My first intentional cold-water experience was about ten years ago. On a staycation in Glen Arbor over Spring Break, my son and I ventured hundreds of yards off the beach on the frozen Lake Michigan shoreline. I have a fear of falling in through the ice and being trapped underneath, which I suppose is a rational fear. However, the ice was at least a foot thick, so we felt safe.
Two days later we had a very intense windstorm overnight and we awoke with pristine views of the crystal blue water. The ice had been pushed ashore, broken into massive icebergs, and otherwise been displaced. My first thought was, “We were just out there standing on that ice.” My second thought was, “I wonder if we could climb out there and float on one of those icebergs.” These two thoughts came very close to one another. As the sun came out and warmed the March air to the mid-sixties I expressed the second thought to my son. His eyes got big in disbelief. My conservative and cautious dad wants to do something cool?
I wasn’t always old and boring. I used to be a kid and loved to explore and do stupid stuff (this is a future blog post). I thought that this activity could be something that could draw us closer together. I suggested we put on our bathing suits and grab towels. He didn’t need to be told twice.
I brought my camera and thought I could get a nice shot of him sunning himself on an iceberg. While his friends were posting photos from their exotic and warm locales, I thought we could do something different. Still one of my favorite photographs is of him standing on this several-ton block of ice, spreading his towel out as if on a beach in the sand. The juxtaposition of this image makes it so special. We took as many photos as we wanted and found ourselves out on a semi-stationary chunk adrift in water that appeared to be up to my shoulders.
I ran the camera back to the beach to give to my wife to capture the moment when we jumped in on the count of three and raced into shore. I am not going to lie, I was nervous, but I didn’t want him to pick up on it. On three, we both jumped in, dove under and raced to the beach.
Once I hit the water, my thoughts of my son disappeared. My thoughts of doing something cool were long gone. I was instantly in pain. My head felt like hundreds of ice needles had pierced it. I struggled to get my breath, and my only objective was to get to shore before passing out. My wife snapped several quick shots (which happen to be another favorite of mine) because one of them depicts two giddy people with huge grins, dripping with icy water and the large chunk of ice in the background. We looked so happy. The photo belied the pain I was in, and perhaps my smile was reflexive because it sure wasn’t intentional.
We wrapped in towels although I didn’t feel the need as my body was unusually warm. I am so glad to have had that experience, and I learned something very valuable as a result. Later that night, away from the earshot of our children I confided to my wife what my experience felt like. She informed me that this was entirely normal and often the shock of the cold water either stops the heart or the muscles tighten to restrict breathing, and the person suffers what is known as a dry drowning. I don’t recall ever hearing about that and secretly wondered why I was learning it now, after the fact.
I categorized this activity in the “I never have to do that again” file, right between sky diving and ski jumping. In fact, I never gave it another thought until my adrenal fatigue diagnosis provided me with some extra time to read. All this reading led me to a book by Wim Hof also known as The Ice Man. He has been intentionally cold plunging for decades and has taught his method personally to thousands of interested students. Cold water immersion accompanied by his very specific breathing protocol has been associated with improved immune function, reduced stress, increased mitochondrial production, and improved sleep. The list of benefits was too hopeful for me to ignore. I wanted, no, I needed all of those things.
I rationalized that I had absolutely nothing to lose so I started following his methods with the results I had hoped for. Every morning, the second thing I do is lay on the couch in a relaxed position and spend the next fifteen minutes following his breathing protocol (which I had first read about in the book, Breath by James Nestor). I can’t recommend this book enough. The protocol, which I don’t intend to detail here, involves a series of rapid breathing (similar to hyperventilating) and breath holds. It is not necessarily relaxing or enjoyable, but I imagine my mitochondria firing away and my immune function improving during the breath holds.
Sometime later in the day, I will do my cold-water immersion. On the days when the lake is dangerous with high winds and waves or too warm in the summer, I resort to an ice-cold shower, or a tub filled with ice water.
My health issues began with my inability to properly deal with stress. So, this idea of subjecting myself to intentionally stressful situations is decidedly counterintuitive. I would have thought that the stressful response from cold water (or shoveling snow in my bathing suit) would create a stress response. However, by exposing myself intentionally to this stressful situation, I can report back to my brain that I am ok and not in danger. This allows the flight response (from the fight or flight) to chill. This is called hormetic stress which many discover can be beneficial to the body. By exposing myself to small manageable encounters, I am able to override that innate “panic” call and reassure my adrenals that they are not required. Then, when the ordinary stressors of life do occur, I find that I am better able to react and respond.
To be continued…