A · B · C

Why we made only three

Twenty-four hours, and none of them yours

You were up with the kids. Or you weren't, and you still didn't sleep. The morning went too fast. Work took the middle of the day and something else took the rest of it. There was a meal to make. There were people to be present for.

None of that is a complaint. It's just most people's week, and there isn't much room left in it.

Seventy-five minutes of yours belong to you. That's the whole offer. We kept it to three sessions because you don't need a menu — you need somewhere to go.

Phones stay in the lockers

Not a rule about purity. A room where everyone is half somewhere else isn't a room.

We think the real thing still happens between people who are in the same place at the same time. There aren't many places left that insist on it, so we do.

Ten people, one small room

Something happens in there that doesn't happen when you do this alone, and we've stopped trying to explain it cleverly.

After the third round nobody has the energy left to perform. What's left is unusually honest — and you're in it with nine other people who arrived the same way you did.

Notice what you came in with

Come in carrying whatever the week handed you. Then notice what you're carrying on the way out. That gap is the entire point, and you don't have to be told when it happens.

We're not going to tell you this is spiritual. Nobody comes out blessed.

But if you've had a hard week, seventy-five minutes of heat, cold and breath is the closest thing to being reborn that we know of. Your shoulders come down. Your head goes quiet. You sleep like you haven't in months.

We're the founders, so of course we'd say that. You won't have to take our word for it. You'll know before you've got your shoes back on.

Morten & Gabriele