95 times in cold water: what I learned about doing hard things

A year and a half ago, my wife started ending her evening showers with cold water. I watched her do it every night. I couldn't even imagine trying it myself. The physical pain seemed unbearable. I could barely keep my foot under the cold stream.

Before pregnancy, she did this ritual religiously. Meanwhile, I stood there thinking about how much it would hurt. Not uncomfortable. Hurt. Real pain that I wasn't willing to face.

Then one summer evening, something flipped. I went to the sauna and decided I was going in the cold plunge pool. No negotiation with myself. Just in. The water was maybe 16 degrees Celsius.

Here's the trick I discovered: I don't allow myself to consider going in waist-deep. If I went waist-deep, I'd stay waist-deep. So I commit to full submersion before my body can protest. I go under even though every signal says no. I just don't care what my body is saying in that moment.

That was visit one. Now I'm past 95 sauna sessions, usually going twice per visit. The water in winter is around 3 degrees Celsius. And something surprising happened.

It still hurts. Or does it? I'm not even sure if that's the right word anymore. The first few times, my brain screamed that I was dying. Now it's just cold. Intensely cold. But not terrifying.

Two things shifted. First, I stopped fighting it. It's part of the ritual now. I don't waste energy resisting. Second, the sensation changed. I don't know what to call it anymore. Pain? Fear? Some defensive mechanism my body throws up? Whatever it is, it's more like extreme sensitivity now. Present, sharp, but not suffering.

I see this pattern everywhere now. When I started learning piano, reading sheet music hurt. Actually hurt. It's this pain in your head when you're trying to decode notes while your fingers are supposed to move. Anyone who hasn't experienced it wouldn't understand calling it pain. But it is.

I still can't sight-read perfectly. I have this Gaussian curve in my head. Some notes I know instantly. Others I have to guess or work out. And that's fine. That's part of the process. The point is I can read music now. The first twenty times felt impossible.

Sales calls. Reaching out to potential customers. Building features that might fail. Recording videos. All of it starts with that same sensation. This-is-too-hard pain. This-might-kill-me resistance.

But here's what I know now: the pain shifts. Not disappears. Shifts. You do it once and survive. Do it again and it's slightly less terrible. By the 95th time, you're not numb, but you're also not afraid. You just do it.

The trick isn't waiting for it to stop hurting. It's understanding that hurt and impossible are not the same thing.