endorphins, seriously

This year, once again, we’ve had several weeks of artic weather, and y’all know what that means, right? 

This past weekend, according to the forecast, would be the last deep cold of the season. Saturday was brutal with high winds, but the next day was supposed to be calm. It’d be perfect, I decided. 

Even though I plunged twice last year (first, second), I was still nervous. The night before, I dreamed I was an Olympic swimmer who didn’t know how to turn and push off the wall.

I tried to rally the troops (friends, children, spouse), but everyone demured. Except my older daughter — and Eucefe!

At the start of winter, I’d showed Eucefe pictures of last year’s plunge. When I asked if he’d want to do it with us, he was like, You bet, and I’m gonna stay in for 5 minutes, too!\ Considering he hates cold weather and had never even been on a frozen pond, I figured he was bluffing.

But then Sunday morning, the day of, I checked in with Eucefe to see if he was plunging.

Yeah, he said.

I thought perhaps he wasn’t understanding my English, but he assured me he was gonna do it. Even then, I still wasn’t sure he fully understand what was gonna go down, but hey, if a guy from Mozambique could get in an ice-covered pond, than I could, too! 

One of our friends had marked our plunge spot before we arrived (he and a bunch of friends would be playing on the ice later and wanted to make sure we didn’t mess up their ice), and my husband did the chainsaw honors.

It was a good 10-inches thick! 

My daughter was first.

She warmed herself up with pushups, and then slipped in.

Last year she stayed in for a minute.

This year, a minute thirty. 

Then it was Eucefe’s turn.

In the car, we’d explained the gasp reflex and how it’s important to enter slowly and breathe evenly. Eucefe lowered himself in, and my husband started the stopwatch.

After he’d been in for a few seconds, we gave him the time. “Don’t tell me,” he said.

So we just hung out, watching him.

After a couple minutes, my daughter whispered, “Are you still alive?” He nodded slowly, and grinned. 

At three minutes, my husband and I started giving each other looks. This guy seemed capable of staying in for hours. At what point would he turn into a popsicle? We didn’t want to crush his dreams, but we also wanted him to remain alive.

At four minutes, we told him he should probably get out, and he hoisted himself out like he’d been doing cold plunges in ice-capped ponds his whole life. 

Then, my turn. 

My biggest fear isn’t the cold water — it’s whether or not I’ll be able to pull myself out — so I opted for the rope.

My only goal was to try to stay calm and put my head under.

I did both, though I didn’t feel calm (and in comparison to Eucefe’s stoic performance, I was positively hysterical). 

My kneejerk reaction is to exit the water by hoisting my body up with my arms and then pulling my legs up under me. But that’s super hard on wet ice. So my daughter helpfully instructed me to lean forward onto the ice, and then lift my feet out behind me. PSA to all ice-plunging hopefuls, this is the exiting method of choice. Future, Jennifer, remember this. 

Bonus of exiting on your belly: once you’re out, you can just lay on the ice and bask in the fact that you are no longer about to die (until your daughter tells you you’re gonna stick to the ice if you don’t get up now).

Almost as soon as I was back home, I was wishing I could do it again so I could practice staying calmer, staying in longer, and getting in and out several times in a row to get over my fear of not being able to get out, etc.  

I know it sounds crazy to want to plunge again just minutes after, but hey, endorphins are no joke.

This same time, years previous: doping, the spiced onyx, a new project, what we ate, the quotidian (2.10.20), snake cake, crispy baked hash browns, a horse of her own, a taste, eight, school: the verdict, addictive and relaxing.