This is another coinky-dink topic, Maddie. Two of my coworkers have purchased cold plunge tubs. One regularly freezes all day. LOL. I think it's good to go beyond our comfort zones, and experience those growing pains. Typically, there's a sense of joy beneath them because we are doing what we really want or need. I don't know about getting used to continued discomfort, because it's telling us something is wrong. High heels, for example (breeders of bunions). Bad jobs or an unhealthy relationship. So, YES, absolutely we need to stretch ourselves. Just like a forward fold, we'll feel the ache and relief. Or, like a cold plunge, our breath will catch with shock and excitement. If it doesn't feel good underneath, listen. I had to do that with my attempt at running. It felt really good. My second effort was even better. I ran longer, wanted to run more, and was proud at how quickly I was adapting. Then I took the stairs down to the parking lot and felt both my knees crunch with each step. Then I saw one of my Instagram faves, a physical therapist who's now a marathoner, showing herself putting arthritis cream on her knees and pounding her thighs with a massage gun. That almost had a flashing sign of NOPE over it for me. So, I'll stick with my fast-paced urban hikes that don't hurt. I heard my body. Yes, I could've pushed, but I want to still be walking fast in my 70s and beyond. I have to realize I'm not a runner...no matter how much I'd love to be. There's a discomfort for me I don't want to adapt to. But I remain an admirer of those who have and do. xo
Such an important point, Sandra—making the distinction between the kinds of discomfort that indicate we're growing or making progress, and those that indicate that something in us is being diminished. Learning how to tell the difference is a critical life skill, because as your story with running indicates, things can turn from additive to subtractive pretty quickly.
My boyfriend is loving all the cold plunge love in the comments section, FWIW. 😂
LOL. That's fantastic. If he needs a rec on a tub, let me know and I'll get the info from my coworker (it stays chilled and has a filter). You rule, Maddie. xo
Hello Maddie. Love the story! Your boyfriend found the silver bullet in staying in longer. I live on Vancouver Island and do a cold dip 3-4 times a week. It's easier in the summer :) My neighbour goes with a friend every morning. We call them the Dolly Dippers. Looking forward to reading more. I'm much older than you, but my five-year plan exploded two years ago. So, I feel you on that front.
Even though I'm pretty sure I'll never cold-dunk myself, it's *so* fun to hear about all the local communities that tackle this challenge together (Dolly Dippers! I love it!). And gazing at the gorgeous Vancouver Island scenery eases the shivering reflex a little bit, I'd imagine 😍
I'm so sorry to hear about your own five-year-plan-in-flames experience...although IMHO, the thing that makes it easier to deal with is knowing that we're not alone. So: solidarity!
I hate the cold so I wouldn't do this literally, but figuratively-speaking, I can definitely relate. I am still in the teeth-chattering phase of my decision. Hopefully over time I'll acclimate and come to enjoy it.
Although I’m only a few months ahead of you on the self-employment journey, my hope is that we both adapt to the discomfort so well that we never have to go back! (Unless we decide that we *want* to, of course. 🤗)
My figurative plunge began eight years ago when an odd perception of movement replaced stillness. I fought it for years (you’ll read about that terror and fight later in my memoir.) But eventually, I learned that resisting the constant motion was subtly (but effectively) telling my brain that I was in danger, which only made symptoms persist. So eight years later am I still dizzy? Yes. But I’ve adapted. I stepped into the cold discomfort and said “Ok. Let’s do this.” It’s quite remarkable how differently our mind/body responds when we lean in and allow, even when that “something” at first seems ludicrous.
Thank you for such a thought-provoking essay and inquiry. I also appreciate that you found your own way to glean insight from the plunges without the goosebumps and trembling jaw!
So counterintuitive, that you had to stop resisting the source of discomfort in order to calm your body’s reaction. But that advice would be just as applicable to a whole host of other “plunges” that we don’t have control over. I so appreciate you sharing this part of your story—and the resulting wisdom. (Plus, your last line made me laugh!)
You’re so right. And let’s just be clear, it didn’t happen overnight! (And I still struggle with it.) There’s nothing natural about relaxing into pain and discomfort but it’s paradoxically become very freeing to let go into it.
This is another coinky-dink topic, Maddie. Two of my coworkers have purchased cold plunge tubs. One regularly freezes all day. LOL. I think it's good to go beyond our comfort zones, and experience those growing pains. Typically, there's a sense of joy beneath them because we are doing what we really want or need. I don't know about getting used to continued discomfort, because it's telling us something is wrong. High heels, for example (breeders of bunions). Bad jobs or an unhealthy relationship. So, YES, absolutely we need to stretch ourselves. Just like a forward fold, we'll feel the ache and relief. Or, like a cold plunge, our breath will catch with shock and excitement. If it doesn't feel good underneath, listen. I had to do that with my attempt at running. It felt really good. My second effort was even better. I ran longer, wanted to run more, and was proud at how quickly I was adapting. Then I took the stairs down to the parking lot and felt both my knees crunch with each step. Then I saw one of my Instagram faves, a physical therapist who's now a marathoner, showing herself putting arthritis cream on her knees and pounding her thighs with a massage gun. That almost had a flashing sign of NOPE over it for me. So, I'll stick with my fast-paced urban hikes that don't hurt. I heard my body. Yes, I could've pushed, but I want to still be walking fast in my 70s and beyond. I have to realize I'm not a runner...no matter how much I'd love to be. There's a discomfort for me I don't want to adapt to. But I remain an admirer of those who have and do. xo
Such an important point, Sandra—making the distinction between the kinds of discomfort that indicate we're growing or making progress, and those that indicate that something in us is being diminished. Learning how to tell the difference is a critical life skill, because as your story with running indicates, things can turn from additive to subtractive pretty quickly.
My boyfriend is loving all the cold plunge love in the comments section, FWIW. 😂
LOL. That's fantastic. If he needs a rec on a tub, let me know and I'll get the info from my coworker (it stays chilled and has a filter). You rule, Maddie. xo
I feel like a backyard tub will mean scaring the neighbors with wounded-animal noises, but I’ll absolutely let you know if he needs a rec 🙈
Hell yes!!! This is so so great, of course we all want more writing from you. Lots more awesomeness please 💕💗💖
Well, okay—if you insist! 😜 But seriously, you're incredibly kind. Thank you so much for the supportive note!
I do insist absolutely! You’re welcome ☺️
Hello Maddie. Love the story! Your boyfriend found the silver bullet in staying in longer. I live on Vancouver Island and do a cold dip 3-4 times a week. It's easier in the summer :) My neighbour goes with a friend every morning. We call them the Dolly Dippers. Looking forward to reading more. I'm much older than you, but my five-year plan exploded two years ago. So, I feel you on that front.
Even though I'm pretty sure I'll never cold-dunk myself, it's *so* fun to hear about all the local communities that tackle this challenge together (Dolly Dippers! I love it!). And gazing at the gorgeous Vancouver Island scenery eases the shivering reflex a little bit, I'd imagine 😍
I'm so sorry to hear about your own five-year-plan-in-flames experience...although IMHO, the thing that makes it easier to deal with is knowing that we're not alone. So: solidarity!
I hate the cold so I wouldn't do this literally, but figuratively-speaking, I can definitely relate. I am still in the teeth-chattering phase of my decision. Hopefully over time I'll acclimate and come to enjoy it.
Although I’m only a few months ahead of you on the self-employment journey, my hope is that we both adapt to the discomfort so well that we never have to go back! (Unless we decide that we *want* to, of course. 🤗)
My figurative plunge began eight years ago when an odd perception of movement replaced stillness. I fought it for years (you’ll read about that terror and fight later in my memoir.) But eventually, I learned that resisting the constant motion was subtly (but effectively) telling my brain that I was in danger, which only made symptoms persist. So eight years later am I still dizzy? Yes. But I’ve adapted. I stepped into the cold discomfort and said “Ok. Let’s do this.” It’s quite remarkable how differently our mind/body responds when we lean in and allow, even when that “something” at first seems ludicrous.
Thank you for such a thought-provoking essay and inquiry. I also appreciate that you found your own way to glean insight from the plunges without the goosebumps and trembling jaw!
So counterintuitive, that you had to stop resisting the source of discomfort in order to calm your body’s reaction. But that advice would be just as applicable to a whole host of other “plunges” that we don’t have control over. I so appreciate you sharing this part of your story—and the resulting wisdom. (Plus, your last line made me laugh!)
You’re so right. And let’s just be clear, it didn’t happen overnight! (And I still struggle with it.) There’s nothing natural about relaxing into pain and discomfort but it’s paradoxically become very freeing to let go into it.