Running HOT and COLD

Image by Jonny Lindner from Pixabay

Submerge.

Can you feel it?

Does the tingle flush heat tickle thousands of teases along your flesh?

Yes?

Good.

Now come up for air. Face to the sky, breathe and hold space until warmth becomes hot, so hot. The heat inside rises above your usual climate.

Time to get cold.

The frigid air startles when you come out of the hot soak.

You know that’s nothing as you rush to the plunge that makes you shriek.

You force yourself to go under.

Only your face comes free.

This plunge is cold, so cold.

Your breath comes in short gasps and the freeze holds you hostage.

You count quickly and hope time will pass swiftly.

Then something shifts.

You stop fighting it.

You stop hating it.

Cold becomes comfortable.

The chill is now a thrill.

Your mind floats to the ethers and expands to infinity.

You could stay there in stillness forever, you think.

Then the chill hints of kill, well not really kill, but the cold has penetrated you.

It’s time to get warm.

The air affects you not as you run back to the hot.

Submerge again.

So the tingle flush heat tickles thousands of teases along your skin, more vivid, more intense.

You savor that warmth flooding your bones through your flesh.

You breathe slowly and wait for the heat to become hot, so hot…

Doesn’t that sound fabulous?

Soaking hot and plunging cold is even better when you actually do it.

I learned about this incredible practice at Hippie Hot Springs, one of my favorite places in the whole wide world.

At Hippie Hot Springs, all your needs are met through no exertion on your part. There are 3 meals a day served at the same time every day. Food is served buffet style. When you’re finished, you drop your dirty utensils in the appropriate bins after dumping your leftovers in the compost.

And that’s it. Besides keeping your cabin tidy, there are no chores, leaving you free to soak, sauna, and show up on time to eat.

But the quartet of pools with increasing temperatures, with a cold plunge at the end of the deck are high on my priorities. The hottest pool can get up to 112°F or as low as 106°F. Most of the time, the HOT pool hovers between 108°-110°F.

The cold plunge is a small wooden tub and the temperature varies. The water is not freezing, but after heating up in the HOT pool, it sure feels like it.

This is not for the faint of heart. But if you want to clear your lymph and purge the ICK of life out of you, go at least 7 rounds between the HOT and COLD.

The recommended times vary, but it comes down to 2:1 ratio of hot to cold, or half the time you spend in the hot, spend in the cold.

It sounds insane to deliberately mess with your body temperature like that, doesn’t it? But this is incredibly good for you.

Dilating and constricting your blood vessels is amazing for the circulation of your blood and your lymphatic fluid.

Our lymphatic system, which removes bacteria and other foreign invaders our bodies don’t need, plays a vital role in our immunity. Yet lymph doesn’t have the strength of the heart behind it, thus moves at a slug’s pace on its own. Exercise moves lymphatic fluid to the nodes.

And so does running hot and cold.

Even though I know how healthy and euphoric this is, this practice never ceases to daunt me. I cringe every time.

I’ve been known to do a couple of partial rounds to warm up before going into the official 7 rounds. You can break down the time however you like, but I’m fond of 2 minutes of hot to 1 minute of cold.

This is approximate, because I’m hardly working with a timer. I’m counting in my head. But the bottom line is to stay in each temperature as long as you can until you feel uncomfortable.

It’s hard to believe.

But once I get used to it, I find myself CRAVING the COLD.

I even move my limbs so that there isn’t a part of me that isn’t chilled. The bliss of that moment when the freeze becomes pleasurable is impossible to truly describe.

Sometimes I stay longer than the allotted time until the cold starts to hurt.

Then it’s time to get back in the HOT. Every time the heat rushes in, my skin comes alive in a whole new way.

By the way, don’t forget to stay hydrated. That is really, really important.

Then it’s back to the COLD.

If you want to go more than 7 rounds, go for it. Cautiously, of course.

This isn’t just good for the body. You are also creating an altered state of consciousness with this practice.

It is an ultimate natural high. The more rounds you take on, the deeper the dive. I’ve reached the edge of delirium more than once.

Then the bell rang and it was time to eat.

Don’t ignore that call. Eating and drinking is good after doing something like this.

But can you imagine feeling depressed, angry, anxious, hopeless, sad, or lonely after a practice of running HOT and COLD?

For me, that isn’t possible.

Physically, I feel so alive every time I do this. And mentally, I’m so deep in the peace, there’s no room for anything else.

This also works with sauna and steam.

So give HOT and COLD a try. You’ll feel incredible.

Great Expectations and the Death of Common Sense - On the Road #2

This 2nd email from my road trip journal is of the first event I did on a year long booktour roadtrip of telling stories and selling a book out of my rig - the Beast. Looking back, I can't believe my mindset. I really was half cocked and had no idea what I was doing! It is a huge regret of my life that I did not get any pictures from that time. These photos here are much more luxurious than what I had to work with at that time, but they evoke the "vibe" I was going for in setting up my first booth for my first attempt at DIY writer/storyteller glory. Enjoy!

Oh Expectation!

That enemy of common sense, I had a mighty vision of massive book sales dancing in my head as I drove my poor, little, injured Brown Beast to the end of the road - also known as Homer, Alaska. There was a Concert on the Lawn weekend event happening in a town that was known for its artistic hippies. It was my first stop. How could anything go wrong? I pushed my broken Beast to the limit to get there.

The bands were my first clue that my vision and reality were not in alignment. Many of the bands playing were the baby-faced offspring of the artistic hippies. Therefore, most people in the audience were...kids.

But, I get ahead of myself...

I made a new friend at a coffee shop. Something about living in your rig really makes for fast and furious bonding glue when you meet somebody who's doing the same thing. Ann had arrived in Homer four weeks before from Montana. She's one of those who always needs something to do, so Ann was more than happy to play the role of my lovely assistant in setting up the cheap Wal-Mart special that was my canopy, and lining it with silk tapestries and sarongs, and putting blankets and pillows on the ground, as well as scented candles to make our booth smell nice. The idea was to make our space more appealing to the passerby. Our master plan was that people would be lured in by the atmosphere, would want to come in and sit for a spell while I captivate them with stories about my heart-eating anti-heroine. My mythical audience would be so enthralled they would have to buy the book. Of course, they would. To find out what happens next.

It didn’t exactly work out that way.

One thing I didn’t consider was how loud the music would be blaring into my cozy, seductive, storytelling space. Kind of hard to create a mesmerizing-sit-down-and-chill-so-you-will-buy-my-stories vibe when the background music is the off key screeching of 14-year-old punk rockers. They might have even been twelve.

As the day passed, several people asked how much the sarongs were. Even though there were books displayed with price tags. Many commented on how cozy we looked as they passed by. One guy offered me ten dollars to sit under the booth while Laura Love was playing, if it started to rain. He did end up being my last sale of the day.

But that's not the point.

Three teenage girls came up to the booth and said: "Okay, we're gonna do it. How much for all three of us?" Fortunately, by that time, word came around that everybody thought I was fortune teller reading tarot cards, so at least I wasn't caught off guard. When I told the girls I was a writer selling a book, they sneered and walked off. These kids wanted face paint, exoticism, and angsty teenage punk rock played by kids who had been doted on by their parents.

Enough said.

A red-headed Tinkerbell who came to my booth, declared she had participated in

the love-ins of the 60’s. She said that's what my booth reminded her of. I wasn’t sure what to make of that, but decided to take it as a compliment.

An artist/writer named Nancy said "Eeewww" when I told her what Ella Bandita was about. Her disgust about my character was not enough to repel her away from my booth, however. Nancy proceeded to tell stories from her own life, about how much she had gotten jacked. She took up all the space – physically and psychically – and managed to repel any people who came by and showed some interest in my booth and my book. Possible customers craned their necks around her, but couldn’t seem to fit past the chip on her shoulder. So they moved on. After a few minutes of me saying: “Thanks for stopping by, Nancy. Nice to meet you! And have a great day!” Nancy finally left, after telling me she didn’t like to receive hugs from “strange women.”

I hadn’t been inspired to hug her.

A very sweet Swiss guy named Remo bought a book on CD after buying the collection of stories. He is in Homer, living in his van and staying out on the spit. Really, the fellowship of homeless travelers is pretty gorgeous. The next day, Remo brought me people to buy my book. One dude he roped in didn’t buy anything, but he sold me the “Key to Art” for $50. This Key to Art was mixed with chocolate, so it would even taste better.

Day one. 10 “Ella Bandita and other stories” sold. 2 “Why Roses Have Thorns” and 1 book on CD of “Ella Bandita.” That morning, I had had grand visions of 50 books a day. That evening, I knew that was unrealistic. It’s good to have dreams, I suppose. But it’s not so good to be attached to them.

The 2nd day came with tempered expectations and a more reasonable sense of promise. A guy who had stopped by the booth at the Concert on the Lawn, and had shown interest in the book but didn’t buy it was at the coffee shop that morning. I was there to brush my teeth and recharge my battery with a frothing mocha. His sister prompted him to buy the book before I got the Concert on the Lawn.

Ann and I rearranged the interior to make it more open. People were stopping by for a reading earlier and things were looking up. Around 3pm, I noticed a common trend that much of the interest coming my way was not exactly from my target market. It seemed a lot of interest was from 55 year old men who wanted to know me better. I’m no complaining. At least, not really.

In all, I sold 22 books. One was an exchange with the Reverend Poor Child and his CD of love songs. I didn’t have the heart to say no to a trade. Within hours, somebody told me that the Reverend Poor Child was considered the bad seed in town, and to “stay the f*** away from him.”

Oh gossip! Oh small towns! A friend in Juneau who knew the Reverend Poor Child from Anchorage didn’t go quite that far. But she did say that he was a prick.

This is an adventure. I’m meeting lots of really cool people and having a lot of fun.

Miss y’all.

Montgomery