Full disclosure: towards the end of the fall, my editor assigned me a story on winter wellness. At the time, I was in some of the best shape of my life. I was about to run my third marathon, I was taking care of myself, eating right, going to bed early, and striking a nice balance between work and rest. Then it all fell apart. The day after I ran the Philadelphia marathon, my live-in boyfriend of nine years ended our relationship. There was very little explanation. He was unhappy, we weren’t working anymore . . . it took all of two hours before my life, as I knew it, crumbled in front of me.
Just a few days before, I was obsessing over getting enough sleep, eating right, and abstaining from alcohol for one of the biggest physical challenges of my life, and now here I was, 48 hours later on the complete opposite side of the physical and mental health spectrum. I spent the next couple of weeks couch surfing, living out of the trunk of my car, suffering panic attacks, and vomiting into trash cans. My work was suffering and I had hit an all-time low—in body, mind, and spirit. Perfect time to tackle an article on winter wellness, right?
The funny thing is, it probably was. I was starting from ground zero and had to start building myself back up.
The first leg of my journey landed me in the lobby of Brooklyn Boulders. Not only was I sleep-deprived, but I hadn’t eaten in a couple of days. I walked in, and truth be told, I was a little intimidated. First thing in the morning and the place was already buzzing with smiling faces, lean bodies, and Wu Tang Clan thumping over the sound system. But then I was warmly greeted by Luke Livesy, the curriculum director and all-around nice guy. We plopped down on the couch and Luke started to share his own story about how he fell in love with the sport. “I started climbing six years ago,” explained Luke. “When I came here I started as a guy at the front desk, and then, well, eventually I ended up where I am now.” He went on to explain his personal transition from skateboarder in England to rock climbing aficionado here in Brooklyn.
“So what do you think? Are you ready to try it yourself?” he asked. After a 20-minute crash course, I stared head on at the climbing wall looking skeptically at an alien puzzle of shapes and figures. “You have to figure out your route,” he said.
So, not unlike a 3-year-old, I stood and tried to decipher the shapes and colors, figuring out where to start my ascent, where my next move would take me, and then the next. I thought I had it all figured out. And then . . . it came to actually doing it.
Turns out climbing the wall and looking at it are actually two very different things. Once you’re up there, it’s very hard to see where to plant your feet. In a bout of self-consciousness, I took my first grip. My plan went out the window. I needed to get to the top, but I was getting tired and terrified immediately. My muscles weren’t used to this type of fast-twitch anaerobic challenge. I wanted to give up right away. But meanwhile, my buddy below offered encouragingly, “Hey there Nancy, you have a foothold there on your right. Use that for support!” (Is this sounding oddly metaphorical? Well, in my mind it did. Thanks, Luke.)
So bit-by-bit, I made my less-than-graceful way to the top with a little guidance from my friend. I was unsure of myself the entire time, ready to fall and embarrass myself, and each and every time, Luke cheered me on and pushed me to the next hold. Eventually I was inches away from the top. “Go for it, grab the top!” My heart was racing and I had zero faith in my muscles to finish the task. But then I did. And there I was, clinging to the top of the wall like panicked spider monkey. I solved the puzzle and made it.
By the way, when you free-climb, you have to get down. “Luke!” “What DO I DO??!” I bellowed.
“Let Go! I’ll help fix your fall!” he called back. That was the best thing I’ve heard in a very long time. I was about to let go and plummet to a mat of undisclosed thickness under me and I was going to just trust a man I met less than an hour ago. I let go.
I didn’t bust my ass. I didn’t bust anything, actually. It felt really good to let go and just land. Luke explained, “Children have less fear than we do. They don’t brace themselves for impact. Adults are the ones that need the most help learning how to fall.” True story, brother. I felt like I had been doing a lot of falling lately, and more than anything, I was terrified of getting hurt again. Luke, not knowing me more than a half an hour, was ready to make sure that didn’t happen.
I highly suggest taking a lesson from the staff at Brooklyn Boulders. Whether you’re familiar with the sport or are a complete newbie, a quick tutorial will unlock a lot of the mystery and alleviate some potential fears. For complete beginners, you will learn the basics of how to move your body, and for more seasoned climbers, there’s such a wealth of experience and knowledge that you will be sure to refine your technique and take your game to the next level. But no matter what, I recommend everyone give the sport a chance, as there’s no better feeling than making it to the top.
The next leg of the journey led me to the home of Michael McComiskey, a healer and practitioner of Qi Gong, and who I will forever refer to as the Park Slope Jedi Master. I had nearly zero reference points when it came to Qi Gong, but the very first thing Michael taught me was that you can’t pronounce it unless your eyes are closed. “It’s pronounced chi gong” Michael said with a chuckle. So I closed my eyes, said chi gong, and then there I was ready to channel some new mojo with the help of a grinning man whose shirt read “Keep Calm and Use and The Force.”
“Qi is life force, and in Chinese, that is a very rich concept. Qi manifests itself in many ways. It’s your aliveness. It’s also the level of energy you feel. Your enthusiasm. When your Qi is high, you’re optimistic, you’re vibrant.” (My Qi was most definitely not high as of late. So I was intrigued about how to get it up again.)
Qi Gong is thousands of years old and was started by ancient Chinese shamans, or wu, and was later refined by Buddhist and Taoist monks. Qi Gong is a three-fold concept, and as Michael explained, “it’s a physical wellness practice that literally produces healthiness. It’s a meditative practice, as it’s very mind-calming and clearing. And then it’s very much a Qi-cultivating practice.” The body has a steady stream of electrical currents pulsing through it constantly, and Qi Gong is all about channeling that energy to boost your energy, centeredness, and aliveness.
In fact, Michael referred to his practice as a form of healing, and not so much a fitness-related activity. “The Chinese don’t believe in no pain, no gain.” My ears perked up. Getting through the marathon was all about working past the pain. It was intense, taxing, even devastating at times. Now, someone was telling me that I could achieve wellness through a peaceful and intuitive approach, working with my body, not against it. It’s all built on slow, gentle, repetitive movements. “The idea is that each movement has it’s own particular gift. Over the past few thousands of years, people have figured out a lot of different ways to move and reap the benefits from the variations.”
While Qi Gong has hundreds of possible movements, we started with one simple exercise. “Relax your knees, tilt your hips forward, round your neck slightly. We are elongating the spine, and creating space for the energy to flow,” he began. We then took deep, long breaths, inhaling and exhaling slowly as we rocked back and forth from heal to toe, raising our arms with the inhale, lowering them with the exhale. I felt it after the first few repetitions. This was possibly the first time in weeks that I was able to breath fully. Michael explained that when our bodies are full of anxiety and stress, it’s nearly impossibly to take a full, deep breath. Having suffered several panic attacks as of late, this simple exercise was offering some much-needed release and relaxation.
In addition to exploring two practices for the mind and body, I mustn’t leave out what spending time with two new, kind faces did for the spirit. Winter is a rough season for many of us, especially in the Northeast. Dramatic break-ups aside, 10 million people suffer from seasonal affective disorder every year, according to the National Institutes of Health, which also cites social isolation as a risk factor for depression in adults. Social interaction is an important form of self-care that should not go neglected even if all you want to do is stay inside and binge-watch Netflix alone.
Regardless of the hostile conditions outside, inside, or in my case, both, making space for new people and experiences is a simple way to improve our well-being during a time of year when we are vulnerable to sickness, depression, and boredom. Why not open yourself up to a new practice this winter? As Michael’s parting advice: “After the elephant enters the tent, the tent will never be the same again.”