I hate cold water and other reasons why I run into the sea

the case for starting the month with a hard thing

Day 1 x Hard Things: April Fools edition

Every first of the month, I run into the San Francisco bay at sunrise, shouting my intention for the month. Alongside me, 30+ others yell intentions of their own as we hit the cold water.

Our declarations fill the air like a symphony of hopes, dreams, and fears — all coalescing into one. As our bodies temporarily enter panic response, pleading for us to head back towards dry land, our shouts grow louder.

Too late.

You’re committed.

Get ready.

Time for the hardest part.

Drawing a deep breath, I let out one final yell before diving headfirst into the bay.

Fuuuuuck, it’s cold.

But with that, the worst is over.

As I emerge back to the surface, I’m met by laughter and waves of euphoria.

There’s something profound that happens in the moments between running into the water and surrendering to the waves.

We touch:

all within the span of 60 seconds.

As we traverse to our furthest edges and push ourselves off the ledge, it’s in the free fall that we come face to face with just how deep our reservoir of resilience is.

In the moments our minds and bodies are put to the test, we’re forced to tap our reserves, unearthing the realization that we’re far stronger than we realize.

Our resilience is like a rubber band. By stretching it to its limit — and then some — we expand our tolerance and create new reference points for what’s possible.

Expansion is found in the throes of discomfort. There is no change without discomfort. Change, by definition, is a shift from one state to another.

What a privilege it is to use running into the bay as a low stakes way to systematically cultivate our strength and prepare ourselves for the times when we have no option but to sit in the depths of cold water.

the only way through is through

Cold plunges have become a meme these days.

Physiologically, there are many, many benefits to cold water immersion: it improves mental clarity, revs up energy levels, and builds brown fat (a type of body fat that improves our metabolism).

What doesn’t get talked about is the experience as an act of cultivating self-trust.

It serves as an embodied way to remind ourselves that regardless of how hard and how uncomfortable it gets, we won’t abandon ourself. We’ll see it through to the other end. We will survive.

Generally, two thoughts run through my mind in the first 60 seconds of a cold plunge.

What the hell am I doing?

Everything is okay.

The act of getting in the water is painful as hell, but as I send my breath to the places in my body that feel bone cold, my body begins to relax.

It reminds me of the terror I feel right before I hit publish on an essay that feels a little too vulnerable to share but deserves to see the light of day. Or the apprehension as I click send on an important email. Or the tension as I kick off an event in a room filled with people. Or the anticipation I feel lining up at the starting line of a race. Or the hesitation I feel right before starting a hard conversation with a friend.

The buildup of deep discomfort, crescendoing as I peer over the cliff, is met with a flurry of new emotions as I take the leap. It never feels easy, but with enough reps, the dive headfirst no longer paralyzes me.

With each plunge, my capacity expands and I’m reminded of what I’m capable of in and out of the water. If I can withstand this, I can withstand just about anything.

some other reasons I run into cold water

hard things with good people

At the core of this monthly adventure is community. If it weren’t for the electric energy I’m greeted with every first — nerves and all as we prepare to run in the ocean — I’m not sure that we would’ve continued hosting this plunge.

When I think about my peak life moments…Every single memory is associated with doing a hard thing — something I didn't think would be possible for me to accomplish — with people I admire and respect.

Four of my favorite physical feats:

• Hiking Half Dome in Yosemite: hiking 15+ miles with a childhood best friend

• Running the Boston Marathon: running 26.2 miles through the city I loved with a community of runners representing the Martin Richard Foundation

• Riding Tioga Pass: cycling 60+ miles gaining ~5000ft in elevation with my now husband and our best friends

• Cold plunging at Grinnell Glacier: running into a nearly freezing glacial lake with my old colleagues

— Hard things, good people

growing up in Peter Pan land

Early on in my time in San Francisco, I noticed how time here seemed to blur together. What makes San Francisco desirable — the mild weather year around — is also what gives the people who live here a warped sense of reality.

The nature of commitment here is looser. It’s often hard to get people to commit to things in advance. I suspect part of this is the lack of natural mile markers for how much time has passed in between the last time you've seen someone.

On the east coast, seasons create a sense of time scarcity. Each summer brings 12 solid weekends and by April, most of your summer is booked up.

In a city where it's hard to distinguish the months from the seasons, it's easy to slip into the mentality that there will always be time. After all, time seems to be suspended in the balance.

The plunge serves as an anchor point to mark the passage of time: a monthly reminder that time is passing and to savor every moment of it. Just because the leaves aren't changing and snow isn't falling doesn't mean that the world isn't spinning around us.

It reminds us that it’s all fleeting and that it’s been a month since we set our last intention. It’s time to start anew.

granting fresh starts

After our first plunge on January 1st in 2023, we were filled with optimism and hope for the new year. We wondered why do we reserve this feeling for just the first of the year? What if we could tap into this energy at the start of every month?

Rather than wait a full year to revisit our intentions, we show up every month to recommit ourselves to the things we care about and vow to not let our days pass us by.

Over the last 15 months, we’ve embarked on 15 fresh starts. We’ve had hard months and extraordinary months. We’ve had unforgettable months and unremarkable months.

The secret is: no matter how our last 30 days unfolded, we wake up, we show up, and we plunge as the sun rises over the horizon, ushering in a new month.

it comes and goes in waves

And despite all of this, some months, I still wake up on the first wanting nothing more than to stay nestled under the warmth of my blankets. If it weren’t for the fact that I co-host this event, I think I would have opted to start out the month as if it were just any ordinary day.

And yet, I’ve never left the ocean feeling like it wasn’t exactly where I needed to be that morning.

I still hate cold water, but it's hard to imagine a life where I don't run towards it for as long as I possibly can. Returning to the sea every month and bracing for the discomfort of cold water washing over me has become one of my favorite rituals and lucky for me, people continue to show up and join me month after month.

If you're based in San Francisco and hate cold water, join us next month!

Thanks for reading :)

How do you stretch yourself to your limits? Let me know in the comments or say hi on Twitter — I’d love to hear from you.

If you enjoyed this essay, you may also like:

Year of doing the damn thing

Hard things, good people

Thanks to Ryan for reading drafts of this essay & co-hosting plunges with me and to the community that continues to make the first of every month an absolute joy.