Minute by minute.
Heat — the unwinding
Cedar at ninety. Your guide sets the glass; you sit, sweat, and say nothing. Heart rate drifts to a brisk walk's. The plunge is discussed calmly, like weather.
Talking — discouraged, gently
Cold — the argument
Six degrees. In to the shoulders, exhale first, then slow breath — your guide counts. The first thirty seconds are a negotiation; the last sixty belong to you.
Regrets — statistically none
Rest — the payoff
Warm stone bench, wool blanket, tea. This is where the chemistry happens: the noradrenaline settles into two hours of unhurried clarity. Skipping rest is doing the circuit wrong.
Tea — house blend, bottomless
Again — then the waters
Round two runs itself; your body knows the way now. Afterwards, the mineral pool or the float, and the pleasant problem of having nowhere to be.
After — all seven waters
Honest notes
Before you book
Who should check first
Pregnancy, heart conditions, uncontrolled blood pressure — talk to your doctor before the plunge, and tell your guide either way. There is a gentler warm-water circuit; nobody is graded here.
What the science says, plainly
Good evidence: sleep, mood, muscle recovery, that two-hour focus window. Thinner evidence: the grander longevity claims — we don't sell those. The circuit earns its keep on how Thursday feels.
Your first time
Come to a guided 18:00. Say it's your first; you'll get the corner seat in the sauna, the shallow end of the plunge, and a guide who has walked ten thousand people through their first ninety seconds.