Flirting With Hypothermia, Part 2 - Riding the Edge of Pain and Pleasure

Photo by Rok Romih from Pexels

To swim in skins is to ride the edge between pleasure and pain. At least it is when the water remains above 50°.

The water is excruciating when we first step in, my swim buddy and I. We wade in to our hips and waist, and wait through the pain until the numbness sets in. It doesn’t help that the day is blowing.  

I don’t know what’s worse, the freeze of the water permeating my legs and belly or the wind cutting into the flesh of my chest and back. 

At last I’m numb enough to thrust my hands in, and the pain resurrects.

I don’t resist the urge to scream and cuss all over again. I swear a lot, hollering at the top of my lungs, during those first moments in the water.

It seems an eternity before my hands get numb enough to step in deeper to my shoulders. The armpits are another area of agony until I acclimate to the cold of the river.

Finally, it’s time for the brain freeze. I dunk and swim on my back for the final torture. With the water in the 50’s, I can still bear to swim with no bathing cap.

Those minutes with my head immersed in the river seem like hours because it hurts like a motherfucker. I feel like my brain is turning to ice from the back of my skull and through my ears.

Again, it seems like forever until my body and brain adjusts to the cold. 

But once I am, bring on the maniac bliss.

That moment when pleasure comes to reconcile with pain is like no other. 

Once that switch is flipped, I remember why I do this.

In that moment, I understand why people are into BDSM. The presence of agony makes ecstasy that much sharper and sweeter.

Coincidentally, my swim buddy is really into kink.

How do I know that?

It’s remarkable the subjects that come up during that hour of rewarming on the beach after the swim. Besides, most people I know in the BDSM community are open about their sexuality, and more comfortable with the subject than we vanilla folks.

I found her when the water was still in the 60’s.

When the river was still in the 60’s, after adjusting to the temp, the water felt nothing but good and refreshing, and I could easily swim for an hour, 1 mile+.

But even when the water was in the 60’s and it was still safe for me to swim solo, I could feel the temperature dropping, and knew I needed to make some new friends.

I joined some wild swimming groups on Facebook. Wild swimming is having a moment due to the pandemic since the public pools in Portland have been shut down for months.

Truly nice folks too, but most of them were straight.

I got it in my head that it would be pretty awesome to find that sweet spot, the intersection between gay lady swimmers (I saw plenty at the pools when they were open) and those who want to get frigid and explore their edges.

So in October, I posted in a couple of lesbian Facebook groups an open invitation to freeze their asses off with me as we acclimated to winter swimming in the Columbia.

As far as the comments were concerned, there was lots of enthusiasm.

“Water is Life! I love swimming, but I need to recover from dental surgery.”

“I’m DEFINITELY interested. But my work schedule is crazy right now!”

“I love this idea! But I can’t join you until the end of the month!”

For all the chatter, the only queer who showed up was the kinky one.

My swim buddy thinks I’m in denial about being vanilla.

“You must like pain some if you’re into this,” she quips. “Because this hurts like hell.”

Not anymore it doesn’t.

I’m giddy riding that edge of pleasure and pain, and the rush is exquisite.

Photo by Engin Akyurt from Pexels

The endorphins pouring from my brain flood my body, the high runs amok like a hyperactive rugrat on the last day of school, drunk with dreams of summer freedom and the pure euphoria of possibility.

On that particular day, the boats go past and the planes fly right over our heads as they always do. It so happens that the beach where we access the river is close to the airport. The sonic roar of the planes add yet another lunatic edge to winter swimming. Even with my head immersed, the muffled growl of aviation sounds through vibration in water.

But the wind is what makes this day stand out, to make a memory forever etched inside my soul. The river is raucous and makes waves to crash over us. It’s hardly with the force of the ocean, but it’s enough to convince me I’m invincible. 

I’m not, of course. But I savor that illusion and leap into the yummy, frolicking with the waves like a clumsy dolphin tripping on magic mushrooms.

“Look at us! We are such bad asses! Oh Hell Fucking YEAH!”

My swim buddy looks as blissed out as I am, but she is a little more measured in her delight. She’s also not as strong a swimmer as I am.

I’ve been swimming since infancy. She didn’t learn until adulthood.

We thrash around and swim for roughly 30-40 minutes. I swim about a ½ mile, but I don’t get too far from my swim buddy. We are there for each other’s safety after all.

At last, it’s time to get out. I’m so numb I can’t feel my body. It’s the closest to an out-of-body experience I’ve ever come as we stagger to our shelter.

We have a grace period of about 10 minutes to get dressed before the chilled blood in our extremities hits our core and our body temperature is officially dropped. 

It’s a wrestling match to get dressed in multiple layers when my hands and fingers don’t work as they usually do. Somehow I manage, and start sipping my HOT tea in an attempt to stave off the shivers.

Nothing compares to being cold from the inside out.

There are not enough layers to give relief, nor enough blankets. I could be prepared for an arctic expedition and I’d still feel like I was freezing as the shivers start. 

The wind makes things even more obnoxious on this day. As much of a struggle to put it up before we got in the river, my swim buddy and I find that the shelter is hopelessly inadequate on this day for rewarming.

What we need is a 3-season tent to give some respite from the elements. Instead, the flaps slap around us, while slivers of sharp wind pierce through us.

It is possible we stayed in the water a little too long.

My shivers quake me to the core. So violent I shake I can barely sip from my thermos.

“Goddammit!!!” 

There’s also lots of swearing as we make our way back to normal body temperature. That takes much longer than it does to get cold.

My swim buddy fares no better as she hunches over, desperate to warm her core.

“I don’t think I want to be friends with you anymore. You make me too cold!”

Of course, she’s only kidding.

Between the cold of my innards, the incessant trembling, and the merciless wind whipping through the shelter, this scene is so unreal I can’t stop laughing. Nor can my swim buddy.

The discomfort is savage. And amazing.

We feel alive.

I savor the wretchedness.

It reminds me of those years I lived in Alaska, and how humbling it is to face the force of nature. It’s a grand awareness to know I’m tiny, insignificant when confronted with something so much greater and stronger than I.

As we always do, my swim buddy and I talk about embarrassing and personal subjects, while shivering and laughing and drinking hot tea.

Today was the most difficult and challenging swim we’ve had thus far as we acclimate to winter swimming.

We snuggle to give each other warmth, yet it still takes 1½ hours before our core body temp is warm enough for us to leave.

As my swim buddy and I go our separate ways, I’m beside myself with elation.

When the temperature of the water is in the 50’s, cold-water swimming is hella fun.

I can’t wait to do that again.

To read Flirting With Hypothermia, Part 1, click HERE.