Bernard O'Shea: Hugging a tree. I had broken my earthing virginity

Each week Bernard tries out new experiences and shares them.

Bernard O'Shea. Photograph Moya Nolan

I didn’t know that a deep unknown fantasy of mine was to have secret foot rolls in the wet grass at dusk. I almost certainly didn’t know that I'd be earthing myself silly between sheets at night and that I'd fall deeply in love with someone ninety years older than me. 

This is my attempt to a “fifty shades” style opening to the world of “grounding”.

The copy and paste internet version on page one of google states “Grounding refers to contact with the Earth's surface electrons by walking barefoot outside or sitting, working, or sleeping indoors connected to conductive systems”.

 More and more of us never touch the earth or soil with our bare feet for months on end. I can’t remember the last time I got my hands dirty never let alone walked in the stuff. But I’m not a dodgy 1980’s Scalextric, surely I don’t need to be actually earthed?

One of the most-read books on the subject, Earthing: The Most Important Health Discovery Ever? by Clinton Ober, Stephen T. Sinatra and Martin Zucker points out that the benefits of simply walking in your bare feet on soil or using a grounding sheet to sleep on at night could reduce inflammation and boost your immune system. So off I went on my merry way and indulged myself in my new favourite hobby called “buying crap on Amazon that I don’t need”.

Seven days later my “grounding sheet" arrived. It promised to, well, essentially improve all aspects of life even “anti-aging”. One irony was that you had to plug it into the side of the bed. The array of gadgets on my bedside locker resemble the front window of a small electrical shop. My Apple watch, phone, iPad and an Alexa all plugged in. I would later find out that this was possibly why my sleep isn’t great. But that's a whole other fad.

The other experiment was simpler. Walk barefoot on grass or soil. We have no grass at home. I would have to do it in the Phoenix Park which is only a mile from my house. We do have a small back yard. Three years ago I decided to install “synthetic grass” to the horror of my wife. “Kids should play in the dirt, Bernard, it's not natural.”

 What wasn’t natural was replanting grass seed every year and the surreal effort of getting out the lawnmower to cut a lawn the size of an oversized plate in a posh restaurant. It's the tidiest room in the house and possibly the cleanest, however, I have noticed the kids scream at the sight of muck. They are very much city slickers.

When I was a kid I ran across the fields to play with my friends. I would be splattered with Laois muck like a midland Jackson Pollock every day. 

Not alone did I have to take off my shoes at the door, my Mother would mourn “how am I supposed to get that uniform clean for the morning ?” So, If I was honest, I thought it a bit silly to walk barefoot in a bit of grass.

On a wet Tuesday evening with thirty minutes of natural light left in the day, I parked my car near the Pope's Monument. I waited until there was no-one around and took off my shoes and socks and planted my feet firmly into the soil. My first thoughts were “What If I’m attacked and mugged? I'd have to I explain to the Guards that I couldn’t defend myself barefooted.

 I started to argue back with my psychosis “What if I meet Gwyneth Paltrow and she offers me a million euros to start a grounding business?” 

Before I realised it it was dusk. I didn't feel any electrical charge or “rebalancing”. It gradually began to feel like a little paddle at the seaside. My thoughts also changed. I was concentrating easily on just one singular thing,  something that I find impossible to normally do. I wasn’t thinking about bills or kids or viruses — just the feel of my feet on the ground. I felt relaxed and, dare I say it,  oddly “connected”. It felt really good. Like a toddler in the Thomas The Tank Engine ride outside a shopping centre, I wouldn’t get out. I wanted to stay. I eventually put my shoes and socks back on whle leaning heavily against a massive old oak tree for balance. My feet were warm and tingly. “Christ,” I thought “That was … amazing” and, without thinking twice, I hugged the big oak. 

There I was in the Phoenix Park, 41 years of age hugging a tree. I had broken my earthing virginity and was shifting a hardwood (no pun intended). The blanket, however, didn’t float my boat. It only served to increase my anxiety. I woke several times in the night fearing that it would go up in flames. It didn’t but it also didn’t light up the earthing flame the way my new OPW lover did.

The next evening I felt the urge to do it again. I told my wife “I’m going to the shops” but she knew there was something up. After a few days, she asked me “Why are your feet so dirty?”

 I paused “It's not dirty. It's love ok! I’m in love and it's not what you think. It's not another woman, it's the earth itself and it makes me feel special and....”

 She had walked off by this stage. I looked out at the plastic grass I installed. As much as I love it I felt the kids could do with getting a bit mucky again. As for the blanket? Let's just say doing it in a field is a lot more exciting than in a bed.

• Bernard's book, Manopause: Bernard O'Shea is Having a Mid-life Crisis, is out now