It is a freezing cold morning when I do my first river plunge.

Driving up American Fork Canyon, just outside of Salt Lake City, I take in the landscape and the epic views. The sky is a bright blue, and the tall evergreen trees are dusted white in a layer of snow.

The colors fly by out my window, craggy edges of the mountain peeking through behind them in tones of tan and gray.

This place feels expansive. Alive. There is a calm, grounded energy here that I try to breathe into my nervous body.

I am buzzing with excitement and fear, an eager curiosity pulsing through me as we wind through the canyon. The tires of my friend’s car shudder over the snow on the road and I wonder how long it will be until we get there.

I want to feel ready, but I feel nervous. I’ve done numerous indoor cold plunges in tubs and built-in pools of cold water. But what we’re about to do today—it feels different.

Usually, I sit in the sauna before the plunge, making it a little easier to tolerate the initial shock of the cold. Usually, the air inside is somewhere in the 70s, and the cold plunge tub water is in the low 50s or upper 40s.

And usually I shower after, allowing my body to warm back up and recalibrate. But this time, I’ll be exposed—out in the elements—and in colder water than I’ve ever felt before.

The air outside today is frigid—in the 20s. The water temperature is around freezing and it’s not stationary—it’s burbling downstream, and the constant movement means it will stay colder the entire time. In my mind, I’m calculating. How long will I last in the flowing water? Maybe a minute?

Our car arrives at the river spot and the group disperses. I am fumbling with layers of clothes, trying to decide if I need my socks now or if I should leave them in the car. I grab my robe and towel and shove on my water shoes, feeling a resistance come over me. Am I really doing this?

I plod over to the river and the group that has gathered beside it, pulling my beanie hat down farther over my ears.

Okay, I think. I guess I’m really doing this. I am shivering before I even get undressed.

I peel off my jacket, shirt, and pants, piling them on the blanket someone has laid on the snow.

The couple who are leading this experience walk confidently to the water and stand at the river’s edge. He announces that it’s time to get in. I feel uncertain to my core, waves of fear bubbling up to the surface, but I slide my feet over the snow and down to where they are.

The woman walks in slowly, out to the middle of the stream, and sits down without hesitation. We both smile as she holds her hand out to me, helping me balance and move farther into the water.

“Wow,” I say, feeling the shock of the cold. “I’m just going to sit right next to you… if that’s okay.”

She nods and leans back, allowing the water to cover her torso and chest.

I shiver and squat down.

Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion and fast forward at the same time. I watch as other people in our group enter the river, and before I know it there are fifteen or so other souls around me. A dog runs around near the edge of the water, sniffing and standing its cute paws on a rock, leaning towards us, a welcome surprise that makes me smile and forget for a second how cold I am.

I focus on my breathing, slowing down the exhales.

A man downstream of me starts leading the group through the sound of om, and the deep resonance moves through us. It feels good to make the sound. It feels good to do something instead of just sitting there and feeling the intensity of the cold.

As the seconds tick by, I am resisting it less and less.

The sensation is less painful than I expected, everywhere except in my toes.

I let myself sink into the cold, the freezing water rippling by me, the energy of the unexpected chant and the buzzing energy of the group. The wildness of this place. The clear, piercing simplicity of this moment.

There is a wild sense of freedom here.

Through the cold, it touches me. Moves something in me.

The cold is razor sharp and crystal clean.

The three minutes of our plunge is over before I know it.

I leave the water numb, brave, a stronger version of myself than before. My toes hurt but everything else feels so tremendously alive.

Themes of my cold plunge experiences:
Facing the cold. Facing my fear.
Facing myself.
Doing something new.
Diving deeper.
Staying with the intensity.
Staying with the discomfort.
Staying with myself.
Noticing the edges.
Surrendering.
Seeing what’s possible.
Reminding myself I’m safe.
Stopping when I feel unsafe.
Knowing I can do what’s right for me.
Trusting myself.
Embracing a challenge head-on.
Letting go.
Feeling my own vitality.
Knowing when enough is enough.
Breathing.
Being present.
Celebrating my strength and resilience.
Shaking off the old, letting in the new.
Inviting clarity. Waking up.