.  Due to the parking fee, I decided to park on the highway, which always feels a little exposed, despite the peacefulness of the mountains.  I hiked a short distance up stream, began to feel a little uncomfortable, like I shouldn't head up so far, turned around, and ended up at the same spot I was in last time.  Only on this day there were no floating ice bergs and most of the snow had melted.  I set down in the water and kept my Vibram barefoot shoes on since the water was so cold last time that my feet were numb for over an hour.  I was surprised at how well they insulated my feet.

The wind was howling and blowing fiercely all around, even in the narrow chasm that makes up this portion of the river. I watched trout bite at the small insects flapping around on the surface of the water. I heard a tree crash down the hillside, which made me jump, and I quickly tried to discern if it was a tree or a bear.  I decided it was a tree, and settled back in for a little longer.  The cold water makes my skin tingle in a pleasant way.  The sun was bright, despite the roaring wind, and warmed my shoulders and face. Finally, I felt it was time to leave, so I got out, air-dried, let the sun warm my whole body for a few minutes, and then headed out.

On the drive back to town, I kept feeling a strange sense of foreboding.  I've felt this before.  I didn't know if it was my financial worries, the wind leaving me unsettled, the continued drought that terrifies me at a deep, unexplainable level, or my work that continues to be uncertain and shifty. I felt like crying for a little bit, and even had tears well up in my eyes as I passed through the Valle Caldera and wondered at its amazing beauty.

Back at my office, my co-worker asked if I'd heard about the marathon.  I quickly got on to the news and saw what was unfolding.  Instantly I recognized that hyper-premonition feeling I've had for other hard-to-fathom events such as Boston:  the bombing at the Olympics, Columbine, the Cerro Grande Fire that destroyed my home and my mountains.  My intuition had sensed the events, even though I didn't know what was happening on the other side of the country.

Because I run, I felt an indescribable feeling of devastation about the Boston bombings.  I couldn't understand why anyone would target an event like a marathon.  I don't know why anyone would target any event or place anyway, but a marathon is such a feat of endurance and physical ability that is seemed blasphemous for such a tragedy to take place at one.  That same morning I had heard an interview on NPR with people from Newtown, CT who were running in honor of each of the children killed during the Newtown massacre.  The interview had made me tear up on my way home from kettle bell, the first time I'd teared up that day. I must've cried twenty times before the day was over.

Speaking of tearing up, I'm certain that I've been undergoing all sorts of hormonal issues lately. For the most part, I'm pretty even keel.  But lately I've definitely felt like I've been on some sort of hormonal roller coaster, at least compared to how I've been for years.  I seem to be fluctuating each month.  Lately, I've felt somewhat flat.  Like something is missing. And I feel more easily saddened by things that I might not bat an eye at otherwise. This is different than the pregnancy-related crying over diaper commercials...the sadness feels like it's swimming on the surface; easily touched.

I read way too much, lately, and so I've been attempting to self-diagnose, which is seemingly a waste of time.  I think my pregnenalone is low, my progesterone is low, my cortisol is high, my estrogen is high, but not too high. These conclusions are are inconclusive because I haven't done any hormone panels.  The fact of the matter is that I have very few symptoms of hormonal imbalance.  My only real symptom that seems to cross each and every hormonal issue is irritability.  Anger. Lack of tolerance. Grouchiness.

These symptoms are emotions. But they tend to feel overwhelming when I can't pull myself out of them.  Lately, it seems, I've been pissey more than I've been happy, and that is very much not like me.  Everything else related to hormones is relatively stable.  I sleep well in general. My menses are as regular as ever, PMS symptoms are typically the same, and not in the least debilitating.

So, really, I need to get my blood drawn.  I need to consult with a real doctor who can make a real determination. I want to know what I can do to eliminate the never-ending grouchies.

But so many other things tend to fall into play.  A job that is uncertain.  It's been 18 months of not knowing whether I'll be employed for the next month.  I've been told again that come June 1st, I might be out of my current job because our program is $12 million short and subcontractors will be the first out the door. Never mind the 20 or 30 managers and other highly compensated people who have nothing to do.

That sort of stress is precisely why I'm working on launching my new business, which I have worked hard at, but still need to devote a tremendous number of hours on, which is also stressful, but important. I want to do what I want to do. The business now has shape, and I needs to put the pieces together.

So I need time. Time to put it all together. Time to complete my book proposal to coincide with the launch. Time to get my website developed and flushed out. Time to put my packages together.

Time does seem to be spinning ever faster, and I wish that I could slow down the clock whenever possible to eke out the most of every minute and hour.

Tomorrow, I will sit down and create a priority punchlist, and see what I can get done.

Finally, I've been feeling an urgency to get my shit together financially. I tend to ignore things and then they bite me in the ass.  It's time to stop ignoring things, and get some issues taken care of, to be responsible like the adult I am.

While reading Thich Nhat Han today, I realized that much of what I've been experiencing the past month or so is rooted in fear.  I've not been observing, acknowledging, and moving on.

Thus, it's time to be more mindful. I cannot walk the walk if I'm off floundering around and not being mindful.  I needed that reminder today, more than ever.

Here's to moving forward.

Schedules and Change

I'm a creature of habit. This past month, it seems that all my consistently scheduled activities have all been rescheduled.  It's very weird.  The strength class I've done for 5 years changed locations and days.  Our Tae Kwon Do class that has been on Tuesday and Thursday at noon for 4 years, is now on an entirely whacked-out schedule that I don't even know yet.  But it's not Tuesday and Thursday.  Oh yeah, and it changed location, too.  Because of these two changes, everything else is changing.  Except for swimming, I think that nothing is interfering with my Tuesday/Thursday morning swims.  At least not yet.

I've been amazed at how these two changes seem to be affecting my brain and my body.  I've worn grooves in my habits and now I've been thrown off course.Which is likely a good thing.  Change tends to lead to more change, more wisdom, more experience.

To celebrate all this change, I decided to add a kettlebell class to my weekly routine.  It starts at 6am.  That, right there, is probably the most assertive change I've made in my life: committing to a 6am class. For me, that was a more difficult decision to be at peace with than ditching all grains.  This morning was the first class I attended.  I did not drink any wine last night.  That was a good thing.  My youngest daughter decided to change her bedtime routine.  Yikes!  I knew that would bite me in the ass.  I went to bed at midnight, after about 1.5 hours of falling asleep, and waking back up in the kid's bed.

I never use an alarm.  Ever.  But I decided that since I slept like a boulder yesterday morning, I better be on the safe side.  I woke up exactly 2 minutes before the alarm went off.  Yay to my internal clock! I got up, made a delicious espresso with full-fat pastured cream. Changed into my workout clothes.  Drove up town to the class location in the dark.  Drank in the little sliver moon that was muted by some wispy clouds.  Arrived at the class, alert and pretty ready to go.  It was super fun.  Hard.  A couple of friends are also in the class, and I haven't seen them in a while, so it will be fun to be in a regular routine with them again.

I got home at 7:15 am.  The house was silent.  Everyone was still asleep.  I made another espresso.  Packed my lunch, changed into my work clothes, and headed off to work.  What a whole new concept!  I'm pleased with myself for committing and pleasantly surprised by how I feel.  I think I can make this a new habit!

April 22 of 2012 began the start of tremendous change.  It's been nearly one year since I uprooted my diet, ditched my daily consumption of beer, started meditating regularly, endured the stress of potentially losing my job on a daily basis, and began working diligently towards finding my true path in life, you know beyond this government-funded hazardous waste clean up gig I've held for the past 20 years.

Yesterday, while sitting in the little spring-fed pool watching the water scooters swim around and mate while fending off the predatory water beetle, I kept thinking that I'm trying too hard.  I'm doing too much.  I'm trying to do EVERYTHING.  I'm feeling a little stressed about it.  I signed up for a half marathon that is coming up fast, yet I haven't been able to take a run longer than 4 miles.  Our weekends have been booked, and then I got sick.  I ran on Monday, and felt like I had lead in my shoes.  I ran yesterday, but couldn't muster up enough motivation to do a real run, so I ran up the canyon to the little spring, soaked for 30 minutes, and then ran back.  That's not a real run.  But the soaking is so much more satisfying.  I leave there energized, revitalized, at peace, grounded, in tune.

I am doing so much.  I am working.  I am launching my new business.  I'm finishing my book proposal.  I'm preparing my presentation for AHS 2013. We're unschooling. I'm a chauffeur. I'm a mom.  I'm a wife. I have a house. I have chickens. I have a dog. I'm tyring to help my company win new work. I'm working on getting my website up and running.  In between all of that, I've been studying, researching, absorbing information like a sponge. Trying to get a good night's sleep each night. Trying to fix excellent dinners most nights. Battling my cravings for beer and wine most nights. Planning for my future. Planning for my kids' futures. Trying to consolidate debt. Preparing for the new classes I will be leading. Running. Swimming. Grounding. Tae Kwon Do. And there is so much more I could list, but seriously, is that even palatable?

No.  I am doing too much.  I think I should drop the race.  I can't think of one other single thing I can drop.  If I don't train for the half, I won't feel guilty for not running more. 

Yesterday, while soaking and grounding, I reflected on the me I once was twenty years ago.  I was still trying to do what I really wanted to do, and biding my time at my job in the interim.  Never would I have thought that I'd get to twenty years later and still feel that same drive to do what I want to do.  Shit!  We even did what we wanted to do by starting the D.O.M.E., and building a successful outdoor shop and guide service.  We just hadn't predicted the Cerro Grande fire, nor all the consequences (READ: CHANGE) that would take place in our lives as a result.

But back then I wasn't doing too much. I was doing just enough.  I worked my hours.  I dreamt up business ideas in the evenings. We had no kids, so that was a huge time-saver right there. I did Tae Kwon Do. I biked. I climbed. I snowboarded. It was pretty freakin' simple. 

So, as my life has changed, my schedules have changed, and I have changed, I realize that maybe, just maybe, I need to work some slow-down time into my life.

Where do Memories Reside?

I often have the most amazing thoughts and ideas while swimming.

Sometimes I have a lot of scattered thoughts that bounce around my head, and sometimes my thoughts are clear, concise, organized, focused.

I have been swimming at my local pool for a really long  time.  Yesterday, while swimming, I reflected upon an interview I read recently, which, in turn, prompted me to check out the book, Science Set Free, by Rupert Sheldrake.  The interview of Sheldrake was in the Sun Magazine, and seemed to fit right in with all the new things I've been learning about lately.

One thing Sheldrake talks about in the interview and in his recent books is the idea that memory does not exist within our brains:
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"Leviton: If, as you say, memory does not reside in the brain, then where is it? And can it survive the death of the individual to whom it belongs?

Sheldrake: “Where?” is the wrong question. Memory is a relationship in time, not in space. The idea that a memory has to be somewhere when it’s not being remembered is a theoretical inference, not an observation of reality. When I met you this morning, I recognized you from yesterday. There’s no photographic representation of you in my brain. I just recognize you. What I suggest is that memory depends on a direct relationship across time between past experiences and present ones. The brain is more like a television receiver. The television doesn’t store all the images and programs you watch on it; it tunes in to them invisibly.

It may sound radical, but this idea was put forward not only by Bergson but also by philosophers Bertrand Russell and Ludwig Wittgenstein. They all challenged the notion that a memory has to be somewhere in the brain. The whole of the past is potentially present everywhere, and we access it on the basis of similarity. I think we’re tuning in not only to our own past experiences but to the memories of millions of people who are now dead — a collective memory. It’s similar to psychologist Carl Jung’s concept of a collective unconscious or Hinduism’s akashic records, which store all knowledge on another plane of existence.

Yes, there’s the potential for the memory to survive the death of the brain. Whether there’s survival of an individual’s memory, my theory doesn’t predict one way or the other. It leaves the question open, whereas the conventional theory is that, once the brain decays at death, all memories are wiped out."
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I was intrigued by the idea that memory does not exist within our brains, but rather exists across time, AND is outside ourselves.
 
Since reading that article, I began taking note of spontaneous memories.  Not reminiscent memories like thinking back to when my oldest child was a baby, but memories that seemed to be triggered by place or smell or sound.  Like, for instance, the other morning I was driving into the back parking lot where I work, and I remembered a very intense dream I had way back when I first started working a real job, which, ironically, happened to be in the same building I work in now.  The action of driving into the parking lot seemed to be the trigger for remembering the dream. When the dream had occurred, I had reflected upon the intensity of the dream the morning I'd had it while driving into work.  I hadn't thought of that dream in over 16 years, probably, but as I drove in, it was like the place, maybe the lighting, triggered the memory, because the memory was stored there in that place somehow. 

So, yesterday morning, I was swimming and thinking about how long I've swam in that pool...since I was 16. When I was in my early 20s, I started swimming laps regularly, so for about the past 18 years I've been swimming and thinking continuously in that same pool.

And Then I thought about all the thoughts I've had.  

I've recently been reading about how thoughts can impact our cells. I'm currently reading The Biology of Belief, by Bruce Lipton. I do not know how I missed this book in the years since it has been published.  It is mind blowing, and exceptionally easy to understand. It also appears to put answers to the ideas I've had for years regarding the power of positive thinking. My Mother is the queen goddess of positive thinking, although her affirmations are cloaked in Christian prayers.  But I always felt like there really was something to it all.  She shunned negative talk and always encouraged (sometimes too strongly) that I think in a manner that was in line with my desired outcome.  But, this is all a topic for another blog so I'll leave it at that for now.

So, back to the swimming pool...

While I was swimming, I thought about how many billions of thoughts that I have had in that pool.  Then I thought about the gazillions and gazillions of thoughts that all people who have swam there have had.  And then I remembered the memory thing.  

I thought about the years before I ever became pregnant, and how I would wrestle with the idea of pregnancy and motherhood and whether it was for me.  And then once I became pregnant, I wrestled with the reality of being pregnant, and thought and thought about all those what ifs, and what will bes.

And then I had the most profound thought that it rocked me to the very center of my bones.  I realized that all those thoughts and memories are there in the pool.  Every molecule of water, every molecule of the cement, all the beams, and wood, and windows, everything that makes up the pool maintains that energy of all the thoughts of all the people who swim there.  I thought of all the world class Olympic athletes that have come there to swim.  I thought of all the high-energy kids who swim there every day, pushing harder and learning more. All the old people trying to stay strong, and the babies just feeling the water. Sure, some of those things get washed out when they drain the pool every year, but that water interacts with the structure of the pool itself all day every day for a year.

The feeling I had when I had that thought was overwhelming.  I literally felt my bones vibrate and it was as if the entire pool structure acknowledged my thought. 

I have been in the midst of a huge life transformation.  To me, it feels like this event in my life, which has been going on now for 11 months, is still in the beginning phase.  Learning about quantum physics, epigenetics, morphic resonance, New Biology, all these things are assisting in this molting that I seem to be going through.  Overall, I remain positive that all things will work out.  That all is as it is meant to be.  But I must remain focused and energized. I must start taking action. This idea I had in the pool yesterday, was just another little piece of this big puzzle being put into place.  

I guess that is the puzzle of this life.

   
 

My N=1: Grounding and Cold Water Immersions

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.

Perhaps we like working out, so we'll put on our high-tech shoes like Vibram 5-fingers, or other such gadgetry, and head to the gym.  Maybe we'll run on the treadmill for 45 minutes.  Maybe we'll spin, or lift weights, or do a class. 

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.

The majority of modern-day humans, however, want nothing to do with ancient lifestyles.  The convenience of modern technology and products, makes it easy to indulge in comfort.  Why weave shoes from yucca fiber when you can get it shipped overnight? Why sleep in a cave, when you can have a warm home?  Why go barefoot when you can have the latest, greatest, hipster footwear?  (Trust me, I love shoes, so I'm not going to lie about it.)

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.

Weeks of subzero temperatures gifted us with an amazingly blue, frozen landscape.  Once again, cold-water immersion became our movement of the moment.  Each participant immersed in the deeper water.  Some squatted on the floating ice. Some swam beneath the ice. After drying off, we headed down-canyon.  This is when, I am certain, everyone's feet hurt.  Mine were in the thralls of what us ice climbers call the screaming mimi's...ouch!!!  But once I put on my shoes, the pain diminished pretty quickly. Amazing what a couple degrees will do.

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 taking cold baths.

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.

My N=1 experiment is all about natural, cold water, and grounding.  It is my premise that being in cold water in the natural environment is a) better than being in cold water in my own personal bathtub; and b) includes grounding; and c) I will experience an increase in positive outcomes as a result of this cold water in a natural environment experiment, including a heightened sense of well-being, a natural balance of my endocrine system (which I will verify using labs), and an increasing adaptability to cold water environments.

I will continue to note the effects that I can observe, which will be a post for another time.