Taking the Plunge

I did something on Saturday that scared me. Every so often, I like to push myself to do something outside my comfort zone, even though I fully admit that I will be neurotic and vocally fearful leading up to the moment that I do said thing. 

It started with being late after school on Thursday. I had a meeting with the reading specialist, and then I stopped in to chat with my friend who teaches the 12:1:1 program (all but social studies, which is mine), and then I made it to the other reading specialist's room to chat, and really I was just wasting time bigtime. But, we never see each other and are always rushing from place to place, so it was nice to actually have a social interaction. (A masked, socially-distant interaction.)

At my first stop, the reading specialist brought up the Polar Plunge. That a small group of people from my school were doing it on Saturday to support Special Olympics, and it was a bucket list thing for her, and she thought I should give it a shot too. 

HELL NO was my response. 

Not 45 minutes later, I was 80% in. 

How did this happen? PEER PRESSURE. And also, the appeal of doing something batshit crazy for a good cause, and, as the reading specialist said, "if ever there was a time to fully LIVE, to go for the gusto, NOW IS IT!" The seed was planted. And it grew and grew until I could think, "Yeah, you know what? Why not plunge in single-digit windchills?" 

I have always looked at the Polar Plunge as an act of organized insanity. Usually, it is organized and on Lake Ontario, with a roped off area and "heats" of plungers and a full EMT staff and a warming tent. Well, not with the pandemic. 

With the pandemic, people were encouraged to SAFELY plunge in small groups, from what I was told. I didn't do any research because I didn't want to psych myself and decide not to do it. The organizer teacher came out of his classroom as we were talking about it, and he was like, "YOU can DO this! I do it every year! Nothing bad will happen! You're in and you're out, and I'm First Aid certified!" 

I asked about what happens if I have a heart attack. What happens if I trip and hurt myself. How likely was it I'd end up in the hospital, a place I DO NOT want to be right now. Or ever, actually. Everyone was like, "You're such a worrywart! None of that is going to happen!" 

Yeah. Well, I have made a habit of falling into the "unlikely, low percent" for all kinds of weird shit. I have had THREE Hold-In-Place drills in my honor. I have left school in a wheelchair and had Bryce called for all of those. I had all kinds of unlikely things happen during infertility. I didn't want to tempt fate, but I also didn't want to hold myself hostage to my fears. 

I committed. 

We were going to jump into Irondequoit Creek, which runs all through the county. They chose a park that the organizing teacher swore would be a good spot. I started gathering supplies: 

In this giant bag -- three towels (mostly in case someone forgot theirs, which turned out to be a good thing to plan for), a sweatshirt, my giant nose-to-toes fleece zip-up bathrobe (which was a GODSEND), extra cozy socks, a waterproof-backed fleece blanket, layers of long sleeve and short sleeve shirts, and leg warmers. 

I was going to wear tights instead of shorts, but then Bryce said, "You know, you probably want something you can take off real fast and not have clinging to you, you can dry your skin real quick but the tights may keep freezing water on your skin longer." So I ditched the tights. I wore my crabby socks, and put on my snow boots but brought my water sneakers for going in the water. 

I think you can tell from my facial expression that I am thinking this is a real stupid idea at this point, an hour from arrival. I did get a text from the retired school nurse who was there for all my unfortunate events, and she said she was coming with her kit so she could help if anyone needed it, which (not so) strangely made me feel better. 

I pulled into the park and saw the creek -- and the FIVE FOOT DROP to get down towards it. Oh hell no. The organizing teacher was walking around with a rope, sussing out the situation. ARE WE RAPPELLING DOWN TO THE CREEK? WHAT? NOOOO! I started hyperventilating. But no, the area where we parked was deemed private, but not safe enough for easy access. 

So we drove to the other parking area, for the dog park, where there was a more reasonable access point. Of course we had to tromp with all our supplies past the dog people, with my assistant principal dragging his mobile audio setup playing "Thunderstruck" by AC/DC, and so there was no secrecy to be had. My heart was racing, but I felt exhilarated. I WAS GOING TO DO THIS. 

We set up on the bank of the creek, and my principal started a countdown WAYYY earlier than we were shedding all our warm clothes (oh cozy fleece pants, you were so wonderful). We lined up for a picture once we were all plunge-ready: 

I'm the one not protected for anonymity. Second from the right. I think we are yelling "We are Martha Brown!" like total lunatics. Look at that stuff on the shore, like we're setting up at the freaking beach. And LOOK AT THE ICE! At least we could walk right in here. 

We turned around, and faced our fate. 

Clutching on to my special ed coworkers for DEAR LIFE. It's GO TIME. 

My face in this picture is, "WHAT THE EFF ARE YOU DOING, CRAZY PEOPLE? I AM NOT PLUNGING ALL THE WAY! NOOOOO WAYYYY!" I did squat down but was not about to have frozen underwear. Can I just say that it was 16 degrees (F) out with single digit windchill? 

We scrambled out, dried off, and got dressed again. The crazies who went all the way in needed to change all the way, so we made circles of towels and I used my giant bathrobe as a screen to protect their nakedness. Their freezing cold, damp nakedness. 

There was ice in the water that floated past in the current, and somehow I was the only one who left the water bleeding. Nothing major, just a few bumps and bruises and scratches from rogue ice (ice sharks? Ice leeches?), but I was thrilled that was my only injury. 

Not super impressive, but this was all swollen up and I have a few of them along my shins. 

After the dip, we met back at the other parking area and had a firepit, and I may have sipped a bit of Constant Comment tea with some bourbon in it. Hey, if St Bernards bring it (the bourbon) to you in the Swiss Alps, it's got to be worth SOMETHING! Also, that is a really good combo. Kind of like a badass little old lady teatime drink.

Here I am, in the parking lot, cold but toasty from adrenaline and bourbon and the knowledge that I DID SOMETHING SCARY AND IT DIDN'T KILL ME. I did not let the stupid voice in my head talk me out of it. I helped raise money to support Special Olympics so they can run safely this year. And I bonded with my coworkers in the craziest of ways. 

I'm actually not sure if I would have done this if not for the pandemic. I may do it again, who knows? All I know that is that it showed me that I am stronger than my fears. And maybe a little stupid crazy.