I really thought I could outsmart a firepit.
For the past four days I’ve been at a Tony Robbins seminar in the suburbs of Chicago. Over five thousand people have come in from eighteen countries to listen to the man with the huge hands help them help themselves. During the past few days I’ve cheered, yelled, screamed to the heavens, cried, and danced to over fifty songs. I’ve hugged well over a hundred strangers and given group massages to participants. When I leave to go to the bathroom I instinctively high-five people coming out of the bathroom. This would not be well-received in polite society. But, hey, this is Tony Robbins. It’s the culture of the event. You drink the Kool-Aid.
One area where I was extremely suspicious was the firewalk on Day One. Just using my logical mind suggested that if this were really dangerous he wouldn’t have us do it. Nearly two million participants have walked on fire since his first seminar thirty-six years ago. He explained that in that entire history only twelve needed hospital attention. So, to me, this was not even a dangerous event. I wasn’t worried in the slightest.
Many people at the seminar, I could tell, were afraid of the firewalking. I don’t blame them. We’ve all touched a hot stove with our finger and felt the pain. I’ve heard burns are one of the most painful experiences the human body can endure. But a hot stove is only at roughly 650 degrees farenheit max. These coals were to be around 2000 degrees. Again, I wasn’t worried. Firewalking has been around for thousands of years, and people have been doing it for centuries without Tony Robbins’ help. We did have to sign a waiver of health liability, however.
Tony takes the safety of the participants very seriously. Even though there are only a few principles of firewalking, mechanically – stuff like how fast to walk, where to keep your eyes focused, and how to exit the firewalk without coals being stuck to you, he wanted to teach us how to go into a peak emotional and physical state so that our mind wouldn’t poop out during the experience.
For over two hours he taught us how to condition our nervous system to feel strong so that we could use all of our emotional, mental, and physical resources to get through this five second firewalk. At one point all five thousand of us even laid on the ground and did a hypnosis of sorts to get our unconscious mind in alignment.
Throughout all the hoopla, I was like, “C’mon, let’s move it along. I’m not afraid of this, and I don’t need all this conditioning. It’s only five seconds and there’s a lot of reseach that I’ve seen online that says it’s just about impossible to burn your feet if you walk at a regular clip.” Tony himself mentioned several times that this is not to prove to yourself that you can walk on fire – he says anyone can. This is a metaphor for being able to do something in life you thought you couldn’t do.
Well, that’s all great except I knew I could do it. So, I wasn’t as pumped about the firewalk as a lot of people.
In the midst of all of this, I made a decision – I would do the firewalk in the most unresourceful state possible. I’d summon fear, I’d walk slowly, I would not repeat the “cool moss” mantra (replaced with “This is hot!”), and I would actually “feel” my feet with every step. I wanted to try to feel the coals.
I knew it wasn’t dangerous, but I wanted to find out how non-dangerous it was, just because sometimes I’m weird like this.
When I got up to the grass and it was my turn, I feigned excitement. I got myself in the resourceful state, all pumped up to pass their gatekeeper. He has people that will assess whether you are in a peak state to be able to do the walk. If not, they yank you out for safety reasons. As soon as the guy yelled, “Go!” I dropped all the personal power I had and started walking.
The first few steps were fine. Sure I could feel the lava rocks beneath my feet and that is awkward, but it didn’t hurt. I thought, “See? This is no big deal. You don’t need all the pump-up to be okay. The feet can handle this all on it’s own.”
This lasted until my fourth step when I landed right in the middle of a coal and I felt it. I felt it hard. It fucking hurt. I had burned myself.
A few steps later and I had finished the firewalk. They hosed down my feet and I celebrated. I had made it. Slightly burned, but still. I had just walked on fire for chrissakes. I jumped up and down with my partner and we hugged. I yelled in his ear to ask if he got burned at all. He was like, “Nope – didn’t feel a thing!” He had followed all the instructions, along with probably everyone else. In the end five thousand people walked and nobody was injured.
My foot was mildly on fire (excuse the poor metaphor). I drove home that night and realized that my state probably did affect my experience. I didn’t have any marks on my feet but for the next few days I could feel it. It’s gone now and I’m fine, but I did learn a valuable lesson – my state is important.
That’s probably the most important thing I learned at the seminar. Our states affect our resources. We can snap into certainty and resourcefulness or laughter or empathy in a moment. My state at work affects my performance. And I need to get conscious about what I’m bringing to each situation.
In the end the seminar was life-changing. He really knows his stuff and, if you do the work, you’ll come out stronger than you came in.
Plus, I now have a bar stool story about walking on fire. Sure I got a little burned, but I’ll probably leave that part out.
