ICE CAPADES

You Have to Think About the Swim Back

I’m not Wim Hoff

If you come to our beach and see people wandering around in wetsuits, saying the word, “crisp,” it’s because if you can’t crisp, you might have hypothermia.

Wim Hoff is a Dutch extreme athlete and motivational speaker, famous for withstanding insanely cold temperatures. He’s crazy but amazing. Can you be one without the other?

His nickname is The Iceman — not to be mistaken with Val Kilmer in Top Gun.

Wim Hoff used to fall asleep in snow piles when he was a child. He was drawn to the cold. He holds records for swimming under ice and walking upon it.

I am not Wim Hoff.

I forget that. I am a staunch advocate of mind over matter. Every time I say “mind over matter” to my son, he looks at me like he wants to punch me in the face.

Maybe if I learned to punch myself in the face, I’d learn I’m no Wim Hoff.

Hopefully, I learned that today. There is a man named Steve, who I swim with who’s got his eye on me. He thinks I’m going to do something stupid because I push myself too hard. He is correct.

This morning, because I was wearing a wetsuit, I thought I would be fine swimming with the hardcore crazies. The water temperature had dropped four degrees since yesterday.

That’s not a lot on land, but in water, it’s the difference between drinking a hot cup of coffee and eating a snowcone.

Four hours later I am still cold. I am writing this from under my blanket. I am currently drinking hot lemon water in an effort to thaw. Part of me wonders if I am still out there now, hallucinating I made it home.

The crazies, which I say with love and admiration, told me the water was warmer if you got past the wall. Because an acorn replaced my brain this morning, I swam past the wall.

Bad choice.

In Gattaca, Ethan Hawke, playing Vincent, can swim exhausted into a storm — then say to his brother, “This is how I did it, Anton. I never saved anything for the swim back.”

I am not in a movie. I have to think about the swim back. If I don't think about the swim back, I may not make it back. So, when I found myself freezing past the wall, I was pissed at myself.

I am not Ethan Hawke. I am not Wim Hoff. I am not even Val Kilmer.

I felt panic climb through my wetsuit and into my throat.

“It happens to everyone,” our swim leader told me a couple of weeks before — she was too far ahead now to assure me at that moment.

“When panic happens,” she said, “catch your breath, breathe slowly. Then get back to shore as quickly as you can.”

Having those words in my head was an arsenal of wisdom. I breathed slowly. It was challenging. When you’re that cold, you feel close to hyperventilating.

I turned onto my back and swam backstroke. I rolled onto my belly and swam breaststroke. It didn’t help that it was even colder out of the water. Had there been lawns or sand on shore, not rocks, I would have swum there — the only route was the beach I came from.

It was the longest ten minutes of my life, but I learned something. Don’t mess around with cold water. If I insist on getting into the freezing water, I need to stay close to shore.

It is only two degrees warmer past the wall. Is that two degrees worth my life? Tomorrow I am replacing the acorn in my head with a brain. Then, I’m heading for the pool.

Wouldn’t you rather be contemplating? Follow Amy Sea and Contemplate