I try to bike to the office at least twice a week. It’s an eleven-mile ride each way, mostly side streets with a few highway overpasses. Nothing brutal, so I always wonder why more people don’t bike with me.
This post isn’t a gripe about the lack of bike commuters. It’s actually a small celebration of cold showers winning over warm ones. Curious?
This morning the locker room greeted me with a sign:
“Apologies: The showers are without hot water until further notice. The rest of the locker room equipment is functional.”
Not ideal, but not the end of the world. I could’ve walked out, driven to the other campus building (okay, rode—ten minutes, or twenty), taken the stairs down, and fought the gym crowd for a shower stall just to get hot water.
Instead I wondered: how bad could a cold shower be after my ride? Is the water even that cold? So I flipped the tap on.
No surprise—the hot never came. It was cold. Lake-Superior cold. I moved so quickly that I almost created my own heat (wishful thinking).
The good news? It was over fast—maybe a minute and thirty seconds. I got cleaned and out the door. Here are the wins from this little experiment:
1. I saved time. I usually take ten-minute showers. Turns out I don’t need that much standing under hot water.
2. I avoided queuing. No waiting on someone else to finish so I could get to my morning calls.
3. I saved water. Cold showers don’t require running water while you wait for the perfect temperature, and you save the energy needed to heat it. Two wins.
4. I felt tougher. Cold showers give a small, cheap thrill. I’d still pick black-diamond runs or winter rides for real excitement, but this helped set the tone.
5. There are real health perks: more alertness, better mood, a boost to immunity, and faster recovery. Think of cryotherapy—cold showers can have similar effects. Or, if you’re braver, take a dip in Lake Superior.
The best part was a coworker at locker A10 who asked, “You took a cold shower?”
“Yes,” I said, chest a little puffed out.
I’ll keep using cold showers there for now—nothing on the door suggested a quick repair. I like that small inconveniences can turn into something positive. When shit happens, I try to jujitsu a benefit out of it. It’s like when your car breaks down and you ride your bike to work—after that one time, you realize pedaling ten miles on pavement wasn’t so bad.
Will I go back to hot showers once the water’s fixed? Absolutely.