On a gray morning on Iceland’s Diamond Beach, a bare chested
man in his mid sixties wades into water that would send most people into
cardiac shock within minutes. He does not gasp. He does not shiver. He stands
among floating chunks of glacier ice, palms pressed together, breathing in
slow, deliberate cycles, looking for all the world like a man meditating on a
warm veranda rather than one submerged in near freezing seawater.
This is Wim Hof, known to millions simply as The Iceman, and
f...
