Misogi: Reclaiming the Sacred Through Struggle
By Joseph Anew
In a world addicted to comfort, the antidote is not more ease — it's deliberate hardship.
For thousands of years, cultures around the globe have honored rituals of purification through suffering. In Japan, this practice was known as Misogi: a Shinto purification rite typically involving standing under ice-cold waterfalls, braving harsh natural elements, or enduring prolonged fasting to cleanse body and soul. These were not weekend challenges for the thrill-seeking. They were spiritual resets. Confrontations with the raw essence of self.
And in today’s world — where we swipe more than we sweat and outsource discomfort to algorithms — the Misogi is not just relevant.
It’s essential.
The Ancient Call to Purify
In its original form, Misogi-no-kokyu-ho combined breathwork, prayer, and cold water immersion. Practitioners entered frigid rivers chanting sacred mantras while their bodies trembled under the elements. It wasn’t about building grit. It was about dissolving the ego.
You see echoes of Misogi in other traditions: the Spartan agoge, Native American vision quests, silent monastic retreats, even the first ascent of Everest — when Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay climbed not for glory, but because the mountain was there, and the soul demanded something worthy of its strength.
In each case, hardship was the gate to transformation.
The hero’s journey is not reserved for monks or athletes.
It’s for the tired father. The burned-out executive. The man who wakes up at 2 a.m. wondering, Is this all there is?
That’s where Misogi returns — not as performance. But as a cure.
My Modern Misogi: 52.4 Miles Into the Self
Recently, I set out alone to attempt a double marathon — 52.4 miles — with no audience, no playlist, and no crew. Just me, the trail, and a quietly symbolic mission: 40 miles for my 40th birthday.
But here’s the part most people miss: I hadn’t taken running seriously in nearly a decade.
My last ultra-distance effort was a 50K — over nine years ago. Since then, life had happened. A growing business, two young kids, injuries, and shifting priorities pulled me away from long-distance running. I hadn’t logged consistent miles in years.
That changed on January 1st, 2025.
I laced up and ran one mile.
That was it — one mile a day. The point wasn’t performance. The point was momentum.
Then in March, something clicked. I ran three half-marathons, unplanned. Not races — just efforts. I felt something old and wild come back online.
Then, 26 days before the double marathon, I stumbled on a race I’d never heard of. 52.4 miles. Nearly no aid stations. Barely anyone finishes. I signed up instantly.
Because Misogi doesn’t give you months to plan. It gives you a mirror — and a question:
Who would I become if I said yes?
By mile 32 of the race, my body was in ruins. My feet blistered, toenails detaching. My elbows and traps screamed from hours of motion. But that's when the real race began — not with the trail, but with my psyche.
In the silence of exhaustion, voices rose.
The victim. The critic. The cheater. The child begging for comfort. The ghost of my mentor. I met them all — and I would never have met them on a therapist’s couch. Not like this. Not this raw. This undeniable.
Each character was a protector, a defense against the unknown. And one by one, I asked them to step aside. Not with violence, but with reverence. I thanked them. And I kept moving.
Misogi doesn’t start at the starting line.
It begins when the part of you that wants to quit starts making a convincing argument — and you stay anyway.
The Psychology of Misogi
So why do this?
Because we’re dying a slow death in the absence of real challenge.
Our ancestors fought tooth and nail for survival. We fight traffic and WiFi signals. And in that sterile world, we forget how much life needs friction.
Misogi is not about achievement. It's about uncertainty. There should be a 50% chance of failure. You should feel anxiety in your gut. It should be just far enough beyond your current ability that it requires respect and preparation.
It might be:
Your first 5-minute ice bath
Walking 10 miles without distraction
A silent retreat or water-only fast
Running 13.1 when you've never gone beyond 3
But it must be real.
It must be honest.
And it must be yours.
How to Find Your Misogi
Here are 5 ways to know if you’ve found the right one:
At least a 50% chance of failure — Not certain success. Not certain failure. Right in the middle.
Requires preparation — If it doesn’t force you to get your shit together, it’s not it.
Creates anxiety — That’s your resistance. That’s the signal.
Demands presence — No phones, no podcasts. Just you and the edge.
Offers no applause — No one may ever know. That’s the point. You aren’t here for a medal.
Ask yourself:
➡ What do I want to want?
➡ What am I sick of pretending I’m okay with?
➡ Who might I meet if I went far enough beyond who I think I am?
Choose Your Suffering
Here’s the truth:
You’re going to suffer either way.
You’ll suffer from hiding, from scrolling, from the dull pain of disconnection — or you’ll suffer by stepping into the fire, meeting your shadows, and walking out with truth in your bones.
The first kind of suffering breaks you.
The second kind remakes you.
So pick your Misogi.
Let it hurt. Let it strip you down.
And when you return, lighter and clearer, you’ll realize:
You didn’t do it to get stronger.
You did it to remember who you are.
