This idea of soaking in an ice bath, of taking a Polar Plunge, of standing in a cold shower for as long as you can stand it has me obsessed. I read every book I can find on Wim Hof, a fascinating man who believed we all ought to be naked and freezing to enjoy our best health (yes, I’m condensing rather brutally and with a touch of snark). Outwardly, I let the obsession go, inwardly, I’m trying to convince myself to take a cold shower.

It comes up again when Brandon Carter writes a blog about cold showers, a blog I can’t find now but that may still exist in the internet ether. And because I’m a great believer in the Universe putting before you what you need, I pay attention. Clearly, there’s something to this cold shower thing I’m supposed to be tuning in to.

When I begin my new exercise routine of using an elliptical every day for thirty minutes, I come off the machine bright red in the face, soaked in sweat, and so hot. All the hormones of a forty-four year old woman who’s done nothing but sit in front of a computer and type for four months are clashing inside me and producing some alarming results.

I’ll never stop sweating, I imagine, and it becomes the perfect opportunity to take a cold shower. I start the water at a lukewarm temp that will actually entice me in rather than keep me out. I slowly turn the knob cooler as I finish washing hair, then a touch cooler as I finish soaping up, a touch cooler for a final rinse.

It’s not an ice bath, it’s not Wim Hof in my shower, but I’m getting there. And it’s not as horrific as I’d imagined, although I am still waiting for all those fabulous health benefits to become obvious.