Before you think I’m trying to sound tough…
I like candles.
I love my hot tub.
I cried at that Amazon commercial with the old ladies on snow tubes.
But I want to tell you about something challenging I’ve been up to lately. I’ve started taking cold showers.
Most mornings for the past two months, I’ve been foregoing the bliss of hot water pouring over my bald scalp for minutes at a time, and instead forcing myself under the icy blast of pure awakening.
And I have to admit, I like it. Not in the moment necessarily, but afterward. I find it to be invigorating, inspiring. I’m kind of proud of it.
I’m not sure why I started. It was probably to keep up with my friend Danny, who takes–not a cold shower–but an ice bath – every day. He thinks he’s Mark Wahlberg or something. He bought this barrel thing and was raving about its effects on his joints and his mindset. That’s after he’s finished his daily 17-mile run and bike trip to North Dakota. So, while the prospect of sitting for 10 minutes pretending I’ve been capsized from a life raft off the coast of South Georgia Island and feeling my blood turn into a cherry freeze pop is neither appealing nor feasible, I figured I’d try something more manageable. Thus, my daily frosty freak show.
I say freak show, because it must be something to behold. Thankfully, there are no witnesses, so let me describe it for you. I get in the shower stall. I turn on the water, fully cold, but not yet on me. I stand there for at least 20 seconds getting up the nerve, talking myself into it, and preparing for it to be over. I tell myself little lies, like, “You grew up without hot water,” “You’re 50% Inuit” and “Your great grandfather survived the Russian front wearing nothing but a muskrat scarf and a pair of crocs.” I get my loofa ready (I told you I’m not that tough). And then, after a deep breath like the one you take at the water park death slide just before they drop that floor out from under you, I walk in. I stick my head under the water. I stifle a small scream. I breathe really fast. I turn around three times. I lather up, rinse off, turn around three more times, stand there for another thousand, I mean ten, seconds just to prove how tough I am, and then turn it off. I offer a hearty “been there, done that” sigh, clench my jaw to stop the chattering, and it’s over. Just like that. The whole thing lasts a max of two minutes.
It’s exhilarating, enveloping, mind-bending, and honestly – I just feel really good afterwards. Fresh. Clean. Alive. Awake. Danny says it has the same impact on our brain as crack cocaine. I don’t know anything about that, but I suspect a cold shower is better for you. I probably wouldn’t be writing a blog about my new crack habit.
And hey, it saves on the electric bill, which is good since we’re also paying to heat the hot tub.
Anyway, I thought I’d mention it because at the very least it is forcing me to do something slightly difficult, thereby slowly forming me into a more disciplined person. This leads to better habits, which leads to greater productivity, which leads to more blogs getting written.
At the most, you might try it yourself and decide you don’t need to do crack anymore. Buckle up, Buttercup. Frozen waters await!