Plunging for Presence
By Terese Schlachter
“Realize deeply that the present moment is all you have. Make the NOW the primary focus of your life.”
--Eckhart Tolle, spiritual teacher and author
“Cold” does not properly describe the plunge. It’s more like an ache with a hint of sting. When you are first exposed, say for the initial three and a half minutes, you may have a teensy-weensy shadow of doubt. But then the low-level achiness subsides. Maybe that’s when the numbness kicks in. Still, you and your skin and your bones and all those nerves are extremely preoccupied sending fight-or-flight messages to the sensible part of the brain, telling you to perhaps get out of the water. But the hell-no-I-won’t go part of your noggin is drowning out the landlubber. It’s determined to stay in until you figure out why you’re there in the first place.
And here’s the thing. Your brain is full. It is completely in the now. What with the angst and the ache and the beautiful shoreline and the hope that the sun does not go behind a giant cloud, you’ve completely forgotten your cares. You become entirely present.
Dr. Mark Harper, author of the book, Chill, The Cold Water Cure, describes the experience like this:
When we immerse ourselves in cold water, we can think of nothing else. In fact, we can’t really think at all; we just become part of the moment. Water unsticks us from our repetitive thought patterns and dissolves the block that exists between our daily cares and emotional baggage and the peaceful and euphoric energy around us.
On the early morning of plunge number five I started out not feeling grand about the whole thing. Too many things in my life were changing and my heart wasn’t keeping pace. I showed up sulky and crabby.
The anticipatory chatter with Coach Traci and her friend Colleen lightened me up a bit. We talked through our plans. Coach would do a serpentine jog, lowering herself gradually. Colleen would walk, also, back and forth across the beach area, inching herself deeper into the water. I tend to rush in too quickly, just trying to get it over with, so my goal was to slow down. I added neoprene boots and gloves and a swim cap to my wardrobe. Colleen and Traci were already properly outfitted. The water temperature was 50-ish. They were aiming for a 10-minute plunge.
I wasn’t so sure.
I went in and true to form, I was ahead of the others. We all kept moving and breathing. We talked about Irish coffee. And our plans for the day. Around three minutes and thirty seconds in, it became less painful. At five minutes in, I managed a few head-up swim strokes between the pier and a piling. The three of us were even able to make some rattle-brained jokes (definitely the had-to-be-there type) before my watch mercifully ticked off ten minutes.
On the beach, as we quickly peeled off our suits and wrapped ourselves in towels and woollies one thing became apparent: this eyebrow-raising, dubious dipping routine was fun.
Both Coach Traci and Colleen reported feeling happy and refreshed. I was noticeably sulk-free and felt a bit more equipped to weather whatever was coming next. After all, I’d just splashed about in 50-degree waters for longer than I’d ever expected I could. The feeling of my blood surging back into my extremities was relaxing and affirming.
I took a deep breath.
It would be a good day after all.
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