When I was young, Wim Hof didn’t yet have the method, just the madness. In 2000, the year he swam 188.6 feet under the ice – his corneas freezing and a rescue diver pulling him out – I was waiting for a growth spurt I’d been promised by a loose-lipped pediatrician. I was also killing time. I did so unproductively by finding various ways to frighten myself. Deep, cold water made the list. Like many kids in Maine, I had access to a beater of a boat, which meant my friends and I also had access to open water.
We dared each other to jump in. Everyone did.
I think about what happened next every morning I walk out onto my roof in Brooklyn and slide slowly into my Cold Plunge, which marinates stubbornly at 45 degrees, even in summer as the roof sealant starts to ooze. It’s a sharp thrill, a neurological jolt followed by a deep full-bodied cramp, followed by adrenaline and a shot of awareness that tastes as clean as a cocktail – cerebrospinal fluid served on the rocks. I remember being a kid and almost shooting out of the water, scared of sharks that wouldn’t manage to make it that far north for another two decades. But you can master yourself.
Daring and discipline aren’t the same, but they crew the same ship.
The big question when it comes to the Cold Plunge, a well-made mini-pool that comes with a chiller and a set of instructions spiritually adjacent to a hot plate user manual, is whether it’s just a feeling. Does hopping in cold water and stressing the body (while engaging in controlled breathing) build immunity or lower inflammation? That’s the theory. That’s the so-called Wim Hof Method. There’s some scientific evidence to support it, but it has far more anecdotal support.
Cold Plunge
There are legions of cold plungers at this point. This chattering class is big enough to capsize a glacier or alienate a pod of porpoise with their enthusiastic evangelism A cursory search on TikTok, where the practice has become a bona fide trend, shows 1.4 billion views associated with the term “cold plunge.”
I’m not a true believer in Wim Hof or, to be fully honest, a true skeptic. I sit between ambivalent and agnostic. What I really am is nostalgic and also keenly aware that my old rise-and-grind routine with the coffee maker wasn’t working. If coffee doesn’t make me an asshole, it certainly reveals the asshole within.
The Cold Plunge is, considered closely, a reverse coffee. It’s a cold cup into which I pour myself — with results that are far more profound. Every morning I dare myself – memories of the transom of a Boston Whaler buoy to the surface – and then I do the thing. I emerge panting from the pain and the shock of it, but feeling in control of myself. Am I stronger or healthier for it? Hard to say in the absence of a control group, but I believe that I derive a psychological benefit from frightening myself. And, yes, the cold is frightening even when contained. The body isn’t built to trust.
The product itself, the slick Cold Plunge tub, feels like something of a totem. A Cold Plunge is a sure sign that you’re about to have a conversation about the benefits of psychedelics or Burning Man. I’ve never been to Burning Man (people who grew up on beaches distrust the desert.) But I don’t mind being mistaken for a bit of a searcher. I don’t believe in alternative medicine, but I do believe in trying stuff. And the Cold Plunge has been a positive trend for me, personally.
Will it work for everyone? No. Is it expensive? Absolutely, though not profoundly given the equipment involved. Am I convinced that it will make me live a longer, fuller life? Nah, but I still recommend it to friends for whom the cost won’t be prohibitive. It makes the morning more interesting and one dare naturally leads to the next.