By Greg Roberts
I first noticed the wooden cylindrical pod at the Ix farmers’ market. Weird, I thought. What is that thing? Some new age-y meditation tube? A hipster’s repurposed RV, like the ones I’d seen on Instagram during the pandemic?
A few weeks later I saw two seemingly sane people emerge from the pod in bathing suits, glistening and drenched in sweat. Two others seemed to be sleeping outside in large black buckets, eyes closed, heads back—submerged up to their necks in ice. Maybe they were in a deeper sleep than I’d imagined—like a coma—and maybe they weren’t so sane after all.
Crazier still, I wanted to try what they were doing. I’d long been aware of research that showed extreme temperatures can be restorative for the body. World-renowned scientific scholar (and sometime thespian) Chris Hemsworth recently tested the theory in an episode of his show “Limitless,” swimming 250 yards in the frigid Arctic, in the winter. Heck, if Thor says it works, who am I to argue?
Note: Our regular columnist Mary Esselman “chickened out,” so her husband tried Fire & Ice and wrote this report.
What
A stint in an ultra-hot sauna followed by immersion in a tub of ice. Repeat three times.
Why
I love cold showers and frozen margaritas, but my main goal was to prevent injury and restore my achy body.
How it went
Immediately after signing up online, I received a text from owner Fabian Kuttner, with detailed instructions. First-timers go through a short orientation upon arrival, but Kuttner’s written, pre-visit instructions were helpful and reassuring, especially the breathing techniques.
I showed up nervous but determined. Fire & Ice manager Joe greeted me warmly and filled me in on the details. After putting my towel and water bottle in the changing room, I took a deep breath and stepped into the sauna, nodding hello to the folks already inside. The cozy space fits about eight people, with a wooden bench and seating for four on each side.
Almost instantly, the sweat started to flow. The heat was intense, and not something to mess around with, as Kuttner had made clear. Everyone went at their own pace and stepped outside when necessary. It felt safe, and the vibe was relaxed.
After about 20 minutes, I exited the sauna, rinsed off, and slid into the ice. I’m not going to lie: It was frickin’ freezing. It took all of my concentration and discipline not to jump out. The digital clock on the wall seemed to move backwards. After the recommended three minutes, and not a second longer, I climbed out.
My legs were wobbly as I emerged, and Joe helped me get out of the tub. I entered the hell tube again and went straight to the back where the heat is the most intense, nearest to the coals. My body was shaking, and I was a little lightheaded, which is a normal response, or so I’m told. It took a few minutes to thaw out, and the heat felt amazing. Before long I had completed round one. Just two more to go.
After about 90 minutes I was done. I felt energized but relaxed, proud that I could endure the stress of extreme heat and cold, and hopeful I had decreased inflammation in my creaky, 57-year-old body.
What I hadn’t anticipated, though, was the camaraderie of the experience. My fellow adventurers—a yoga instructor, a military analyst, a photographer, a UVA professor—were kindred spirits of sorts. The only other time I’ve had fascinating conversations with sweaty strangers thrown together in the confines of a heated cylindrical tube was on the New York City subway, but that came with fewer health benefits, and a lot more smells.
Call me crazy, or call me Thor (I’ll take it), but I’m now a Fire & Ice believer. See you there!