Why are Scandinavian people regularly voted the happiest in the world?
It’s a question that’s long troubled philosophers but the answer could be something decidedly obvious and frighteningly simple: they’re not afraid of getting a bit cold.
The UK is currently in the grip of an Arctic blast that has seen temperatures plummet to as low as -11C and vast areas of the country blanketed in snow.
Naturally, this has caused some people to enter full panic mode by locking their doors and windows, turning the heating up to 11 and wearing more coats and layers than is decent.
However, this cold spell that we’re enduring would almost be considered a heatwave by Scandinavian standards and they’re loving life – so what’s their secret?
In recent years, cold therapy has taken off in the UK with thousands of Brits now turning down the temperature in their showers and swimming in ponds to achieve the health benefits and mindfulness associated with the Skandi lifestyle.
And when you think what you may stand to gain, it’s obvious why so many people are taking the plunge.
Did you know, for example, that it’s easier to exercise in the cold? Or that you sleep longer and better when your bedroom is chilly?
Or that dialing down the room temperature by a few degrees could reduce your risk of developing type 2 diabetes?
Indeed, decades of research has linked cold exposure, whether in the form of a shower, bath or run outdoors during the depths of winter, to a myriad of benefits.
These include boosting the immune system, helping you lose weight and cutting down stress levels.
There’s broad consensus then that exposing yourself to the cold basically makes you a healthier, happier and better person.
But how often do you have to expose yourself to the elements to reap these benefits?
Would it theoretically be possible for a scrawny journalist with a crisp addiction and little to no self restraint to become a changed man after living for 24 hours like a Scandinavian?
I was eager to find out but I knew it would be foolhardy to plunge in at the deep end without weighing up the pros and cons with a professional.
I call up Dr Michael Mosley, the wellbeing guru who’s an expert on just about every health fad there is.
He also swears by cold water therapy, and is a regular of the cold water shower game, so he should know what he’s talking about.
I begin by explaining to Dr Mosley what I hope to achieve and tentatively ask what super powers I can expect to gain from my 24-hour Arctic jolly.
‘Oh, the health benefits come with time rather than just doing it once’, he says, ‘Regular cold water swimmers report, you know, an improvement in mood, reduction in things like that, because it kind of de-stresses generally. That seems to be one of the major benefits another one was a study done in Holland.
‘But again, it has to be something that happens over time.’
Ah, a snag in the road. Undeterred I explain the various activities I will be trying over the 24-hours, including cold water showers, open water swimming and sleeping with the window open.
Dr Mosley continues: ‘My advice to you. If you can have a cold shower is, start off hot, you know. Wash yourself, get it hot, and then turn it cold.
‘And personally I sing very loudly as that distracts me from the pain, whereas my wife Claire stands there stoically. And again, the advice is broadly, you’re supposed to stay in there until you stop hyperventilating.’
Gotcha – but I’m still nervous.
I ask the Dr if I’m likely to see next to no benefits from the cold water exposure am I instead running the risk of opening myself up to pointless shock?
‘That’s the one yes,’ he says, ‘the health benefits of just one immersion are likely to be minimal. You’ll get all the disadvantages with very few of the advantages, but when you persist, as I said, it’s the persistence.
‘It’s got to be going on regularly, having cold showers or a cold swim.
‘To be honest, I wouldn’t be starting now, if you’ve never done it before. My recommendation to people is they start in the summer when it’s quite warm, and then they gradually, you know, decide whether that’s something they want to persist with.
‘Starting now will be particularly brutal.’
So after seeking expert advice and being told in no uncertain terms my exercise was futile, I embarked on my Scandinavian journey.
A bracing walk
It’s lunchtime and, as per tradition, I take a jaunt around Hyde Park to commune with nature.
Normally I’d be ensconced in multiple layers of clothing and if I’m feeling really pathetic maybe a scarf – but not today, today I was living like a Scandinavian.
The temperature outside was flirting with 0C as I stepped out in my white t-shirt and tiny black shorts.
The cold cut me straight to the bone, invading nooks and crannies I didn’t even know I owned.
Matters weren’t helped by the icy glares I was receiving from the heavily coated members of the public, who clearly thought I was some sort of exhibitionist.
Still there was little time to dwell on the feelings of other people, especially as I reasoned they were likely entirely ignorant of the very real benefits of cold therapy.
In any case, I didn’t care. I was walking with the wind, prancing about like a scantily clad polar bear: completely at home in my new element.
For 15 glorious minutes I walked on through the wintry park, not so much feeling the cold as existing within it, dominating it with my sheer force of will but then, the wind picked up.
It started with a brisk judder as a sharp gust whipped across the pond, slapping me hard in the face.
Suddenly it was everywhere and I felt myself completely unable to relax or control my breathing.
Hyperventilating like a fool and rubbing myself obnoxiously, I shuffled back to the office, avoiding eye contact with the coat-clad members of the public, all the while dreaming feverishly of radiators.
Having a cold shower
After my bracing walk through Central London looking like a Chariots of Fire reject it was time to freshen up with a shower.
Having cold showers every morning has long been associated with ‘Diary of CEO’ listening successful business types.
The idea (at least for them) is that by foregoing the cozy hug of a warm morning shower and immediately taking yourself outside of your comfort zone by pushing your endurance to the limit, you somehow strengthen your resolve.
Whether that’s by sharpening your mind or clearing your thoughts to focus on what matters, who knows, as I personally don’t take cold showers and have a healthy amount of distrust for those who do (especially the ones that go on about it).
Indeed, in one study researchers recruited more than 3,000 participants, aged 18 to 65, who didn’t normally take cold showers.
Those who switched to cold showers for 30, 60 or 90 seconds for three months were found to call in sick 29 per cent less than those who kept the water warm.
We’re back to me, and I’m staring down the barrel of the shower head in the office wash room. I’ve set it to Arctic levels cold.
Taking a deep breath, I pull the trigger and icy pain descends, throttling my body and piercing my muscles with a thousand tiny daggers.
Outside in the changing room, there is panic as colleagues frantically try and break into the shower to investigate, so certain are they are that the frantic squealing they can hear is coming from a pig that’s being callously abused.
I steel myself and stare deeper into the firmament, unyielding in my desire to last just a tiny bit longer. Unbroken, I begin to move the water around my body exposing more and more of my precious, pale warm skin to the brutish stream.
Gradually, the pain evaporates and I feel myself ascending into a new, more peaceful realm.
I listen to my breathing, which is clearer now and less rushed, flowing like the smooth strokes of a boatman down the River Cam and try and focus on what I really want and I’m amazed at how simple it is: I want to be warm.
Flushed with pride, I turn the temperature back up to boiling and bask in the new and well-earned smugness I have found in joining the cold shower elites.
Keeping myself cool
After my shower I head back to the office and pour myself a nice cold glass of water.
Logging back into my computer, I attach a USB fan and allow it to get to work, blowing waves of chilled air over my body.
Although the office is fairly Baltic already, the added help of the fan means I can soon feel my body temperature decreasing and my breaths getting sharper as I begin to suck in air.
As I focus on my breathing and begin to type away, I feel a tap on my shoulder from my colleague.
‘Can you turn that off please John, it’s freezing.’
Stifling a laugh, I begin to patiently explain that although he might find it freezing, I’m actually doing him and myself a favour.
I then explain that this ‘cold therapy’ has been proven to carry a host of health benefits including stress relief, better blood circulation and improved mental health.
‘Yeah fine, but can you do it somewhere else? I’m actually fine with all those things, I just want to be warm thanks.’
I take my leave.
A frosty Pravha
Work ends and I head to the pub to meet some friends to play pool and drink £7 pints.
I should stress that once again I have decided against wearing a coat.
I shuffle up to the bar and order a nice, cold Pravha before heading outside to enjoy it in the -3C jet black ambience of the London night.
Beer is a natural body warmer and by the third sip I can barely feel the cold, relaxing into conversation and huffing my vape like an ice dragon.
After the Pravha is downed I return to the pub like a conquering hero with the warm carpet of air swallowing me whole upon entry, infecting each of my pores and giving me a jolt of adrenaline.
In Scandinavia, this effect is achieved by having an ice bath and then jumping into a sauna, but we don’t have saunas in London – so this will have to do.
Sleeping with the windows open
After an enjoyable evening in the pub, I head home and take the bins out (again, no coat) before retiring to my bedroom and beginning my end of day routine.
This slumber will be different though as I’ll be going au-natural and sleeping through the night with the window open, allowing the frosty City air to dance across my face and nostrils for hours on end.
Whilst this is undoubtedly a romantic image, the sleep should have tangible health benefits too, as my body will have to fight to moderate my temperature throughout the night.
If my calculations are correct I should wake up in eight hours feeling as refreshed as if I’d slept for 12.
I turn off the light and settle down to the night, my chest rising and falling with the sounds of the traffic and crime outside my door.
A few hours later I awake freezing cold to a sharp screaming sound coming from outside.
It’s followed by another slightly more hushed snarl and then I can hear what sounds like clawing and the slap of bottles against the pavement.
I peak my head out of the window and my worst nightmares are confirmed: the foxes are having sex on the bin bags again.
Slamming my windows in disgust, I bed down again for the night, the sounds of vulpine passion diminished to little more than a dull vibration now.
Whatever the health benefits are; I’m not listening to that.
A cold water dip
‘Oh I wouldn’t go in no. It’s freezing’
It’s 7am and the temperature outside is -3C.
I’m chatting to the staff at Brockwell Lido in South London who are running me through the basics of cold water swimming before I take the plunge.
‘It’s become very popular recently’ says Scarlett Hayward who manages the leisure centre, ‘some mornings we have 25 people each session.’
As we’re chatting a few of the regulars begin to slope into the changing rooms. They’re hardy looking folk but most I suspect probably work common or garden jobs in the city.
It just goes to show: maniacs live amongst us in plain sight.
I don my swimming trunks and cautiously approach the pool which I’m told is a lovely 3C.
Like a tiger, the water is beautiful to look at it but you must always remember, it wants to kill you
On the hand rail, a lone icicle drifts languidly downwards, hovering above the surface of the water – taunting me.
I decide it’s time to nut up or shut up (which is soon transpired was a poor mantra considering the water temperature) and I begin the descent.
As soon as the water consumed my foot I lost all sensation in it, swallowed up by a vacuum like numbness.
Stoically I continue into the void, letting out not a single whimper as I submerge my entire lower body into the water.
The water cuts at me like a knife with every one of my muscles screaming as they’re pricked from every angle.
On the side of the pool, spectators begin to clap, so astounded are they by my bravery.
‘Did you know it’s his first time?’ one whispers.
‘No? That’s amazing! What a champ!’ concurs another – but truthfully I don’t hear them, so cocooned in agony am I, and I know there’s more to come.
I had been told by Dr Mosley that the one thing I shouldn’t do under any circumstances was put my head under the water on my first time, but I knew I’d be laughed at by the other swimmers if I didn’t at least get my shoulders under.
With a heavy heart I began to crouch and soon I was under, writing in pain beneath the glossy surface of the pool.
My entire body felt disconnected. I was to all the world nothing more than a floating, wailing head.
It was time to get out.
Would I recommend the Scandinavian lifestyle?
As I emerged from the ice to a well deserved (and very real) round of applause from the gathered spectators, the only thing on my mind was finding a hot drink and pouring it immediately over myself.
Sadly the café wasn’t open yet, so I had to settle for a sauna instead.
Whilst warming myself up, I began to consider what I had learnt from my 24 hours in the cold.
The open water swimming while absolutely awful had been invigorating in a pure animalistic way. I felt far more alive than anyone truly deserved to on a Friday morning and yes, more smug too.
You see, what I’ve learned from this experience is cold shock therapy, like cycling, is essentially something people do so they can tell people they do it.
Indeed, as the lads and I were toweling off afterwards in the changing rooms, I was struck by the genuine sense of community and togetherness that only a group of people with a purposefully niche hobby can have.
We swapped stories about the water, compared how pale we were, and joked about what our wives and friends must think of us.
‘My wife’s on the beach right now, and I’m here, what a life eh!’
‘My wife couldn’t believe what I was doing when I left the bed this morning, she think’s I’m crazy!’
‘Yeah my wife (I don’t have one, just lied to fit in) says she’s considering a divorce if I keep this up!’
And we all laughed of course, but the truth is we know we’re better than everyone, because we do cold water swimming.
