My phone released it’s first text alert chirp of the day and I caught sight of the incoming message: “It’s raining, are you still going?”
I chuckled to myself as I pecked at the touchscreen. “OF COURSE I am going! What does a little rain matter when one is about to jump in the ocean?” I wrote back.
In the beginning, we often exchanged texts to secure the company of our companions for our morning ocean dips. The prospect of arriving alone at the cold, damp, and often windy beach first thing in the morning was just enough of a deterrent for some of us when it came to plunging our nearly-naked winter-padded bodies into the 9C ocean waters. Fortunately, we have a pretty dedicated crew who, with time, stopped noticing the weather (well, unless it is windy!) and just continue to arrive every morning, trusting that the others will also be there, ready to submerge themselves. Texts are now rarely exchanged. Our morning ocean ritual is almost as guaranteed as a morning religious gathering- it just happens, without question.
Nearly every morning since early March, a small multi-generational group of us meets on the beach and makes our way into the frigid waters off of our fair city of Victoria. Initially, I had pondered starting a morning routine like this last year, inspired by the fact that I live across the street from the Gorge in Vic West and it would be so easy to just hop in before beginning my day. Sadly, I could not get any partakers and I did not want to go alone, so I resigned to continuing with my habit of ending my showers with a minute of cold water. (Note: not remotely the same as submerging in the ocean!)
Late this winter, after our lives were drawn to a screeching halt thanks to COVID, and time seemed to be expanding itself into an infinite sea of formlessness, I noticed I was beginning to flail a bit given the lack of routine. Then a friend let me know that she and her dad had just started getting into the ocean in the mornings, and asked if I would like to join. “What else do I have to do?”, I thought to myself.
The key on that first day, and nearly everyday since, is truly to just show up- don’t think too hard on it. So I gathered myself the next morning, let my son know we were leaving the house early, and off we went! We arrived at the beach below Dallas road to find my friend and her dad ready to strip down, revealing their bare skin to the 10C late-winter air, and my friend’s mom happily bundled up, sitting perched on a log, a grin evident in her eyes, though her mouth was covered by the season’s latest adornment: the COVID mask.
The motivation for each of us to get into the water each morning is different. For me, being a Naturopathic physician, I have, for many years now, been interested in the therapeutics of water. We studied various hydrotherapy techniques when I was in school and I have often recommended certain therapies to patients. Wim Hof, the Dutch fellow many people have heard about lately, is also known as “The Ice Man” because of his record setting times spent in icy waters. Wim Hof and other proponents of alternative (and sometimes extreme) approaches to building and maintaining health have offered that submersion in cold water can help to reduce inflammation, moderate auto-immune disease processes, level out anxiety and depression patterns, soothe the nervous system, improve sleep, and in general support the body’s innate immune system. There is a general dearth of research published in the English language, but this article cites some noteworthy benefits from cold water immersion: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4049052/
In light of the new pandemic, it seemed like a worthwhile way to spend some of our free time, potentially supporting our innate immune system function. It also gave me a reason to get out of the house every morning, which was becoming a rare activity. So, why not jump in the ocean since we have it right here? Little did many of us suspect, the ritual of meeting up every morning, stripping down to our swimsuits, and sauntering into the water would become a beloved tradition as the months wore on.
Initially, most of us got in and out within a couple of minutes. Staying in beyond 2 minutes seemed unthinkable. Then one morning, in the waters off of Willows Beach, I noted to my fellow shivering floaters, that the therapeutic benefits are believed to begin after 3 minutes. We all squawked at the thought as we frantically made our way back to our warm towels on the beach, but figured that “tomorrow, we will try it.” And we did.
Once we decided to stay in for 3 minutes (my friend’s mom timed us), it quickly became 8 minutes, then 12 minutes, and some days 15, or for one woman in her 60’s, close to 30 minutes! You see, once you pass the 3-minute mark, the water begins to feel like silk. Granted, around 3 minutes, many of us noticed the sensation of full body exposure to stinging nettle leaves, but that soon gives way to a delicious, smooth envelopment by the nourishing ocean waters.
My son realized that we were curious to know how long we were staying in, and he found another sneaky way to get his hands on my phone, “So I can time you guys,” he asserted. I allowed him to time us for a handful of sessions, but then I realized that it does not matter to me. This experience, for me, is about slowing down and connecting in with a force of nature that I all too often ignore, even though I live in Victoria, a city that is almost surrounded by water.
The early days of COVID in Victoria were, as in so many other places around the globe, filled with uncertainty, fear, and reflection. As the fear began to wane, the uncertainty and moments of reflection carried on and I started to ask myself what this time could teach me. One of the first realizations I had was that I was absolutely failing myself in the ways I had been previously living my life. Why was I not in the forest more regularly, with all of these amazing parks around town? Furthermore, given that I live on this spectacular chunk of land parked out here in the ocean, why was I not paying her more attention? Why was I not interacting more with the waterways, being that I am someone who withers quickly when she finds herself too far inland? I had been spending years of my time indoors, rushing and stressing about my work or my son’s schedule of school and sports. If this virus gets me, will I say I lived the life my heart wanted me to live in recent years? I asked myself a question similar to this in my late 20’s, and at the time I was actually quite satisfied with the choices I had made and would have felt complete, for that stage of life, to have been let go from this physical body. But now, in my early 40’s, living here in this incredible landscape, with this young child to raise, I knew I had not given either of us a respectable exposure to the majesty that naturally surrounds us everyday.
Getting into the ocean everyday reminds me of the inherent strength and wisdom of my body. It also reminds me of how small I am, yet how I live my life truly matters. The ocean challenges me with her icy waters as I take those first steps in every morning. But she also readily embraces me, and I feel flashes of her magnitude; the seeming infinite nature of water around the world, of which this water in which I float is a part. This is the same Mother Ocean that held me in the Mediterranean, the South Pacific, and the Atlantic in years past. That vast formlessness of the ocean, I have come to understand, is a powerful manifestation of a great feminine energy that balances out the driving and striving of my life as a professional, as a business owner, and a busy parent. I do not have to do anything except just be here, with her, in her, allowing for the mysterious support I am receiving.
One Saturday morning, as big raindrops fell upon the surface of the water, occasionally splashing off of a bulb of bull kelp, I allowed my gaze to soften. My chin was submerged under the water, my eyes almost equal with the glassy surface, and I noticed my awareness expanding, seeing each of the dozens of droplets rapidly exploding the mirror of the water’s surface for a moment, metallic, yet glass-like, reminiscent of drops of mercury. The reflection of the snowy Olympic Mountains was upside down in the droplets that seemed to be falling in slow motion all around me. They would burst, one after another after another, yet it was silent. The silence was within me, and all around. And that was all I needed.
Don’t be mistaken, the subliminal experiences are balanced out by light conversation, the exchange of the latest COVID statistics, or real estate prices; banter about raising children, or the endlessly charming toddler who often comes to the beach by bicycle with his parents and his “Nama.” We have also lately discussed why we come to the ocean. What brings each of us out of our homes every morning, especially when the winds are howling or the rain is heavy? Our most constant participant, my friend’s father, who welcomed his 70th birthday with us on Willows Beach one morning this winter, has noted it has brought to his life “Purpose, routine, and friendly socializing.” He finds it “invigorating, energizing; a perfect prelude to yoga.” And he connects with tides and appreciates the natural beauty. Further, he relates to weather in more intimate way, feeling gratitude for the beauty of Victoria.
Others have noted it brings them joy, a sense of ease throughout the day, and somehow a reassurance that everything will be okay. For me, it has become a focal point of my days and weeks. When a friend asked me about the nature of the week that lay ahead of me I said “I don’t really know, all I care about is making sure I get into the ocean.” Sure, my skin feels softer, and my allergies were not as bad this year, and I even had improvement in a health condition the specialist told me would never improve, and I appreciate all of those benefits. But truly, for me, the ocean has reminded me to receive the gifts of the life I have been so lucky to live here on Vancouver Island. It urges me to slow down. I feel more satisfied with how I am spending my time and as I move increasingly toward creating a high quality of life, rather than striving for quantities of various “wants” in life. The ocean fulfills me in a way that is beyond measure, and truly requires no words. As the old purple book by Ram Dass taught me, the ocean reminds me to “Be Here Now”.
(Photo Credit: Luba Lyons)
