Preparing for a winter of grit
Sometimes you need a silly little challenge
I am afraid of the cold. The first cool morning in fall was welcome, but as winter grows deeper, I find myself plotting ways to stay warm: new wool layers, and a heavy bike to make me sweat. I’m knitting every spare moment and constantly sipping little warm drinks.
I am anxious to prevent discomfort, generally. My time outside is short these days, and I’m overdressing for the chill. But the memory of frozen fingers and toes haunts me.
It’s also the season of rest for me, which means I’m antsy. It’s not time to train for 2024 events or secure permits. I have energy to spare.
So, on a whim, I have embarked on a challenge that dominated YouTube four years ago: 30 days of cold showers. In the face of my own reluctance, I want to confront the cold. I’ve done this challenge twice before. I don’t really remember anything about it, other than I seemed to handle it better than I am now. But wouldn’t it be nice if cold showers actually changed my life this time?
You get to come along on the ride with me. I won’t have a montage of clips of me panicking in the shower, though. Sorry.
The 2020 YouTubers espoused increased energy, immune benefits, and greater grit as benefits of cold exposure. There’s research to support it too. But what I’m seeking is a much more subtle change: finding a sense of calm, even when uncomfortable. In a month, will I wince a little less in the face of a cold wind?
This renewed interest in cold showers hasn’t happened in a vacuum. My media diet is full of women who live in colder climates than I do, taking dips in fjords or posting about how they layer for warmth on hikes and bikes. I find these videos oddly soothing. They allow me to imagine a brisk morning while wrapped in a blanket. I can imagine I’m tough.
In the corner of a northern Michigan coffee shop, I found a number of books on sisu, a Finnish concept that describes a national spirit of tenacity and resilience. The book I picked up, while structured as a self-help manual for anyone to use, poses a central question: is sisu something that an individual can cultivate, or is it a phenomenon that requires a lifetime in the culture, welfare, and infrastructure of Finland? I have my suspicions, but either way, I don’t have access to the touted winter swim clubs and saunas. But I do have a shower.
The Finnish Way suggests a number of small practices to increase sisu, including winter swimming, time in nature, and cycling everywhere possible. The author’s friend describes the Nordic quality as “a kind of daily stamina and resilience to keep everything running, even through life’s gray patches. It’s not about being competitive…It’s about surviving and thriving in daily life.”
What might it feel like to thrive in the cold?
The Process
I didn’t have any interest in going full throttle from the start of this challenge. My plan was to jump in a normal to lukewarm shower, wash my hair, and then turn the temperature down slowly. I could improvise how long I stayed based on how miserable I felt. There’s no need to waste water proving anything, right?
Day One
After seeing books on Sisu in a little bookstore, I got one from the library, just out of curiosity. Reading it on November 1st, with the first dusting of snow on the ground, I’m reminded of my fears of the winter, of the cold. Feeling inspired, I turn the fan on “warm” and jump in a lukewarm shower. When I turn down the temperature, it feels like a blow to the chest, and my whole body tenses. I tolerate it for about ten seconds.
Day Two
I stand under the cold water, and it runs through my hair and across my face, but I arch forward, and the water hardly graces my back or shoulders. Just a brain freeze for today.
It’s the last after-work bike ride of the year, I think. The last one with the sun, at least. I can feel the wind biting through my clothes, but it’s not so bad. I don’t worry about it on the ride, even when my toes sting. But afterward, I feel the stress on my body–I’m stiff, uncoordinated, and slightly nauseated.
Day Seven
The city council is set to vote on a proposal to reassess multilane roads. I see it across multiple cycling communities and ask if it’d be helpful to show up for the peanut gallery at the meeting. Turns out, they don’t run out of speaking slots, so I find myself voluntold to go. And I do, despite feeling my skin crawl. I remind myself I’ve done this before, and the discomfort won’t kill me.
Day Nine
I watch an old cold shower challenge video. I feel a bit like a wimp in comparison.
Day Fourteen
I’m skeptical at this point that it’s useful for me to be standing in the shower, cold, but not as cold as I could be. But when I leave for my bike ride, bundled up, I don’t worry about whether I’ll be too cold. I find I don’t really care.
Day Seventeen
I attend my first protest in a long time. My voice feels weak, but I stay.
Day Eighteen
The first meeting of the Polar Rollers finds four women in a parking lot, bundled up a little too much, committed to riding through the winter. The early morning wind is icy as we descend towards the river, but by the time we return, I’m sweating and laughing.
I’m no longer scared of the cold.
Happy trails,
Mumble
Written from Potawatomi lands.