"It’s abominably tough. It’s mind-blowing. It’s not just because of the layer of ice over your head. It’s also the physiological reaction to a long apnea in icy water. The body reacts very strongly."
Said Arthur Guérin-Boëri, 37, quoted in "Diver sets world record for under-ice swim on single breath" (London Times). He swam finless and without a wetsuit for 105 meters.
We're told: "In a discipline with mixed genders, he beat the 103m record held by Johanna Nordblad of Finland." Some of the commenters over there are questioning the term "mixed genders." Considering the multiplicity of gender, wouldn't all sports include mixed genders? The distinctiveness here is that both sexes participate in the same event. In the effort to appear enlightened, you can trip over yourself.
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26 comments:
First of all, it's just crazy that there is a competition for swimming under ice that doesn't involve training for special forces from some country's military. There is no reason on earth for it otherwise.
Likewise, there is no reason on earth to discuss multiple genders, other than to control people, how they think, and what they say. The entire topic of multiple genders is tedious and borderline insane. We're so sophisticated we're sophisticating ourselves out of reality.
There's shrinkage! (Can it be that there's a line from Seinfeld for every story you blog?)
If gender is not fixed, then what is it’s function as a category?
If we’re “tripping”, we’re tripping because it’s useless now.
In the effort to appear enlightened, you ALWAYS trip over yourself.
Wow. Kicked Wim Hof's record to the curb. Cold adaptation and cold therapy gets lots of inspiration from these crazy people.
My wild swimming group is planning a cold plunge in Walden Pond next weekend to celebrate St Patty's Day late and Spring early. Jameson's will be consumed.
After decades of praying to Freyja, she assured me that if one dies doing these useless challenges, the Valkyries will take us to Valhalla.
Lem said...
If gender is not fixed, then what is it’s function as a category?
By DEFINITION, gender Can NOT be fixed.. Your Gender is not assigned, it is whatever you choose
By DEFINITION, gender IS ALWAYS fixed.. People know, FROM BIRTH, what their True Gender is
BY DEFINITION, Any person can act in any way.. There is NO one way of being Female (or Male)
BY DEFINITION, The way a person acts determines their gender.. Acting feminine means you ARE a woman
It's really quite simple. Glad i could help!
The idea that "gender" applies to anything but words is (I think and someone correct me please if I am wrong) relatively new. So being the old fart that I am, I refuse to use the word gender in the more modern sense.
An individual mammal has a sex (male or female). An English word has a gender (masculine, like "him", feminine, like "her", or neuter like "it").
Relatedly, pretty sure that commonly using the word "sex" to describe an act ("they had sex") is relatively new, and is part of the confusion. People use the word gender because they are slightly embarrassed to use the word sex since, to them, it implies coitus.
I know your point, but I'm just staggered by this feat. It was 0.7C, and nearly 3 minutes underwater. At one point, when I was 17, I was able to go down in deep water off of Hawai'i - so warm water - for nearly 7 minutes. I've done open water swims without a wetsuit in 60F water and the cold is what gets to you - it makes it so difficult to breathe. I couldn't even force myself to get in water that cold. This is amazing.
French video here.
What happened to the bit of the hat that was bitten out? Is it still intact or did somebody eat it?
St Patty's Day
St. Paddy's, ya fookin' Yank.
Contrary to the trans mafia, gender is not assigned at birth. Gender and sex are determined at fertilization and remain fixed through out life. Just because a man wants to pretend he is a woman does not change his sex. If he can carry out his fictitious presentation, then people will graciously go along with it. But, if waggles his dong in the woman's locker room, than the women would be justified in pummeling him with whatever's available and chasing him out of the locker room. Preferably with his pants down around his angles and his naked butt exposed for all to see. Then call the cops on the exhibitionist.
Nothing compared to what James Bond did in Skyfall.
Just because a man wants to pretend he is a woman
my $0.02..
These gender dysphorics do NOT think that they are women (or men)..
They think that they want to Pretend that they are women (or men)..
It is All just fantasy, an escape from reality*
reality* they HATE themselves, so they find something to blame; in this case, their dicks
At least in ice cold water you don't have to worry about those little Candiru fish that swim up your pee hole.
And now, the nominees for this year's Darwin Award . . .
If I plunged myself into water that cold, my (visible signs of) gender would be non-specific too.
he beat the 103m record held by Johanna Nordblad of Finland.
He cheated. He cut the exit hole at 105m.
"What happened to the bit of the hat that was bitten out? Is it still intact or did somebody eat it?"
It was eaten.
In the effort to appear enlightened, you can trip over yourself.
I'm going to do a Picasso on that one.
It was eaten...with some fava beans and a nice chianti.
First, that is terrifying and amazing at the same time.
Second, please, please, please stop with all the gender BULLSHIT (addressed to the world, not you AA).
So fucking tiresome.
Harsh Pencil said...
3/12/22, 8:30 AM
Every time I hear/read the expression "having sex," I think of a bit from Wallace Stegner's 1971 novel, "Angle of Repose," (Pg.276 of the 1992 Penguin paperback.)
The narrator, Lyman Ward, says, "It happens that I despise that locution 'having sex,' which describes something a good deal more mechanical than making love and a good deal less fun than fucking."
...that always stuck me as a perfect line of prose.
I’d freeze my ass off if I ever tried that.
I hope the coat he donned at the end was pre-warmed, or had warming inserts.
It's simple. Gender is software, sex is hardware. Why do you Karen's piss and moan about other people's genetailia?
Ice Swimming?
River and plain and mighty peak — and who could stand unawed?
As their summits blazed, he could stand undazed at the foot of the throne of God.
North, aye, North, through a land accurst, shunned by the scouring brutes,
And all I heard was my own harsh word and the whine of the malamutes,
Till at last I came to a cabin squat, built in the side of a hill,
And I burst in the door, and there on the floor, frozen to death, lay Bill.
Ice, white ice, like a winding-sheet, sheathing each smoke-grimed wall;
Ice on the stove-pipe, ice on the bed, ice gleaming over all;
Sparkling ice on the dead man’s chest, glittering ice in his hair,
Ice on his fingers, ice in his heart, ice in his glassy stare;
Hard as a log and trussed like a frog, with his arms and legs outspread.
I gazed at the coffin I’d brought for him, and I gazed at the gruesome dead,
And at last I spoke: “Bill liked his joke; but still, goldarn his eyes,
A man had ought to consider his mates in the way he goes and dies.”
Have you ever stood in an Arctic hut in the shadow of the Pole,
With a little coffin six by three and a grief you can’t control?
Have you ever sat by a frozen corpse that looks at you with a grin,
And that seems to say: “You may try all day, but you’ll never jam me in”?
I’m not a man of the quitting kind, but I never felt so blue
As I sat there gazing at that stiff and studying what I’d do.
Then I rose and I kicked off the husky dogs that were nosing round about,
And I lit a roaring fire in the stove, and I started to thaw Bill out.
Well, I thawed and thawed for thirteen days, but it didn’t seem no good;
His arms and legs stuck out like pegs, as if they was made of wood.
Till at last I said: “It ain’t no use — he’s froze too hard to thaw;
He’s obstinate, and he won’t lie straight, so I guess I got to — saw.”
So I sawed off poor Bill’s arms and legs, and I laid him snug and straight
In the little coffin he picked hisself, with the dinky silver plate,
And I came nigh near to shedding a tear as I nailed him safely down;
Then I stowed him away in my Yukon sleigh, and I started back to town.
So I buried him as the contract was in a narrow grave and deep,
And there he’s waiting the Great Clean-up, when the Judgment sluice-heads sweep;
And I smoke my pipe and I meditate in the light of the Midnight Sun,
And sometimes I wonder if they was, the awful things I done.
And as I sit and the parson talks, expounding of the Law,
I often think of poor old Bill — and how hard he was to saw.
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