Pelicans arrived around the time we entered the water and they didn’t just fly past—as they often do. They came to hover above us ready to fish for their lunch. Some dived in full speed head first and burst into the water like an explosion, making their catch.

I stopped swimming, took off my goggles, flipped on my back, and just watched the wildlife galore from my front-row seat on the water.

A moment later I noticed a group of pelicans floating nearby swaying on the waves; I swam towards them. They soon lifted off all at once and flew away right above my head. I watched their effortless flight, spreading their wings wide. What a majestic bird!

The show concluded.

It was time for us to swim back. I had a big grin on my face but my body was trembling with cold as I overstayed my time in the water. It was, however, worth all the shivers.

Swimming, the gift that keeps giving.

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I used to be the most accomplished procrastinator on the planet! Even today, I occasionally go down that path. I marvel at the profound qualities and depth of procrastination expertise I have acquired over the years by focusing on what doesn't matter while everything else - worth doing - stands still.

I see procrastination as a defense mechanism to avoid discomfort as a result of not properly seeing the reward that waits at the end. We perceive discomfort as a whale and the reward as plankton – instead of the other way around.

Any discomfort is an obstacle to our pleasure-seeking nature and there is a lot of discomfort to be found in cold water. It’s a significant struggle to earn just a little bit of joy—or as my swim buddy Robin validates, "The 20% of the ordeal is very wonderful." No reward is earned free of struggle, because what really matters doesn't come with ease.

The most challenging moment of every swim is entering the water, especially now in wintertime when the body screams profanities the moment it touches the chilly water's edge. The anticipation of the cold can be just as discouraging as the sensation itself. As you can imagine, the desire to postpone that torture is constant.

In the past, I relied on motivation to swim in the cold. It was easy, since it was a new adventure. I didn't know exactly what to expect and was looking forward to each new surprise. Now, after enough repetitions I know with reasonable certainty what awaits and how my body responds to the initial discomfort.

To rely on motivation to push through hesitance is problematic because motivation cannot be sustained in the long run. It lacks consistency. It vanishes the moment we have a bad day, are tired, or simply don't feel like it.

We procrastinate in patterns. Skipping a swim might not seem consequential, but there are other things we might skip with the same ease that are more meaningful. Learning to handle procrastination with lower priority items trains us to better handle the things that matter the most.

If we train to be just a little uncomfortable on a daily basis—through small tasks—our tolerance for discomfort in other areas of our lives improves significantly.

I can’t think of a better way to train than submerging into cold water. I do it every single day.

I believe that our ability to overcome procrastination lies in our strength to overcome the discomfort of getting started. All we need is two minutes of effort to push us through that roadblock.

The most reliable tool I have found to combat procrastination is commitment. It is stronger than motivation as it doesn't care how we feel on any given day. Once we commit, we shift our focus from motivation to accountability. Our perspective changes so there is no need for bargaining anymore. We just go and get it done.

We learn to understand there is a whale of a reward awaiting and we will see it the moment we pass the 2 minutes of necessary plankton.

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He brought some gifts along—the Tides & Currents booklet—to help us read the ocean and plan for future swims.

The past year wasn’t much of a giver, so I turn to any silver lining to find a ray of light. Through the gift of the Wim Hof Method, I found a new passion, lifestyle and a community of friends for which I am very thankful.

Swimming in the sea was something I didn’t care for at the beginning of the year, but can’t be without by the end of it. What is your silver lining? Please, share in the comments below.

I wish you all Happy Holidays!

And Santa? He loves cookies but don’t bother with milk, his preference is 80-proof.

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The 10 Lessons:

1. Our bodies are capable of a lot more than we think.

5.  The ability to handle the discomfort of cold water spills into other parts of life.

3.  Seals are cute from shore, not when you are in the water with them.

2.  The initial shock when entering cold water doesn’t get any easier with repetition.

4. When invited for ‘a quick swim’ by a veteran swimmer, ask questions first.

3. It is possible to become addicted to something torturous.

6. Doughnuts, cookies, and chocolate are the universal tools to fix any discomfort.

8. Do not let yourself be photographed right after a swim; those photos will haunt you.

9. Seagulls and Cormorants will give you condescending looks when you pass them by in the water; they look down at you even at eye level.

10. No matter how insane of an idea you want to pursue in life, you will always find others willing to join you.

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A few days later when I came back to swim again, the atmosphere on the bleachers felt heavy, absent of the usual chatter and laughs. 

I learned that Ross died. 

I didn’t have a chance to get to know him but being connected to those who did allowed me to feel the sadness his loss brought to the community. 

To honor the memory of Ross, swimmers and friends gathered on the beach for a silent vigil the following Sunday morning. 

Holding flowers in their hands, they stood together on the shore in silence while gazing into the distance. It was a quiet and profoundly sad event drawing the largest gathering I have yet seen at the Aquatic Park.

I couldn’t hold in tears as I stood alongside others scattered on the shore, witnessing the pain that brought everyone together that day.

Folks threw flowers into the water making a rainbow of colors on the edge of the sea, as they entered the ocean for a group swim in the memory of a loved one who will never join them again. 

 I didn’t know Ross, but I felt the irreplaceable void he left behind.

We swim to gain strength and contentment, while building community and making friends to lean on when the inevitable sorrows of life surprise us.

May Ross rest in peace.

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When my alarm went off before 8 A.M. on Thanksgiving morning, my choice seemed to be clear—hit the snooze button and forget about all else.

That, however, is not how the day unfolded.

I dragged myself out of bed and by 8:30 A.M. was already on my way to the Aquatic Park to join other cold-water enthusiasts for the annual Thanksgiving swim. 

“Are you crazy?!” a Lyft driver loudly exclaimed after I answered his question of “Where the hell?” am I going so early on a holiday. He nearly lost control of the wheel as he turned in his seat to glance at this obviously insane person—me—sitting behind him.

When I go for a swim, I am eager to see the water surface since it often foretells the experience I am about to have. It is never the same. That morning, I knew from the first glance that this was not going to be an easy swim.

It was windy and cold. 

The wind felt merciless and the ocean looked quite rough. The only thing that made it all hopeful was the crowd of swimmers—wrapped in their long parkas, savoring the last few moments of warmth—determined to go in. I detected no hesitation. Discomfort? Maybe, but it was overtaken by the enthusiasm of each person who showed up that morning on a holiday.

We are doing this! 

After some initial hesitation, we finally jumped in. The water was 56 F that day and I felt determined to do my usual 20 minutes swim, regardless of the anticipated struggle. Struggle—meaning not just from the weather conditions, but also from maneuvering in a space filled with more swimmers than usual, causing unforeseen traffic.

Finding a rhythm, a flow, and being in a zone while you are in the ocean are some of the most rewarding aspects of swimming. It’s rewarding because it doesn’t always happen in open water—at least not for me. I call those experiences ‘powerful swims”. They allow me to feel my strength and make me aware of my constantly improving ability to not drown—which, in a nutshell, is what swimming really is. 

When I was nearing the 15th minute mark of my swim routine, something unexpected happened. I ended up on a receiving end of a powerful stroke of a determined swimmer who came from behind me, unaware of his surroundings.

I was punched in the face.

It sure caught me off guard, since I do not anticipate the need for self-defense while swimming. I paused while spitting out the water I unavoidably gulped during the crash. Half of my face was buzzing and so were my teeth. I was convinced of the visible damage this clash likely left on my face.

I was glad to get out of the water and rushed up the bleachers to change as fast as I could. I generally have about 1 minute before my afterdrop kicks in and I start to shiver uncontrollably. Having a small torso and little fat insulation are not the best assets for cold emergence and to avoid hypothermia from creeping in. 

The struggle is real after cold exposure. 

Unlike the summertime, when folks stay around to socialize after a swim, the bleachers cleared out fairly quickly. The vision of a hot shower and the warm indoors was a clear priority for everyone that day.

It took a few extra steps to recover from this swim including—hanging onto a hot-water bottle that my friend Robin gave me, a 20-minute hot shower, half a liter of hot tea and then a full day of rest. Luckily, I had no place to be other than in the kitchen cooking delicious meal. 

I earned it.

The group spirit really fueled that challenging Thanksgiving swim. The enthusiasm to share the experience overpowered the fact that this was an ‘awful’ swim—as nicknamed by many of those who participated in it.

Taking on a rough ocean once in a while—whatever that might be for you—is well worth it. It makes the days in which everything falls into place just right, even more precious than they already are.   

Thanksgiving takeaway? Bruises do not form when you are punched in a frozen face.

The perks of cold water swimming…

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I don’t need to freak out over every string of algae wrapping around parts of my body—triggering a heart attack as I mistake it for a tentacle of some creature coming to feast on swimmers at night.

I often rebel against myself until I embrace and pursue the very thing I initially so rigidly rejected. Ridiculous, you suggest? Kind of. Does it work like a charm? You bet! 

Last month, when the water in the bay started to cool, my friend Robin invited me to join the annual nighttime Halloween swim. “Sure!” a sound answer I gave while thoughts of algae strangling me to death flooded my imagination. I was convinced I just signed my life away to sea monsters. 

It was October 31st and a group of about 20 of us gathered on the bleachers to watch the remains of sunset and enjoy some sweet treats to distract ourselves from what was coming. Everyone started to undress, taking off their winter coats and hats while ignoring the obvious—it was cold.  

As the full moon rose, only a couple of street lamps helped guide us as we were about to jump in. 

My inaugural step into the sea was met with resistance, as I tripped over a pile of rocks hiding in the darkness. Not exactly the graceful way I wished to enter the water, but the real horror happened just moments later as I landed right in the middle of a whole swirl of algae. I gasped, acknowledging the frigid water as I dove further from the shore releasing myself from the hands of those slimy strings embracing my body.

I did my best to find the same rhythm and normalcy of my morning swims; it was impossible. It was just too different, too unique and a bit spooky as I couldn't see much.

The ocean was a bit rougher than I liked, but we don’t choose the conditions in open water. We just come in and embrace whatever it has in store for us that day. The ocean doesn’t adjust, we do. Those are the rules. So I kept going. 

As we kept swimming, in-between breaths I briefly checked with my friend Robin and before I knew it, I thumped head-first on into the buoy that served as the halfway marker of our swim route. I felt like an idiot crashing into this bright thing twice my size that—even in the dark—was quite visible.

After that clash, I lost track of Robin and kept swimming back on my own. I saw only a few neon lights ahead of me—light sticks wrapped around the heads of other swimmers. 

Then all of a sudden I felt a bump—a weird stumbling sensation on my legs and belly. It was a bit scary, so I screamed and panicked for a moment as I turned around for the swimmer I was sure I swam over. I looked around but there was nobody there…

I panicked even more, as I realized I was bumped by a seal!

There are many of them in the bay and even though they are cute at distance—popping their heads out of the water during the day—at night it’s a different story. I wasn’t that far from the shore at that point and was ready to get out. The wavy bay and the unknown of the dark waters beneath frightened me all of a sudden. My swim speed on the way back was worthy of a gold medal.

I overcame one of my fears while I made a list of new ones, however the cold sensation of the chilly bay was the least of my concerns that night. 

It was a true Halloween with darkness, spookiness, mystery and a scream.

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It was after 8 A.M. on September 9th, yet it was as dark as the wee hours of the night.  I got out of bed and stood at the fire escape for a moment trying to understand what was happening.  While barefoot and chilled on the cold iron steps, I realized this was going to be a day like no other. The birds were silent—as were the neighbors, still fast asleep, under the hidden sun.

The sky had saturated orange hue, but this wasn’t one of those epic sunrises you have seen in the movies. Sadly, there was nothing romantic about this day. The sky in San Francisco turned orange due to plumes of smoke from historic wildfires burning across California and neighboring states. Millions of acres of land had already burned and the California fire season was only getting started. 

Opening the shades to let some light in didn’t help, so I turned on the lamp. Having breakfast in near darkness felt apocalyptic and I was trying to wrap my mind around the weirdness of a moment that signaled disaster in our environment that was just screaming for air and blocking the sun in protest. I thought of all those affected by the fires and the inferno they must be experiencing. They were living the real apocalypse—for weeks in fact, already—while we were just seeing the side effect. 

I was scheduled for a swim with my friend Robin that day and just received a text from her canceling the outing. I didn’t feel like swimming either but lacked the motivation to do anything else. I wanted to find some anchor on this very disorienting day. Despite the color of the sky, the air quality remained unchanged throughout the day so I decided to go to the Aquatic Park anyway.

When I arrived at the bleachers, only a few folks were there. It was quiet out there; except for an occasional runner or a dog-walker passing by, it was empty and isolated. I was bundled up in a winter jacket since the absence of sun produced some chilly temperatures. This also motivated my decision to leave my bathing suit at home. I thought it was a good idea. I was wrong. 

A few people were about to dive in and I took photos as they made their way into the orange reflections of the bay. I greeted a swimmer who was just coming out of the water—an Australian guy, who is also a “cold water newbie” like myself. The absence of a day didn’t seem to phase him. Such a spectacle, he explained, is apparently far from an anomaly where he comes from. Unmoved, he went about his day as we parted. 

I felt melancholic walking on the shore, watching the birds and seals seemingly as confused as I was. The atmosphere of the Aquatic Park looked foreign and felt stripped of all the warmth and people I so love coming back to. 

And then I ran into Eric, a long time member of the Dolphin Club who was about to dive in for his scheduled swim. Unlike me, he was ready to follow his agenda for the day and the lack of light didn’t seem to stop him. I admired his resilience—regardless of the oddness of the moment, he was determined to dip in. He stretched on the beach and did a few push ups before he disappeared into the water. His determination for a scheduled routine brought a sense of normalcy that I felt was absent on the bleachers that day.

I was thankful to him for the change of mood inspiring a sudden realization:

Being in the water sustains me these days, more than I have ever imagined it would. I swim to center myself and find often-needed stability. That day I was looking for stability while avoiding to swim.

It doesn’t work. 

Note to self: No matter what, don’t leave the bathing suit at home.  

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I am aware it’s a mind game, but it carried me through some hesitations in life—like bungee jumping, martial arts, or eating olives.

It was July 12, two months after I started practicing the Wim Hof Method. At this point my initial 20 painful seconds of cold showers extended to 5 minutes and I was ready to take it to the next level. I was ready to dip one toe or maybe two into the ocean for the very first time.

Was I ready? I wasn’t sure, but there was only one way to find out.

It felt intimidating and I was quite anxious to walk into the cold water of the Bay without a wetsuit. But as it often goes, it never is as bad as the catastrophic scenarios we so vividly paint in our heads.  

I met with a group of Wim Hof Method enthusiasts who gather regularly for a weekly group dip into the Bay. They were encouraging and convinced that I can do it before I even agreed to try. I took a deep breath and followed them into the water. I rushed in up to my waist to minimize the initial shock but to my surprise, there really wasn’t one. It was just fine.

I ended up fully submerging that Sunday afternoon and even swimming for 10 minutes. It was an unexpected accomplishment I couldn’t even imagine that very morning. I felt ecstatic on my way home while still shivering.

It was that day I opened new doors to possibilities I never thought I had. The doors we all have access to, it just takes some of us an extra time to open them. 

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I love saunas, hot steamy baths, radiators blasting any given hour and I indulge in the hottest showers possible that leave my body red like a lobster just pulled out of a boiling pot. Oh how much I love to burn my body like that!

All that however became a history in April when I discovered the Wim Hof Method, a breathing technique combined with cold exposure that claims to strengthen immunity. The author of this Method is Wim Hof, a Dutchman more commonly known as the Iceman, an extreme athlete who holds multiple world records to prove his insanity.

He climbed Mt. Everest and Kilimanjaro wearing only shorts, ran multiple marathons barefoot in the snow, swam 80 meters under thick layers of ice, and he can stay buried neck-deep in ice cubes for over 90 minutes. He found a way to condition his body that allows him to withstand extreme temperatures and he has been successfully teaching his method to others for years while being studied by scientists all around the world.

I had no place to be since the pandemic was raging, so I decided to give the Wim Hof Method a try and stick with it for 30 days. What do I have to lose?

The Wim Hof Method has multiple parts. First goes the breathing and then follows the cold exposure, which is done with cold showers to start with.

The cold shower was the biggest obstacle for me to embrace – physically and mentally, I hate the cold, remember? Regardless, here I was having my hot shower going and about to push the handle towards the cold.. Everything in me was screaming ‘No!’ But eventually I was able to silence that comfort-seeking spoiled little voice of mine and slowly drown it in the cold water. I moved the handle and along with it I moved my mind as well.

I didn’t know at that moment that I was about to change my life. 

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Swimming in the ocean was a long standing item on my never to do list. It’s scratched off now and I have some stories to tell you. I write to inspire. Are you ready?

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In the meantime, tell your friends!