In the last few weeks I have read a number of articles and testimonials praising the post workout Ice Bath. In my mind, an ice bath is just one step shy of self flagellation with a metal tipped quirt. I do not like cold water, although I have been getting a bit fonder of it in my open water swims. But to bathe in it? What the hell? One of my online athletic geek sites has photos aplenty of naked legs submerged in ice-cube filled bathwater. They make me cringe at the sight. But still, reading these hardcore, endurance athletes singing the praises of ice baths I decided that I needed to sac up and give it a try, at least once, before forming a final opinion. This last sunday was the perfect opportunity: Triathlon in the morning, 40 flights of stairs in 50+ pounds of gear at noon. I knew my legs may very well prevent me from crawling out of bed come monday morning.
The day was every bit as brutal as I imagined. By the time I got home I could already feel my legs stiffening up, and thought that I was likely too late for a cold bath to make a difference. Although I felt this might be an unfair test of the procedure, I opted to give it a shot anyway. One piece of advice that did not vary: bundle up head and torso to maintain core heat. Okay. I started the bath, deciding that my frigid, straight from the well water would be cold enough, after all, it can cause brain freeze if drank too quickly. I let the tub fill, put on a favorite hoody, and wandered through the house sans pants while the water ran. I did not want to do this. I was already cringing at the thought. Finally, I could not procrastinate any longer. I stepped in, gasping as soon as my feet hit the water. I slowly lowered myself in, gasping and trying to not shout as the water covered my legs. As the cold water hit my delicate girly parts, I almost said, "fuck this." But since the whole day had been a trial, overcoming weakness, Gutting It Out, this seemed somehow appropriate. I sat. Gasped. Cringed. Shivered. Tensed. Then finally, relaxed. It wasn't so bad after the first few shocking moments. It actually started feeling almost... good. I leaned back, stifling a gasp as cold water rode higher up the sensitive curve of my back. My dog Hugo came in to stare at me in bewilderment, not understanding why anyone would willing bathe, though he will jump into frigid rivers in the middle of winter. He was joined by black cat Homer, aka His Shitness. They gave each other a knowing, "she is loonie" look, and bumped heads. They kept me company for the fifteen minute soak, Homer occasionally lapping at the water, Hugo insisting on head scratches. It was relaxing, soothing, time to think over the events of the day in silence with few distractions.
I finally decided it was time to get out and feed my poor abused body. I wrapped a thick, soft towel around my waist while I started prepping dinner. Then changed to compression shorts and compression socks, and cozy, wool booties. My legs felt great, rejuvenated although still tired. I knew the true test would be in the morning.
Lo and behold, I have had almost no soreness from my sunday endeavors. To me this is miraculous. The cold water bath seems to have worked it's magic. I will also say, in the studies I have read, the newer data shows better results with a cold water bath versus the ice water bath. Thank the gods, I don't think I have the brass ovaries to sit in a tub of ice water. But I will say, from here on out, a cold bath is de rigueur post event. This coming saturday will be my next opportunity to test the theory as I am running the 5 mile Multnomah Falls Trail Run; steep uphill, steep downhill. Will my quads ever forgive me?
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