Superhuman
A cool blanket of morning fog covered the inland valley appropriate for the fall holiday of giving thanks. While it was perfect weather for staying cozy indoors, I awoke and went right to work.
I imagined all the Americans in my vicinity doing what I was about to do: prepare for the feast. It’s what we do because we’re supposed to follow this tradition–this pattern of mythology–that we should celebrate our abundance with more abundance.
We dutifully participate in this amalgamation of holidays, co-opted from our nation’s indigenous heritage. Yes, I fell in line, assembling the feast for my family–the new version of my family as it were–but my method was built on efficiency. I had peeled and chopped and sliced and diced garlic, onions, shallots, potatoes, corn, sage, and celery the night before so that in the morning I could set it all to cook, then leave the house.
My destination, a different world. A warrior’s world. An elite zone that few visit, especially on days designed for gluttony.
At the mansion, D-, our sensei, walked us through the course: dumbbell chest press, hanging leg lifts, sled push, uppercut bag, punching bag, kicking bag, dips, and mat flips. All of these in succession at one minute intervals, full out. All of these after a dip in the cold plunge. The cold plunge after a session of the Wim Hof breathing method.
The morning fog had burned off, and now the sun shone, our first medicine. I had brought te de cebolla morada for us–purple onion tea–a natural antibiotic.
We commenced with the breathing. Three rounds. Fully in, fully out. One and half minute breath holds. Coughing and hacking ourselves back to life, we plunged in the 53° degree water. Me first, at four minutes. D- next, then R-, then D-. Each of us emerged shivering with goosebumps, a new skin and with fire in our eyes.
And so began the drills. We grunted, shouted, sweat. Our movements were visceral and raw, and our bodies, now electrified, had become superhuman.
In just under an hour, the four of us become new. We had shed a part of ourselves, clearing space for a better version of us.
For me, I felt alive and energized in ways I had not been in a long time, if ever. I was in training, preparing not to sit and gorge myself, but to grow my mind and body in service of a future me, a future state in which I’m going to need to know what discomfort feels like.
I’ve long thought that what we do every day, whether massive or mundane, is preparing us for something we will need in the future. That I have leveled up to a new group, a band of new warriors, tells me that I am getting ready for what is to come. Whether they are battles to be fought, or enemies to subdue, and whether said battles or enemies are external or internal, I’ll know what to do. I’ll know how to respond.
The day went on. I brought Thanksgiving dinner to my sons and their mother. I faced attitudes and tension and powered through. I went for a two-mile hike at dusk in a canyon in Birkenstocks. I swam with my son under a starless sky, then I went to sleep, so thankful for that day.
Full to the brim with gratitude for this body, this life, this privilege to live at this time, right now, right here.
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Photo by Pablo Rebolledo on Unsplash
