I’m outside looking at the wild sea at Nauthólsvík beach. It’s noon on a Wednesday, and despite the winter sun and the scarf, hat, winter coat, mittens and wool underwear I have on, I’m freezing. The temperature is 1 degree Celsius, which the astute reader will note is the least amount of positive degrees possible. This is not good, I’m thinking. See, I’m here to partake in sea swimming, a tradition that many people practise here at Nauthólsvík up to six times a week. But I also want to live to tell the tale.
What Doesn’t Kill You…
Words by
Gunnar Jónsson
Gunnar Jónsson
Photography by
Golli
I’m outside looking at the wild sea at Nauthólsvík beach. It’s noon on a Wednesday, and despite the winter sun and the scarf, hat, winter coat, mittens and wool underwear I have on, I’m freezing. The temperature is 1 degree Celsius, which the astute reader will note is the least amount of positive degrees possible. This is not good, I’m thinking. See, I’m here to partake in sea swimming, a tradition that many people practise here at Nauthólsvík up to six times a week. But I also want to live to tell the tale.
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