Penguin Plunge

Battle Your Inner Penguins

February, 8:35 am Plattsburgh
The Great Barge

I was sitting shotgun, with my sister at the wheel of our mothers’ tank. In the back sat Mike Donahey, he too was resolved to take that frigid plunge into the waters of Lake Champlain, and next to him sat a kid known only as Zeus. We were headed toward Burlington, Vermont, for its winter festival. It may have been a festival, but there was to be little fun had when once we arrived.

The ferry came into view, as well as the obsidian waters of the Champlain. It was here, while my sister handed the money for the man in the booth for the ferry tickets, I first glimpsed my nemesis. It was nothing but a white desert of snow. Chunks of ice floated complacently. We boarded the ferry, and I kept thinking of Charon the man you paid to ferry you across the river Styx in Greek mythology. Was that man my Charon?

We had 20 cars with us on this barge, and a 20-minute ferry ride to Vermont. I stood at the railing for couple of minutes, like a Roman sentry guarding Emperor Augustus, and his greatness. The artic winds were biting through my clothes. I was wearing three layers in anticipation of hypothermia and the wicked hand of Jack Frost. All I knew was that in a short hour life goal numero uno would be accomplished. It’s certainly not the most important to me, like marrying and living in Ireland, nor is it the most outlandish, like smoking a joint in space, but it was on the list, and had to be done.

10:30 am Burlington Vermont
The Horror of Living Tents

Donahey and I walked into the tent and inside it was living. Voices and shouting, constant movement, a claustrophobic’s nightmare. We approached a desk and a line, we were in for a wait. The heaters were going full blast and I began sweating, horribly sweating. The three layers I had on to fight the bastard cold now backfired on me.

When we got to the front of the line, a pudgy woman was sitting behind a desk waiting to greet us. She was a bitch. She wasn’t high enough on the VIP list to get a cool Penguin Plunge Jacket I had seen other event staff wearing. This woman whose nametag read Anne looked like the mother of 2 1/2 children, the kind with a white picket fence. Perfect life. She handed each of us a registration form and a pen.

“Are you registered yet,” she said. I was surprised by this. I wanted to say “I’,m filling out this form 8 inches from your face. If I had registered already I’d be getting ready to swim.” I didn’t do this, though, I just told her no.

Name, phone number, address, blah, blah, blah, bullshit. I completed the form and handed it back. She glanced it over, making sure I dotted my i’s and crossed the t’s. She made some quick marks on some paper. “Alright everything looks good, now I just need the $175 registration fee,” she demanded. Confusion follows.

“I thought it was $25 per person to swim,” I responded.

“Uh, Huh, No, its $25 just for those who registered on-line. Each team is expected to raise $175 to donate,” she was snide. A hatred for Anne grew like a fire started from flint stones. Right now it was smoking.

“On the radio commercial they said it was $25. That’s all I got.” I was trying to charm her. How I hate myself now. Anne pointed to some printing on the registration form, some print I overlooked. I will not let this pudgy dwarf stand in my way. I kept cool. “ Look all we got is $50 between us. We came all the way here from Plattsburgh. I missed a night of drinking to wake up early and swim in frigid waters for a good cause. Now you’re trying to raise money for Special Olympics, right?”

She nodded, and I continued. “Then how can you turn down $50 from two guys, who just want to do some good, and swim in some water in January. Come on Anne its just ice water.” I got her attention. She was thinking about because it took her awhile to respond. “Hannah, go find Hannah. She’s a tall blonde, and she’s the event coordinator,” she caved in. This battle is won.

“OK, wow, thanks,” I said. With hope somewhat restored, we started to search for Hannah. We were looking for a tall blonde like looking for a one-night stand in a bar. Five minutes of this followed and no luck so we decide to move outside. We shoved on the doors and took five steps and stood. Same procedure except outside. Our plan worked to no avail, and we decided to move through crowd. We took 10 steps maybe and we saw a blonde in a Yellow and Black Plunge Staff Jacket. This had to be her, she was eye level with me and I’m 6’2. We walked over to her and Donahey explained to her our situation. She seemed to understand. She spoke, I didn’t listen though. Everything she said went in one ear and out the other, I was busy trying to decide if she was hot enough for that one-night stand or not. Her eyes were red with stress but they were still a sharp blue. She looked to be about 30- 35ish, I couldn’t get an accurate read on the body due to the bulky clothes. I hope it was just bulky clothes, I was pretty sure it was. Up top in the chest area would cost her points, I decide that a generous 6 out of 10 would suffice. This means drunk in a bar I would probably hit on her, sober no. She signed our registration forms, and told us if there was a problem to have them call her on the radio. She received a call on her radio just seconds after this, and I lost this woman’s attention forever.

Back in the sweltering, living-jungle, we turned our registration forms in, and paid $25 to the charity. We were all set. We were placed in group 35, a group for men who had no groups. All we had to do was wait.

11:15ish
THE PLUNGE

I was staring at the hairy neck of a man in a kilt. There were a bunch of men wearing kilts, I was intrigued. “Are you taking the plunge?” I inquired.
“Huh, oh uhhhh chyah,” he wreaked of beer and his answers were some what slurred, “37 baby wooooooh” He let out a war cry and his fellow kilt wearers all responded as if they were a pack of wolves howling at a blood moon. I got a sinking feeling. “This idiot’s going to get me nowhere” I thought.

“All right 35, right here man,” I responded with half the enthusiasm, and slowly backed away. Scotty was too busy getting pumped up and sipping Irish coffee to not notice my stealth departure. Disheartened with my first interview I began to wander around. My sister had met up with one of her friends who went to school at UVM, she too was still drunk from the night before. Zeus was taping and photographing the Penguins plunging, and Donahey went to find the bathroom.

I looked at my cell phone for the time, then I began looking for Donahey, it was 12:24. The pudgy lady in the living tent told us that we had to be in the men’s Plungers tent at 12:30 to get ready.

We went to the tent. One thing I forgot to mention was the fact that they actually had the National Guard there to keep order. Yeah I know like what the F!$% could happen here that we’d need guard dogs, and grunts. Anyway two of these grunts in green fatigues (like you can hide in green fatigues at a winter carnival) checked our numbered hands, and made sure that our names corresponded to their stupid sheets.
Inside was another living tent, except this one was worse. Inside there were Penguins of all shapes, and sizes and ages, and they were all half naked, or naked. Some just coming in from their swims, would take off their wet clothes and walk around and high-fiving their friends and drying off. This part kind of sucked.

Donahey and I found a spot to sit and waited some more. We had about 12 groups to go before we were up so we sat around fully clothed for 15 minutes. Cheering and shouting came from all the groups in different corners and it continued. Donahey and I sat silently, I don’t know what he was thinking, but me, I was thinking about what my friend Burns told me the night before. “ Will, just want you to know, there are Lily’s and there are legends.” I kept turning this over in my mind, and then I would think about the water. I knew I was going to do it. I was resolved from the beginning. Besides I talked way too much shit the week before that if I didn’t do it I would lose respect from my peers. There was no turning back, only forward, always forward.

We undressed, I was wearing George Mason University sports shorts, blue, and I was going commando. The thing I wasn’t too happy about was the cool draft coming up my leg, and freezing my boys. I figured me and them got a lot worse coming to us in 10 minutes, so I put it out of my mind. Donahey I walked out the back door of the Penguin, Jungle, Hell, tent to the staging area, where all Penguins came together to swim.

By now anticipation, nerves and adrenaline had taken its toll on me. I was so tense I could stare a hole through a brick wall or something. I began warming up, jumping up and down and breathing deep. Each group got a tremendous ovation from the fellow Penguins in the tent before they took the long walk. At one point Bob Marley was playing “One Love” out side on the radio and everyone was grooving, and just diggin the moment. It was an extraordinary show of brother and sisterhood. All of us in that tent shared a common goal, and a common fear, plunging. Thirty went out the door, so did 31, 32, and 33. Once 34 was on deck Mike and I found our fellow penguins. Anyway my group of Vagrants, outsiders, and loners was a bit of a disappointment. My group included one guy with tattoos, a mother daughter combination, and four high school kids who thought they were better than Donahey and me.

Donahey turned around “Alright here’s what we’re gonna do when its our turn,” they were listening, “we’re going to shout “DUCKS OF A FEATHER FLY TOGETHER…QUACK QUACK QUACK,” ok that’s our cheer,” This got mixed responses especially from those high school kids. 34 went out the door and it was D-Day, H-Hour, The Day of Infamy.

12:20ish
1,000 Yard Stare

Donahey and I stood at the front, like soldiers on the front lines of Apocalypse, starring out the plastic squares used for windows. I was at the height of my adrenaline rush, every part of my body was tense with anticipation.
“DUCKS OF A FEATHER FLY TOGETHER…QUACK QUACK QUACK,” Donahey had started the chant and I didn’t even notice, but before I could quack the door opened. I was out the door like a speed freak in need of more speed. Donahey took the lead and I was right on his heels. I flew around the corners like swift foot Achilles chasing after Hector before the walls of Troy. I round the final turn towards the peer. 20 feet…15…10...5…, I look at Donahey, he stops at the edge of the water turns around does a back flip right into the frigid waters… 0.

The cold, Oh sweet heavenly Jesus the cold. The dark water surrounds you; death encases you, only for moment before you break free. You break the surface with no ability to breath. You think “my legs will get me out of here,” and as you try to move you start wonder if you have legs at all. The cold erases any existing mobility, toes harden to little ice stubs, your legs lockup freeze, and you can only thrash the water frantically to get out. Once your foot hits solid ground it becomes a struggle to shift weight forward, and one walks as if he were the tin man, stiff and rigid. Volunteers have towels ready for you when you get out, but might as well have them just drape it on you because it’ll be awhile before your fingers regain the concept of knuckle joint movement.

I walked back to the changing tent, yes walked; I was too cold to run. After you get out of the water the air temperature outside is little compared to the water. Inside I found Donahey, we smiled at each other, we knew we were gods for a day, nothing else needed to be said. Everything about this day became irrelevant, except for the 15 seconds of rebirth I experienced. Outside my sister, and Zeus were waiting. Zeus had filmed everything, and we began the walk back to the Tank. Donahey had to work at 2:00.

Would you take the plunge?