The wellbeing movement bringing tradies to tears
This isn’t like any guided meditation I’ve experienced before.
Mark Kluwer paces in the middle of the circle we’ve formed, all lying heads to centre with our eyes covered.
« We’re going through the door, » goes his rousing commentary, as our power breathing reaches its crescendo.
« We leave nobody behind. »
I join the one last massive inhale, then expel the air and hold my breath for a few minutes.
Some studies have found this method of breathing has remarkable effects on the body. People report reaching a euphoric state.
In the converted barn that is Mark’s home, I hear a few fellas start to cry.
For one teetering second, it seems I’ll join them.
Welcome to the ego-free zone, where you’re encouraged to let go.
‘Through the door’
The gate to Elevated Springs, Mark’s property, is symbolic.
Once visitors pass through it, they walk in silence.
At the barn, there’s a hot tub converted into an ice bath and a rather organic outdoor gym set-up that includes tree stumps to dig out, and rocks to hurl.
Mark is wild-bearded and deeply tanned as a salty sea dog, though he’s actually a « mongrel plumber », as he puts it.
His hands are more callus than skin and there’s an anchor tattooed on his thumb.
Now that he’s given up his building business in Melbourne to teach wellbeing — not just to epiphany-seekers but to corporates and CEOs — he lives in the hinterland of Hepburn, Victoria, with his graphic designer wife Julie.
Photographer Nicole Cleary and I are here on one of Mark’s day retreats, « Don’t Think, Do », incorporating strongman activities, gymnastic movement, meditation, breathwork and ice baths.
When we pulled up to the meeting point, Nicole muttered: « This is going to be a sausage fest. »
But while it’s true that Mark’s retreats attract men keen to find a side of themselves that’s discouraged on building sites and footy terraces, there are a couple of women here, too.
The breathwork Mark’s guiding has its origins in the Tummo Breathing Technique practiced by monks in Tibetan Buddhism, as well as in pranayama yoga, while cold water therapy has roots in countless civilisations around the world.
Both were popularised by Wim Hof, a Dutch athlete in his 60s, known also as « The Iceman » for his record-breaking ability to withstand cold temperatures.
It was Hof’s eldest son Enahm who turned the three pillars of the Wim Hof Method (WHM) — cold therapy, breathing and meditation — into a global brand, Innerfire.
Podcasters such as Russell Brand, Joe Rogan and Tim Ferriss helped spread the word, and celebrity fans include Liam Hemsworth, Jim Carrey and Harrison Ford.
When Mark first met Wim Hof at a retreat, he was so moved by the experience and the bond he formed with other participants that he cried at the kitchen table after returning home — or « purged », as he puts it. His worried wife called his brother to try and figure out what could be possibly be wrong.
« The beauty is it feels good and the bonus is it’s good for you, » he says.
« As a plumber, all I knew was that shit runs back downhill and payday’s Thursday, mate. But I knew, when I started doing this, that I felt good. »
So, what’s the evidence?
Research into WHM is still in its infancy. Most studies have centred around Wim Hof himself and how he handles extreme cold himself.
In 2012, Dutch researchers examined blood samples and found Hof could manipulate his immune system, which they had previously considered « unbelievable ». Hof was able to maintain his core body temperature and increase energy expenditure up to 100 per cent of his resting metabolic rate, without shivering, while in an ice bath.
A 2018 study from Wayne State University’s School of Medicine used an MRI machine to deduce that Hof is able to put « brain before body » (essentially mind over matter) and hack a stress response in his body using breathing exercises.
Masstricht University researcher Wouter van Marken Lichtenbelt recruited Hof for some tests in 2017, concluding that the Iceman is not doing anything miraculous — his ability to withstand the cold temperatures comes from a combination of increased heat production (through non-shivering thermogenesis, brown fat activation and the contraction of respiratory muscles), increased body tissue insulation to conserve core heat and mental practice.
He’s impressed, but also cautions of Hof’s patter: « With conviction, he mixes in a nonsensical way scientific terms as irrefutable evidence. »
Hof has also been criticised for claiming in a Dutch television interview, when pressed, that « 95 per cent of all diseases, amongst which are numerous types of cancers, can be cured ».
Whether others can achieve similar results is still the subject of ongoing research. In an oft-cited 2014 study, WHM followers were injected with an endotoxin and yet none of them developed major symptoms. It seemed this could have exciting implications for the treatment of inflammatory diseases, but critics warn that using a healthy sample group for a short-term study is not a rigorous prediction that chronically ill people would experience the same benefits.
The study’s authors acknowledge that it’s not clear without further research which component of the WHM — breathing, meditation or cold exposure, or all of them together — was most effective.
‘I was a lost person’
Hof’s followers don’t need to be convinced. Asher Packman credits Wim Hof with setting his life on a new trajectory.
He runs The Fifth Direction in St Kilda — a movement, meditation and breathwork studio with an ice bath — and is president of Meditation Australia.
I met him earlier in the year, when I attended one of the workshops he runs with Matt Radford, a physiotherapist and Chinese medicine practitioner.
Asher gave up a career as a communications senior executive after his mother and sister took their own lives after long periods of serious physical illness, and he himself was diagnosed with a rare progressive blood cancer. After spiralling into depression, Asher started looking at his options. He thinks the WHM has helped abate his symptoms.
Asher and Matt don’t limit themselves to WHM. My visit began with some « HeartMath » techniques, based on the philosophy founded in California in 1991 that there is a synergic relationship between emotions, the brain and heart rhythms.
If anyone had attended viewing an ice bath as an endurance exercise and breath work as a competition, they would have been in for a shock, standing with eyes closed as another participant walked towards them to feel their energy.
But Asher thinks most attendees are ready for something profound.
The participants at Mark’s « Don’t Think, Do » certainly are.
They spend the day laughing, crying and sharing their feelings in the hugging integration sessions that follow each activity.
Dougie, a 24-year-old stonemason from Castlemaine, tells me that cold water therapy has changed his life.
« I was a lost person, » he says. « I used to be into alcohol and drugs and was all over the shop, but this makes me feel alive.
« As soon as my energy shifted, my health shifted, and all these doors started opening. »
He puts this down to the psychological benefits of getting out of his comfort zone, as well as the practical application of cold water on muscle recovery — he lifts stones and uses a hammer and chisel all day.
Now, he’s added tai chi and meditation to his daily routine, is studying holistic health, and has splashed out on his own chest freezer, which he lined with marine-grade silicon — because dips at local reservoir Golden Point weren’t cold enough in recent months.
He uses the bath three or four mornings a week and will bring his mates to his shed for cold-water sessions.
Dougie first met Mark at a session a year earlier.
« We all held hands and I felt like I was hovering off the ground.
« These blokey-bloke tradies were crying. Working on job sites for the past six years and seeing most men drinking and cut off from their emotions, for me to be able to witness that was moving. »
He got Mark’s number and asked if he could volunteer on site.
« Just do whatever. Because I like what he’s pushing. »
Taking the plunge
Our own ice bath comes at the end of today’s event. In groups of three we submerge ourselves to the neck, for three minutes.
Despite having ministered this ritual hundreds of times, Mark knows the temperature can induce a fight or flight response, and so keeps a cheerfully distracting presence throughout.
The first time he took the plunge, Mark started singing the Richmond theme song to take his mind off it. Wim Hof named him « Tiger ».
What he loves about the ice bath is it’s a real leveller. « Often it’s the people who overtrain, the athletes, who really struggle, » he says.
« Whereas the mother of three who never gets any time to herself can sit in there, in her power. »
The instinctive response is to exhale rapidly through the mouth — hoh hoh hoh — but we’re told to take long, calm breaths through the nose. It’s barely bearable. To move a limb is to subject it to the sensation of being knifed.
I start shivering in the third minute, and when I climb out, pain electrifies my limbs. Mark leads us through the « horse stance » dance — a vigorous hoo-hah and pushing of air — to get the blood flowing.
Most people’s torsos look as though they’ve just competed in a Russian slapping contest. It’s an exhilarating and energising experience.
I ask Mark if he can tell who will stick at this kind of regime.
« Yeah you can, » he says. « Especially the young fellas who take risks — it might be drink-driving, fighting, drug-taking — because they’ve lost the rites of passage they would have once had. They need these challenges. »
It’s been a profound experience for me, too. Seeing men be so vulnerable with each other is a revelation. Nicole shares that, despite her initial sausage-fest concerns — she can see why everyone is so addicted.
No wonder Mark thinks he’s found his purpose.
« People want to know what I’m on, » he says. « I’m not on anything, mate. But if you want a piece of that, I’m happy to share. »
Credits
Reporter: Jenny Valentish
Photographer: Nicole Cleary and Margaret Burin
Digital producer: Annika Blau