Atticus isn't a scientist. He doesn't pretend or claim to be. Most of Atticus' research is in his work, in his reading, or in his practice. Evolving his body and mind to a point where he can find sources of truth. Atticus also does not believe in big enlightenment, he doesn't believe in eureka moments. They may feel like eureka moments, but as he goes back and studies what happens, he sees all the small steps it took to get him to that point of success. It's like chess, not that Atticus played chess, but what seems like an oh my word moment is really a series of small movements that led there.
So tonight he stands out in the yard of the chapter house under the stars lifting heavy things. He knew that he would never see gains, not that he cared, but he knew that this was good for him. Kept the body loose and mobile. As he finished his round of lifting, he made his way to a tub filled with ice water where he climbed in and sat, focusing on his breathing. Being blushed allowed him to feel the cold, to feel what it was doing to his body, how it changed his body. Atticus knew he couldn't really freeze to death, but his skin could still be damaged by the cold. He read a story about a group of kindred who got lost in Alaska, they were found torpered due to starvation, but their limbs were frozen and begun to break off as they were recovered. Proof, we are hard to kill by the elements, but not impossible.
Atticus felt the needles of cold prickling up and down his skin. He felts the gooseflesh begin to pop and pucker. His lungs, enlivened by the vitae, began to remember and contract at the freezing water. Atticus focused his breathing, his body and his mind on controlling these things. The strain on his lungs began to dissipate, tiny successes. The shaking didn't come, again tiny successes. Now his mind, he closes his eyes and finds himself slipping into mediation.
Continuing the playlist