Chunks of ice bob in the frigid water. They’re taunting me with their silence. In moments the water will envelop me in its icy embrace, but right now, I watch the floating icebergs.
Watching the ice melt is a stalling tactic, as is checking the thermometer. A few minutes pass while I watch the numbers on the digital display dig their heels in, refusing to go any lower.
Like it or not, it’s time to jump in. Several battles await me, all of which I must fight and win before I reach the end of these half-dozen minutes.
The first battle is in the space between myself and the water’s surface.
The craving for the cold I’ve felt since the last bout fades as I face the tub. It’s replaced by the sense of dread that lingers in the recesses of my mind capitalizing on my fading resolve to rear its ugly face front and center.
No more excuses.
There is a brief shock as my legs slide into the water; it’s enough to make me pause as I start the stopwatch. My regrouping is short-lived as the advancing digits compel the plunge into the icy depths.
I drop in swiftly, the cold attacking my skin with vigour. The water fills in around me, and as it reaches my neck, the first battle is won, but the counterattack is fast approaching.
Seconds crawl past like minutes. The water enveloping me is a balmy 9.1 degrees Celsius; it makes my brain scream, “Get out!” The first dozen seconds end, and I am victorious in the second battle. Calm spreads through me, and I make my peace with the cold.
I resist the urge to look at my watch, it’s been less than a minute, and there are at least five more to go. The knowledge sitting on my wrist is a double-edged sword, I’ve been submerged either more or less time than I thought, and today, I decided to hold off a little longer to confirm which side of the sword I’m facing.
The water feels more comfortable, which brings me face-to-face with the third battle.
The comfort is an elusion, a sweet siren song lulling me into complacency. My body has gifted me a nice thermal liquid layer hugging my skin.
I could sit and bask in comfortable cold, but that’s not why I do this. The voice in my head reminds me:
“This is who we are now.”
Moving my hands brings immediate results; my palms feel like they’re about to freeze, and as I manipulate my arms and legs, the layer of warm water abandons me and is replaced with the unrelenting cold.
Refusing to give into the stillness, my hands churn the water swirling it around my body. I curse my inability to take the easy path, to sit and enjoy the thermal layer.
I take a brief glance at my watch, seeing the second-minute slip by.
I make peace with the cold again, feeling the water refresh my now-burning skin. I’d swear I was on fire if it weren’t for the water. Months ago, I would have taken this as my cue to exit the tub. These days I have an alliance with the cold, it gives me what I need to make these five or six minutes suck, and I embrace that suck wholeheartedly.
The burn brings me to another battle to face. My brain is demanding, “Get out” yet again; it’s more than uncomfortable, and knowing I can end it anytime is plaguing my decision-making. I committed to a six-minute plunge, and the advancing seconds on my wrist hold my body below the surface.
The only weapon I have is to breathe through it. Closing my eyes, I take slow deep breaths. Gradually, the burning subsides a little, and the cold’s embrace is more comforting.
Another glace shows me I’ve entered the fifth and final minute; with the finish line in sight, I relax a bit more and find peace and even a bit of enjoyment in the freezing water.
Months ago, no ice was in the water, and I shivered throughout the countdown. Today the water is colder, I’m submerged for longer, and there is no shivering or gasping.
I have not mastered the cold because it has no master; Instead, I’m resisting everything it can throw at me, knowing that, like the gladiators of ancient times, I’m facing an unwinnable battle. For these few minutes, however, I can conquer the cold on my terms.
I always hated the cold, and I could swear that the cold held an equal, if not greater, hatred for me. The truth is, the cold is indifferent. It exists unapologetically as it is, and the humans that dare tangle with it should accept that there is no negotiation, no deals, and no mercy.
As the clock ticks into the sixth minute, I leave the tub. There is a part of me that doesn’t want to leave; the craving for the cold is itching at the back of my mind; the water is whispering for me to return.
As I walk around the yard, spinning my arms in a probably ineffectual method of getting warmth back into them, I bask in how good I feel. My skin is numb, but it feels great. My joints don’t hurt, I feel calm, my head is clear, and I’m ready to take on the world single-handedly.
The cold brings suffering, but the suffering gives more than it takes. Over the past months, the aching knees and sore shoulder have all but vanished. Mentally I feel better, more resilient, and calmer. Facing the cold daily, be it in the tub or the shower, forced my body to adapt and accept the discomfort and harden itself against it. Despite how much those first few seconds suck, I’m constantly craving the feeling the cold water gives me.
Am I swimming under sea ice? Have the pounds dropped away, leaving chiselled abs? Are all my ailments cured, and has the cold water made me ultra-healthy? A resounding ‘No’ on all counts, but my time in the cold leaves me feeling great, and as long as that stays the same, I’ll keep dunking myself.
