To my own surprise, I found myself slipping off my shoes and socks, rolling up my jeans and elbowing my way through the jubilant crowd to the edge of the coal bed. I crossed in three quick strides. The bed of ashes and coals was soft and warm on the vulnerable underbelly of my feet, like sand at the beach on an August afternoon. Warm enough that you notice the heat and walk with staccato steps toward the ocean's salvation, but bearable enough to kick off your flip-flops and make a run for it. Aside from a few ashy smudges, my feet were unscathed.
Scientists say firewalking is possible through a combination of physical and psychological means.
The body is capable of cooling and protecting itself to a certain degree, and confidence, a relaxed body and plenty of blood flow to the feet are main factors. Others have suggested that the layer of moisture on the bottom of the feet protects them. Whatever the reason, my feet and I survived. After the coals had been stomped out and doused with water, the group headed up the hill, amazed at what they had just seen and done. The Laurel Mill Lodge will host a firewalk March 18 and a women's firewalk May 13.