Yikes

What ever it is that compels a person to jump into 42 degree water has yet to find its way into my bloodstream, but I was enticed into paying the five dollar entry fee and signing a waver relinquishing all my God-given rights so I could get a cool t-shirt. By the time I managed to worm my way through the Polartec-clad line to the signup station about 800 others also had waved their rights to sue if they suffered any injury or heart attack. Many with the intentions of plunging into the glacial waters had stripped down to their alabaster skin tones—not a pretty sight—ready to turn as red as Maine lobsters at a New England clam bake. Upon the final note of the Star Spangle Banner the young, the old, the drunk, the hung over, the fat and the fit raced to the clear waters like lemmings. The senseless dove head first, swimming toward the kayakers who were ready to resuscitate any who suffered cardiac arrest. As quick as these polar bears entered they retreated to find towels, blankets, hats, mittens and other warm attire left on the beach. They did not find too much sympathy from the spectators who shivered under gray skies.

The t-shirt was extra large and this doesn’t break a New Year’s resolution.