New Year's new adventures

2014 whiplash

So 2014 turned to a somewhat unmanageable place, if the lack of blog posts is any indication. It started off well enough. I had every intention of seizing the year, pursuing a few dreams, making a name for myself. I was ready to reap the efforts of 2013's push for writing projects and education. And I did. Sort of.

It was supposed to be my breakout year, carefully planned and meticulously designed to reach the top tiers of success. And I DID. Except the timing was off by weeks when I had already pulled up stakes from Plan A, Plan B, Plan C. I have no rational excuse. Maybe expenses at the time, but I would have been fine if I had just stood still long enough -- had the faith things would pull through -- had enough faith in myself that I would be accepted by my program of choice, by the Peace Corps, by my would-be mentors and colleagues if I had only expressed my anxieties instead of agonizing over everything internally. And acting too quickly.

There was a two month period where my world sort of turned on its head. All my best laid plans exploded in my face (of my own design, no less) and then several things I could never have dreamed of happening -- did. Alice yanked the rug out from under my feet and I tumbled down this rabbit hole.

Anyway, I hit a rough patch in September, ran myself into the ground, got sick, took several weeks to recover physically and mentally; my confidence had been rocked and I just wanted to hide away from everything. Everyone. Giving your all with zero return is painful and I had little interest in picking up the pieces. Again.

Naturally, the world had other plans. Despite my efforts at self-imposed exile as punishment for failing to attend any of the graduate schools I worked so hard to make forcibly work, the tides turned and I was getting smacked with opportunities left and right the following month. The jobs I applied to called back, multiple housing options cropped up, my mentors handed me a lantern and sword and pointed me down my path. Go. Achieve.

Hope has reservoirs.

The ad

Anyway, I stumbled across a polar plunge advertised in the local newspaper. There was a picture of this cute little polar bear wearing a scarf and swim fins. Above him the text read: 2015 Polar Plunge, 32nd year. Below him the banner read: January 1, 2015. He was cute. And he would serve the argument to conscientious assent of a reset.

Look at him, he's adorably convincing! (Photo is property to BCAP.)

I love water. I love swimming and water activities. I love crashing into the surface and being suspended in fluid space. It's my element. But I'm about as adverse to cold as an ice cube is to Las Vegas asphalt in July. I would scream leaping into the Hawaiian Pacific in winter. Those waters are in the 70 degree range. People who jump into frigid waters deserve everything they have coming to them.

But I caught myself with that ad open every day pouring over the details of the event. New Year's Day, get that cute polar bear on a shirt and certificate, take the plunge. Wouldn't it be wild? Wouldn't that be the craziest way to start off the year? You've never experienced something like this before, add and immediately cross it off your bucket list.

Digging below the novelty, I realized I wanted to dive into freezing waters less for the bragging rights than to wash away the funk of 2014. Go in with the memories, but come out with the knowledge you can overcome anything you put your mind to. Leave the rest and surface fresh.

That's why, on the third day of ad study, I decided to take the plunge.

The Polar Plunge

I invited several friends to join me, but I had no takers. I'll admit I'm not all that surprised, disappointed, but not surprised. And I don't hold it against them either. Sane people have nothing to prove, but more adventurous types will have fodder for stories.

My sister agreed to keep me company -- and keep an eye on my stuff when I stripped and sprinted in. I always get nervous doing something new, because I never know what to expect. Will I find the place? Will parking be insane? Will they run out of shirts? Will we be standing in line in the snow? Would I have time to dress down or was I expected to stand there skin bare to the cold? Las Vegas ice cube.

The welcoming sign. Of doom.

As usual, I worried for nothing. It was a beautiful, sunny day and a balmy 29 degrees. The water would be roughly 20 degrees. Plenty of signs, plenty of space in the lot, plenty of shirts left. No problems. I could have left the event right then with all my spoils, but where was the fun in that? I would not back out of this 'baptism.'

I think my sister and I roughly entered the line around the 250 person mark, the event was estimated to have 400-600 individuals participating. There was a square cutout from the surrounding ice where the waters beckoned and journalists lined the docks with their equipment at the ready. Divers would wait at the flag line to corral plungers and rescue anyone who went into shock. I hope I didn't join those numbers, but I would not be surprised if I did.

I enjoyed a surreal serenity. My toes were cold, but I wasn't nervous in the least. I was so calm that my sister decided to opt in at the last minute. Thankfully I had brought a spare set of clothes and towels just in case she pulled this stunt. I had no doubts of my choice.

Until we got to the tables and I took off everything but the swimsuit.

Standing there in the cold, the snow, staring at the opaque reservoir waters churning, it occurred to me this might not have been my brightest idea ever. But there was a goal. Swim out to the flags some 10 yards out and come back. Done. On the starting line, Santa psyched us up and counted down. We ran in screaming.

Ankles, fine. Knees, fine, it's cold. Hips. Ok, kind of burns. Neck. WHOA. I may have gone into a mild shock. There was a slim disjoint between mind and body enough that I noticed mental commands had a bit of a delay as I front-crawled to the flags. My arms didn't connect with the water when I expected them to. My leg strokes weren't as strong as usual. The water was so cold, my body perceived I was on fire. Thousands of needles stabbed my pores. I actually had trouble catching my breath. It felt like it took forever to get to the flags. I high-fived the safety diver and spun around, still wheezing. At about hip height, I returned to running and lumbered out of the water like a drunken horse. Dizzy. On fire. Completely accomplished. Where the hell was my towel?

The whole affair lasted maybe twenty seconds, thirty tops. Twenty seconds of "AHHHHHHH!" But loping out of the chop to cheers, dripping icicles, red-skinned, I grinned like an idiot through the intense discomfort of unforgiving winter air. It was done.

Aftermath

What a shock. What a rush. What an insane idea. But my sister and I survived, no extremities lost. And I feel, having conquered something I would never have considered doing in my lifetime ever, like I can greet this new year with some ferocity and steadfast determination. This ice cube won't melt away so fast it didn't get to see neon.

The plunge went by turns. Remarkable calm. Doubt. Peaking adrenaline. Shock. Bitter shock. Abating shock. Pathetic stagger. Accomplishment. Trembling numbness. More pathetic staggering. Final haven in the warming tent. And all of this in the span of roughly five minutes. Suffice it to say, after all was said and done I conked out for a bit at home.

During the plunge itself, it was pretty horrible in a physical sense. But it was mentally freeing. Nothing else existed in that moment except myself and the immediate goal. Forget the pain. Overcome the limb lock. Reach the diver. I went in dry and unsuspecting and returned a frigid conqueror. That terrified entering scream became a war cry. That sorry lope out of the lake became a victory lap. And those are feelings I wouldn't trade for anything.

Would I do it again? Probably, though I hope next time it will be just for the spirit of the event and not a physical reconciliation of mental trauma.

And next time I'll make friends take the plunge with me.

New year, new Rochelle.

Happy New Year!