When The Tables Are Turned!

As a Wim Hof instructor we are well trained.

We train to understand the physiological effects of the breathing and cold exposure on our participants.

We train to understand the mental and emotional release that can occur during the life-changing workshops we run.

We train to know when we can push a little harder or throttle back if someone is displaying early symptoms of the effects of the powerful breathwork or challenging cold exposure.

What we teach is life-changing, it releases pent up emotions, it connects you to your true self and shows you that you are capable of so much more than you ever thought possible. It has a multitude of benefits to our cardio-vascular system, our immune system, our mental well-being, our capacity to cope with everyday stresses.

For someone like me, who truly believes this method saved my life and is still keeping me believing in a future that is bright and long, to realize I’ve missed something, something really important … was a reality check.

You see when we run our workshops, our attention is on you, our participant, our guest, our student. We give you 100% of our heart and soul to lead you safely in powerful breathwork sessions, to push you outside your comfort zones, to encourage you to release, and to believe in  your capabilities.

I get the same tingles in my fingers and buzz in my body from leading you in the breathing sessions, it’s like we become one, breathing and feeling together. For me it is empowering, knowing I’m opening up channels in your brain for you to release emotions in a safe place, supported by other, like-minded participants.

When someone gets into my ice-bath that doesn’t “think they’ll do that bit of the workshop” and grins from ear to ear because “yeah, they fucking did it and it felt amazing” – I could literally cry. It is such a powerful method, everyone should learn to incorporate it into their lives at some level, I truly believe that.

But what about us, the instructors?

What happens when we are alone? If we go too deep during the breathwork, who will be there in our ears to whisper for us to ‘slow it down’ a little, who will touch us lightly on the shoulder to bring us ‘back’ before we trip over the edge. Who will be our instructor, our guide?

What happens to us when we suffer from one of the occasional undesirable circumstances in our training manual while in the cold water? Who in our community of friends will know what to do? Who in our family will recognize the symptoms?

Today this happened to me. On a small scale but it made me realize that I need to put something in place so that people around me understand what is happening and what to do …

This is my story.

I went wild swimming with friends (not an official event, just 3 friends gathering for a dip in a local waterfall). It was amazing, the water was cold but not freezing (and I’m someone that can sit for 20 mins in an ice bath and the only thing that makes me leave is the need to go do something else). The nature was inviting, the company was incredible.

We sat in the water, we chatted, we laughed, we played under the waterfall, while birds flitted overhead and the sun before the storm shone through the trees. I could feel my head was heavy as there was a storm brewing and I’m quite sensitive to that, so I sat against the rocks and let the water pound my head – the heaviness released and I got out of the water, a bit of an ‘ice-cream’ headache remaining…but feeling great.

We got warm, dressed and walked back up to the cars. I drove home, made some lunch then went to work at my computer. It was then that it hit me. I’d been staring at the screen for at least 10 mins and I really had no clue what it was I was supposed to be doing. I couldn’t find files, or links to open my daily tasks – what the fuck?!

I realized instantly that it was TGA – transient global amnesia – but the problem was I didn’t know what it was called as I couldn’t bloody remember (the irony of this is not lost on me).  I couldn’t point my partner in the right direction to get my notes as I didn’t remember where they were either. But I knew it was something I’d learnt during my Wim Hof Instructor training, I just didn’t know what or how to deal with it.

Something in my brain said … it will pass, just give it time, go get a bath.

As I relaxed in the warm water, I began to remember things. The journey home, the lunch I’d eaten, that I was supposed to be working … not lying in a bubble bath, then I remembered where my notes were on TGA.

I’m glad I knew not to panic.

But there is a bigger lesson to learn here and that is …

Things that can happen to our participants, can happen to us!

We all know that.

It’s why we don’t get into icebaths with our participants, it is why we are vigilant at all times when we are running our workshops.

But as an instructor we sometimes feel like we are invincible and if things happen, we know what to do… and we do.

Until it happens to us.

I guess what I’m saying is, we are fucking cool humans us Wim Hof instructors but we are not immortal yet (I mean we’re close though).

So what would I do differently?

Well I’m putting a little notebook together (very basic) that can be handed to me in case of an issue, so that I can understand what is happening.

I will carry it with me on my wild swims, I will let my partner know where it is in the house when I’m home, that anyone can refer to or just basically hand it to me.

If I’d had that today I think my heart-rate would have been a little slower, and my actions even more appropriate for the situation.

Thankfully my training was so deep that despite amnesia I still knew I knew what to do.