My Shower is Trying to Kill Me

I will never forget the day, back in my 20's, when I jumped into the water at Harper Creek Falls.

My friend Cory and I had spent several days backpacking in the Wilson Creek area and passed this popular swimming hole the last day on our way back to the car.

It was warm out.

Sunny.

Clear skies.

Perfect day for a swim.

We dropped our packs and walked to the edge overlooking the big splash pool of the falls. Cory jumped in and took off swimming towards the other side.

I watched him until he was about halfway and then jumped in.

And I nearly died.

The water was so cold that it instantly took my breath away. I couldn’t breathe and could barely move my arms and legs. My sandals suddenly felt like they were made of concrete and were trying to pull me under.

I tilted my head back to keep my mouth above the water and tried to yell for help, but the words wouldn’t come. Even if they had, Cory wouldn’t have been able to hear over the noise of the falls.

Surely I was drowning.

After what seemed like all of eternity, my body finally adjusted to the water and I swam out, but I’ve been terrified of cold water ever since.

My body’s cold shock response is terrible.

Polar plunges have never been high on my list of things to do.

Which has been a problem this year with the Spartan Races. There’s a water wall obstacle where you have to dunk yourself in cold, muddy water to get under a wall built over the mud hole.

It sucks. I hate it, and it might be the devil.

It takes me way too long because I have to sit there forever, thinking about Harpers Creek Falls, and trying to convince myself that I’m going to live through it.

At the last race, I got in the water with three other guys who went right under. By the time I could muster myself, they’d crawled out the other side and were long gone.

I decided right then to do what I could to improve my cold shock response before the next race.

I started this week, Monday morning, with the cold shower routine.

I usually like to shower. Not anymore. I find myself dreading it. I’ll put it off until I have to - maybe get another glass of water or take the dog out. Call somebody, send a text message, whatever — anything to avoid climbing the stairs to the bathroom.

And when I do go up the stairs, I go slow.

Get in the shower.

Turn my back to the showerhead.

And then turn it on, full blast, full cold.

And for the next 15 seconds, I feel like I’m going to die. Or at the very least, hyperventilate. It’s so cold I can’t breathe except for short, choppy breaths. It takes every single ounce of my willpower to stay in the water because it literally hurts.

My mind says get out, but I force myself to stay.

It sucks, but I know it’s making me stronger. Just like I know, come November 24 Spartan Race, the water will be much, much colder than I’ve experienced thus far.

Maybe even as cold as Harper’s Creek.

But I’ll be ready.

If my shower doesn’t kill me first.