It started in a muddy field outside Newcastle. Grey sky, sideways rain. The kind that seeps into your socks and spine and soul. We were visiting my husband’s old stomping ground, dragging two soggy pre-teens around a place called Chesters Roman Fort.
I wasn’t in the mood.
No one was.
I was mostly focused on making sure our youngest didn’t faceplant into a centuries-old latrine.
And then I saw it. Or rather, stood in it. This layout of stones and sunken rooms and old signs with names like caldarium and frigidarium. The Roman bathhouse. Still standing. Mostly.
Now look—I’m not one for ancient history. I usually glaze over at words like “cavalry garrison.” But something about this one stuck. Maybe it was the steam rising from the stones in my imagination. Maybe it was the idea that these men—actual soldiers, grim-faced, sword-carrying, empire-defending soldiers—took the time to sweat, soak, and freeze themselves back into function.
They marched. They bled.
And then they bathed.
Not because it felt luxurious.
Because it was necessary.
And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.
Hot. Cold. Repeat.
Fast forward to me, years later, neck in bits, shoulders rock solid, wondering why rest always feels like something to earn. Why I don’t give myself permission to just… decompress.
That Roman bathhouse popped back into my head. Out of nowhere. I went digging and found it’s a real thing—contrast therapy. The fancy term for alternating hot and cold on your body like they did back then, except now there’s actual science behind it.
I found this study in the National Library of Medicine—basically says what my body already knew: hot-cold contrast reduces fatigue, stiffness, general creakiness. The colder the cold bit, the more your muscles thank you.
Cultures have been doing this forever:
- The Finns with their saunas and frozen lakes.
- Indigenous sweat lodges from North to South America.
- Egyptians with their cold treatments.
- The Japanese still alternating hot soaks with cold rinses every day.
- And of course, the Romans, building entire buildings around the ritual.
It’s not woo-woo. It’s everywhere. Because it works.
How I Do It Without a Roman Empire Budget
I don’t have marble floors or a plunge pool in the garden. But I’ve got a bath. And a shower. And about 30 minutes most weekdays when nobody is screaming my name.
Here’s what I do:
- Cold bath (or just freezing shower blast) for 3 mins
- Hot shower or bath for 10 mins
- Repeat once or twice if I have the bandwidth. Sometimes I just do one round.
Always end on the hot cycle or I feel like I’m made of ice cubes.
Then I light one of my herbal scent bundles, wrap myself in an old robe, and float off for a bit. That’s my sanctuary. No apps. No music. Just breathing.
If I’m being fancy, I’ll even chuck in some of these little spa tweaks—candles, towel warmers, you name it. It doesn’t have to be a five-star retreat. Just something yours.
One Caveat Before You Jump In Cold
This isn’t a challenge. You’re not proving anything. And definitely don’t do it if you’ve got any medical issues without speaking to a proper grown-up first (aka your doctor). Heart stuff, blood pressure, anything that makes your body go “ummm, no thanks” when switching temperatures fast—talk to someone first. I’m just a tired woman with a bathroom and a memory from Hadrian’s Wall.
So Yeah, the Romans Had It Figured Out
It’s funny what sticks.
That day, wet hair, cranky kids, cold hands clutching a paper map… I didn’t realise it was going to change anything.
But it did.
Mens sana in corpore sano. A sound mind in a sound body. I saw that carved on a wall once, thought it sounded a bit smug. Now I get it. You can’t think clearly if your body’s screaming for relief.
The Romans got it.
So now I do too.
One cold blast at a time.