Lisa
Love at first dip
This fall I was in a very low spot having exploded my life by deciding to end a 27 year marriage which lasted half my life. Although I was the one to initiate it, and we have done it in as kind a way as possible, it still exploded our life and a part of me has died. The part that worked so hard on having a good, loving marriage. I had photos all around the house of Teddy (my former husband) and me. Photos of good times, to remind me why I was committed—why I spent hours and days and weeks and workshops and psychedelic journeys trying to aspire towards that intimate partnership I so longed for-- the partnership I knew I deserved, even though years ago I covered over a part of myself with dirt that then got covered in water that then dried in to a vast field of dry, cracked mud.
AS part of my journey I joined a zoom women’s group that has since imploded (for good reason). But one of the happy outcomes of the group was that Courtney, a new friend from the group, mentioned that there was something she was doing that I might enjoy--cold plunging in San Francisco Bay
Now- here was my most recent relationship to cold water--I loved being near it, I loved being on it, but I hated going in it. It would take every ounce of hutzpa to get in the water. It was a dialog I would have with myself every time I even got to the edge of a swimming pool, before jumping in. And certainly the conversation I would have before going in the ocean.
Regarding this new “thing”- cold plunging (as I call it)- . I had also heard of a friend-of-a-friend named Hilah (who I didn’t know that well), refer to this as being a spiritual experience for her. Now that got my attention.
October 23, I went down to Schoonmaker Beach in Sausalito, one of my happy places with a cute little beach and fantastic French restaurant called Le Garage nearby. Courtney did a great job of prepping me with everything I would need—a warm hat, two towels, a warm drink and warm water to wash off my feet—things I still do to this day.
It was love at first dip…..
It was the moment that I realized that “I can do hard things”. Sounds trite, but it was utterly true for me. I joined their Whats App group and was on my way.
These women were beautiful, kind, loving, and welcoming; holding hands as they went in the water. They accepted everyone into their circle, even a few brave men.
Our little beach got “condemned” towards the end of October, the last week of the year that they tested the water. There was that, but there was also the fact that neighbors (those lucky enough to live on boats in the Marina) were complaining of noise to the Harbormaster. A group of bad ass women meeting every morning to plunge at 7AM was not going to be quiet. So the group scrambled on Whats App to find an alternative spot to plunge. There was Crissy Field, where there was already an established group, but we didn’t want to cross the bridge. Someone suggested Horseshoe Cove near Cavallo Point. And there it was, unfolding in real time, just as it should. The group plunged at Horseshoe during the week, and Schoonmaker on the weekends. I plunged throughout the fall and winter. I loved getting in my car, in the dark, heading South on 101, never sure what the weather would hold. It was exquisite arriving at the beach to greet the sun as it rose over San Francisco and then the Bay Bridge as it moved East. Winter turned to spring and the sun was up before we got to the beach.
People started wearing sunglasses and baseball caps, but still there was this energy that is actually quite ineffable. I keep coming back. I have never had such a good time at 7 in the morning and it will be a part of me for the rest of my life. I am there, in the water. The story is there, in the water, waiting to be re-discovered.
I am alive, thanks to the water. And I thank myself for leaning into hard things where I found love on the other side.