PROVINCETOWN — We don’t quite remember how it started. There was surely a need for physical catharsis after a winter spent too much indoors, and perhaps we had notions of absolution, or at least transcendence. Whatever drove us there, we found ourselves at the edge of the ocean at an early hour for the first time at the beginning of March, stripped on the beach, and submerged ourselves.
And transcend we did.
As colleagues and now friends, we two reporters were bonded by wintry days in the newsroom with the sea surging outside our office’s back door. Sophie wanted to stand up to the water that seemed to taunt her. Or maybe just to see if she could improve the circulation in her always-cold extremities. Aden was inspired by two older women who told her the secret power of this same ritual. She had another lofty ambition: to conquer her fear of sharks; a go-round on the now-retired animatronic Jaws ride at Universal Studios had left a deep psychological mark on her.
At first our plunges seemed blissfully numbing. The heat of adrenaline met the icy water in a way that seemed to neutralize all sensation, though we found ourselves screaming into our towels. The screams added a fortifying layer to the novelty: if we could strip and dip and scream before we had even had a cup of coffee, we could conquer all that the day might have in store (after the necessary combination of a fluffy towel, a puffy coat, a cranked heater, and a visit to one of two open coffee shops in town).
In those early weeks, the post-dip coffee was not just a ritual. It was also medically necessary to avoid hypothermia and to calm the deep shivers that wracked the bodies we had submitted to the salt and siren call of Herring Cove.
Once, on a post-plunge coffee jaunt, a barista told us we must be sisters, or if not, surely cousins, or dating. “You have the same aura,” he said. Whatever that kind sir saw, we, too, became convinced that an elemental force had begun to connect us: an all-encompassing calm that we came to know, strangely, as a source of energy.
Responses from coworkers, friends, and family were mixed. “You wear a wetsuit, don’t you?” they asked. More than a few wondered aloud if we had gone off the deep end. Which was exactly our purpose: to discover what lurked across the boundary of the comfortable.
We know we were not alone in this pursuit. Plunges are apparently popular. “Those who’ve embraced the cold water craze,” according to NPR, “frequently describe powerful, even transformative effects on their state of mind and sense of well-being.” A week into our routine, Sophie received a meme from her mother. In it, a man in sunglasses holds a cardboard sign with a scrawled message: “You Can Cold Plunge Without Telling Everyone.”
We told everyone we know. And so, a hearty shout-out to Sam, Mimi, Emma, Niamh, Jack, other Sam, Tinja, Sasha, and others who cheered us on and sometimes dipped. One guest star’s appearance truly humbled us: Mimi Bois, born and bred in Provincetown, lolled about in the freezing tide, being filmed for a clip in a video she submitted as a college assignment. She easily beat our sub-10-seconds-in-the-water-time record without so much as a grimace.
The immediate aftermath of a plunge wasn’t always pleasant. Sand grains flying in the wind stung our frozen flesh. Most painful were our purpling toes and the prickling soles of our feet as we clambered over shells and shards back up to the parking lot. Still there was for both of us a sense of existential clarity that came with overcoming these early morning discomforts.
The first day we lingered long enough to crest over the icy waves was March 30. Now, with the steadily warming weather, the appeal of the dips has gradually subsided. Eyebrows arch less at the mention of a plunge. Our dawn dips have begun to feel more like a luxury than a challenge.
We’re still swimming, but we’ve let go of the ritual — or maybe the ritual has let go of us. We’re still buoyed by a heady newfound resilience and want to claim that connection to the lineage of early-morning ocean dippers who return to the bosom of the Atlantic day in and day out all year round. But maybe the plunge is a winter sport for us. Sophie’s bike calls out to her. A new beach in Truro lures Aden.
And there are the ponds to consider. “What about the leeches?” Sophie wants to know. We’ll have a cup of coffee and think about that.
