14 August 2012

Cold Water. I'm not a fan.

This is ridiculous.
Growing up in the barren desert wasteland that is Arizona, one thing I didn't have to endure is cold water.  Trips to the lake for water skiing rarely required a wetsuit.  Most of the time the water was plenty warm.  I'm a fan of the warm water off southern Florida.  Suffice to say, I'm no fan of cold showers.

One of the blogs I follow, the Blog of Impossible Things, recently espoused the benefits of cold shower therapy.  It seemed to work for Joel, the author.  I, however, am not ready to give this a shot.  I blame the waters off the coast of Oregon for my reticence to embrace that therapy or to enter any of the inane 'Polar Bear Plunge' contests that come around annually.

Why Oregon?  This all went down a few months prior to leaving on my mission. My mission to Florida.  South Florida.  At that time, I was dating a girl from Oregon.  FYI - it was still three years before I would meet the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML.  She invited me up to Oregon and off I went.  During that trip we went out to Seaside, Oregon for a few days.  Wanting to make a good impression on her family, in spite of the dismal weather (I should point out that it was June, so it was summer), I vowed to show off my aquatic skills.  I wasn't much of an athlete in high school and college, but I was good in the water.  This decision would prove disastrous.

It was still four years before the horror story that was Baywatch would premiere and unleash the 'Hoff on an unsuspecting America.  I didn't know it at the time, but I totally channeled the 'Hoff that day.  With the family watching, I ran from the cottage towards the water.  My scrawny chest, which may have been covered in a grand total of four hairs at the time, was puffed out with pride as I ran towards the water.  For whatever reason, I had the good sense to not plunge in headfirst. I did, however, run into what turned out to be the heinously cold water up to my waist.  At that moment, my life flashed before my eyes.  I was as good as dead since it was so cold it took my breath away.  In a nanosecond, a scream came out of me from at a pitch I'd never heard.  Frankly, I think only dogs heard it at first it was so high.  I turned and essentially ran out of the water without ever touching the ground.  I was back at the cottage, wishing for the sweet relief of death.  I was greeted by gales of laughter and the knowledge that would be my only polar bear plunge ever.

So, yeah, I'm not down with cold water.  Like I said, I'm not a fan.