At 9 a.m. on New Year's Day, a crowd swarmed around the normally sleepy Offut Lake Resort near Tenino.
People bundled in sweatpants, jackets and scarves scurried into the Lady of the Lake Public House, filled up on biscuits and gravy, and downed Bloody Marys before participating in an icy New Years tradition.
I was one of them.
An hour later at 10 a.m., I was one of the first 10 people to walk out onto the docks behind the restaurant and jump into the water as part of the annual polar plunge. Then, I was one of the same 10 people to swim faster than they ever have in their lives to get to the steps and out of the water.
I’m not the most experienced with jumping into cold water. I’m not a competitive athlete who takes ice baths for recovery. I don't go scuba diving, and I’m not a member of any cold water swimming clubs.
The closest thing I’ve come to a polar plunge is a once or twice yearly swim in the Pacific Ocean. And that’s usually in the summer.
As a kid, my brother and cousin dragged me along for a run into the ocean while on a trip to Seaside. It was not summer at that time. In fact, the sun hadn't shined at all that day. It was nothing but clouds. And to this day, when I hop into the Pacific Ocean in the summer and my friends think I’m crazy for braving the cold, I remember my brother telling me, “you just have to stay in until your legs go numb. Then you don’t feel the cold.”
Could those words be ill advised and possibly lead to medical issues such as hypothermia or cold water shock? Maybe. But I still remember them, and I still jump into the water. Most of all, I love hearing the exasperation in someone's voice when you tell them to ignore all common sense about cold water.
Seriously, don't take my advice.
The jump into Offut Lake was certainly shocking. You hand over a waiver and walk out onto the slippery dock that is sprinkled with salt to stop a bunch of shivering swimmers with bare feet from slipping into the water before they are ready.
Before you have time to think about how cold the water will be, a voice over a bullhorn counts down from three and says “jump!”
So you jump.
Suddenly, I was in the water, my brain ignoring the cold and focusing instead on shaking the water out of my eyes and being the fastest swimmer in the bunch so I could make it to the stairs and out of the water before anyone else. I also jumped from the point on the dock farthest from the stairs.
I stepped out of the water and, out of anticipation more than anything else, I rushed to my bag for my towel, worried that I would start shivering immediately. To my surprise, the adrenaline kicked in immediately and the shock of the cold water made the winter air suddenly feel very warm and inviting.
The adrenaline carried me through a good five minutes of jumping around soaking wet and freezing cold in the frigid air feeling like I was on a beach in Southern California. Honestly, I could have gone longer, but cold feet and toes — verging on numb — required socks and shoes and additional layers for the sake of my own health.
I did not think participating in my first polar plunge would be part of my job when I signed on to be a local reporter in Centralia about 10 months ago. But I’m happy it is.
I moved to the area from Oregon, so I don’t feel too out of place up here in Lewis County — or in this case, South Thurston County. Being a reporter here, I feel relatively connected with things going on, and I’ve learned a lot about the communities in the area. It seems the polar plunge was the next on the list of local traditions you just have to try. Just another of many local initiation ceremonies.
My predecessor at The Chronicle, Spokesman-Review reporter Mitchell Roland, did the Icicle Brigade Polar Plunge in support of the Special Olympics last January.
If I’m not mistaken, my boss took the plunge into Offut Lake when he was just a beat reporter at The Chronicle like me many years ago. (Editor’s note: The reporter is indeed mistaken — his editor wouldn’t be caught dead doing such an ill-advisable activity.)
Like I said, I’m glad that I got to participate.
Being part of the first wave to plunge was maybe the best way to do it. Of course, I got lucky in being first. They needed one last single for the first jump and everyone at the front of the line was in a group.
But jumping first certainly woke me up and gave me some clarity to watch the rest of the event. People of all shapes, sizes, ages and interests came to participate in the jump. Parents convinced their kids that the cold water jump would be fun. The kids found out quickly what they were really in for, feigning anger afterward.
Others came seemingly as a family tradition. One woman, a regular according to one of the family members who owns the place, jumped off alone and struck a pose. She does it every year, an organizer said. The Lady of the Lake will use the regular's photo on Facebook for a bit of unofficial advertising, and the regular will get a kick out of it, I guess.
Another woman got to the stairs last in her group and then stayed in the water a few extra seconds, calm as could be. She seemed to actually want to feel the cold for a moment instead of just letting the shock and adrenaline carry her through.
A somewhat amusing habit that seemed to affect all equally was the need to make some noise. I know I let out a few bellows, grunts and whatever else I could muster to deal with the cold. And most everyone did the same.
The polar plunge was a pleasant surprise for this young reporter in more ways than one, and to be honest now, I can't wait for the next one.
