December’s underway…and I’m still doing plunges in a glacier-fed lake.
It’s quick: I swim out and back just long enough to go fully under three times – pausing briefly midway to take in mountains and sky.
Until this week, I’d been doing so twice daily since moving back to BC.
But then came Monday, when air temps hit 10 below and scraping ice off my windshield disrupted all morning routines. Since then, during this cold snap, I’ve been doing just one dip most days – skipping the one before sunrise.
Still. Last I checked, the temp read minus 6 (21 F) the moment before plunging in. In any case, it’s been so cold I need to step into flip-flops immediately upon emerging – lest my feet stick to icy rock.
I’m giving myself permission to stop any time. And yet, I keep on – and have come to crave the ritual.
There’s something there for me.
It clears. Opens. Creates space.
I’m so present.
I’m so conscious that the water doesn’t change.
It’s very cold and very dark.
And…it’s just cold and dark.
The hardest part is in the warm car beforehand, thinking about it – my mind eager to lay something extra atop actual experience (which, truthfully, is over quickly and not that bad).
Tomorrow? Maybe I’ll call it a year. Or maybe not.
Have you ever embraced a ritual that’s uncomfortable – painful even – yet somehow needed?
I’d love to hear about it in the comments.