I’ve been trying to figure out why the all-female staff at my cold plunge spa keeps walking in on me in the dressing room — and precisely when I have no pants on. I’m not concerned so much about the shrinkage, but rather the facility’s overall objective. They have exactly one dressing room on the premises, and there’s no lock on the door.
A cold plunge, taken seriously, is a spiritual moment. When I first get in, I feel like I might die. At the end, I’ve proven something to myself. In the middle, I’m focused on breathing exercises, rounds of total submersion, and continuous motion to shake off the thin layer of warmed water surrounding my body.
Although my cold plunge spa constantly puts out social media content, they have never once asked if they can film me. Conversely, they can’t wait to capture photos and video testimonials from random groups of dudes.
Yesterday, my plunge session overlapped with one such bunch of goofballs. One guy, who had no intention of getting in, acted like my 8-year-old and held his palm just above the water so he could feel the chill. His friends eased themselves into other plunges and laughed and shrieked through their 30-second soak — even though the water barely rose above their belly buttons. Finally, they all sprinted into the sauna or a hot shower, instantly neutralizing the metabolic benefits that come from letting your body naturally rewarm.
Per usual, a spa staff member eagerly recorded the whole spectacle on her phone.
Instead of taking personally my spa’s decision to ignore me, I’ve realized that photos and videos of hard work don’t sell memberships. If you want to drive sales, you must turn the experience into a party.
In fact, while the spa is trying to get more revelers in, they’re simultaneously working to push me out. The economics of any fitness facility (gym or plunge) depends on driving off serious members. My own 15-minute plunge visit involves me running a chiller at its minimum temperature/max power, taking advantage daily of the free towel service, and splashing water all over the floor.
Gyms have been finding ways for decades to make me and other regulars feel uncomfortable. They’ll blast me with irritating music. Cleaning crews vacuum under me while I’m benching. I’ve even had an exterminator sent to my squat rack between sets to spray pesticide all over the wall.
Still, you have to give my spa credit for innovating a new way to hassle customers. They track when I’ve finished my plunge, count to 60, and then throw open the changing room door.