Sweetheart Passion Plunge

Greetings Blog readers!

I actually have a really cool story to tell (REALLY cool...almost cold even...ok, so frigid), so I'll get right to it and spare you the boredom of actually having to read me start the blog when all you really want to do is read something about whatever it is that I want to talk about.

So, on with the show...

As I sit here listening to the American Psycho soundtrack that I have no clue about how I obtained it, or when, or where from, and having just put down the American Psycho book that I'm roughly 320 pages into...I've decided that there are several things that one could point to as evidence of mental instability. The occurrences today will only reinforce this view, not only for me, but possibly for you of me as well.

Today was the Sweetheart Passion Plunge. What is the SPP, you ask? Well...I'll tell you: The SPP is where individuals go and raise money for Special Olympics for the opportunity (please note that word once again...OPPORTUNITY) to jump into a lake which has had a hole cut into it...through the ice...in the middle of February...in Montana.

Let's stop right here and consider something for a moment: I come from a very long line of men who have done stupid/insane/brainless things for one reason or another - my father has jumped out of a perfectly good airplane...willingly, at that - my uncle has gone sailing in the Caribbean while a huge storm was barreling in - my great-grandfather would check spark plugs by uncapping them and grabbing the plug to see which one was working correctly or not...yes...a long line of stupid men. Anyway, on with the story...

I arrived at Spring Meadow Lake at roughly 10:45 (for the event which was set to begin at 12...look, I wanted to get there early so that my body would acclimate to the cold slowly so that when I jumped into almost freezing water, it wouldn't be such a big shock to my system) and checked in with the "Plunger Check In" people (personally, I think they could have come up with a better name for us than "Plunger", but I digress). I waited around outside in shorts and a jacket with a baseball hat on, once again, trying to get used to the coldness rather than the smart people who were sitting around a fire or were dressed in coats and pants. Yes...I did say I wasn't the smartest cookie in the jar.

My co-workers who were going to jump with me (Mr. Author, Ms. Far Side, Ms. HR and her boyfriend Mr. Awesome) as well as two of our other coworkers (Ms. Chef and Ms. Sledder and kids) arrived shortly before noon. We all got in line and made our way to the lake, a short distance away. From this point on, I'll describe what I saw and went through...it'll just be easier...

The wind was coming off the Continental Divide with some really nice gusts of wind strong enough to almost knock my hat off my head. Add to this the 40 degree weather, and the windchill was all of 17 degrees. They just made an announcement not minutes ago that the water temperature was a balmy 39 (thats right...7 degrees above freezing). Ms. Far Side and I decide we'll jump together as we are to go in pairs.

We walk down the ramp to the short dock that jets out into the water...or what would be water if the temperature wasn't cold and hadn't been that way for months. The blocks of ice that had been removed to make an area for us to jump into are at least 4 inches thick and are stacked up on the side. I jokingly ask one of the divers (dressed in a cold weather dive suit) if the water is warm, and he smiles and said, "Yeah! Come on in!" or something to that effect. There is a group of people spread out around us in an arc...roughly 50 people or so standing on the ice, and maybe that many more on the shore. I look over at Ms. Far Side and say, "Ok...on the count of 3, we jump." I don't really hear a response, but I assume she says "Ok."

"1..." my mind is wondering if what we're about to do is the smartest thing I've done in my life.
"2..." the smart part of my mind replies, "This is surely the dumbest thing you've done today."
"3..." the other part of my mind thinks that's not much of a consolation, but my legs don't get the message and we jump.

My feet plunge into the icy water and are instantly numb. Gravity helps the rest of my legs follow rather quickly (thank you Issac Newton) and before I know it, my feet hit the bottom of the lake. The water comes up to my waist, but because I can no longer feel my legs, and they aren't responding, they collapse under me and I go completely under the surface of the water. The only thing I can think of at this point is "..................................................." (no, that's not swearing...that's my brain frozen). Finally I push up off the bottom and I feel the diver helping me back up. My hat has come off and is floating away from me.

"I'll get your hat," the diver says. I thank him and numbly begin the 10 foot walk through the water to the shore. I can't feel my feet. My left leg is cramping. My shirt is plastered to my body. Cold water...no...freezing water is pouring out of my hair and I'm doing the best that I can to remain upright and get out of the water. Someone hands me a towel which I quickly wrap around my body to try and remove some of the water. I get to the top of the hill, and Ms. Sledder is there waiting for me with my backpack full of dry clothes. I stand there for a bit...amazed at just how cold it really is, and then I make my way to the pavilion where I realize that the hairs on my legs are frozen. Instead of changing, I just put on a sweatshirt, another pair of shorts, a wool hat and a jacket.

I ended up talking with Ms. HR for a bit and we walk up to the Red Cross van where they are serving coffee, hot chocolate and chili. I get some chili and walk back to my truck to go home where I shed my shoes and jumped, fully clothed, into the shower. The water there was hot enough to steam up the room quickly and turn my skin a nice shade of red, but I honestly couldn't feel the heat.

I'm writing this at 9:37PM...and I can honestly say that I am still having moments where I get a chill for no reason. It's amazing what people are willing to do to themselves...but I'll be perfectly honest here: I'm doing it again next year.