Brave Soul
My fingertips burn as I walk away to escape the cold and crowds getting dressed. I wish I had brought my glove liners, but I didn't think it would be this severe. It is my favorite day in January when hundreds of people strip bare on a Saturday to leap into the icy water of Lake Michigan for a polar plunge. Today's weather is a sharp 24 degrees with a light snowfall and brisk wind, reminding Chicagoans of what a windchill is.
As I walk to the bus, a thin layer of snow creates a slippery incline into the underpass. People shuffle arm in arm, helping each other not to fall. I notice an older man in his late 70s walking unassisted in tan leather penny loafers and no pants. I ask him if he needs a hand walking down the path, careful not to slip. He replies, "No, thank you, but I would enjoy the conversation." I smile and ask him with a giggle, "Where are your pants?" He replies with a wise tone that it is too challenging to dry off and get dressed in the wind and snow.
"Have you plunged before?" I ask. He states six times a year with friends. I smile, feeling I have found a kindred spirit. I even do not restrict a cold plunge to once a year. Over New Year's, I went to Wisconsin to winter camp and proudly checked off my bucket list: Dig a hole in the ice and dunk in an icy lake after a hot sauna. I shared with him that I also partook in the Chicago Polar Club plunge in the past, but I came to photograph it this year. I enjoy photographing the experiences found on people's faces. In Finland, there is a word for this – called sisu. It translates to the strength of will, perseverance, and determination when against adversity. When you have sisu, you sustain courage.
Electricity is in the air on the day of the polar plunge when crowds first gather at Oak Street beach. Some stand in fluorescent speedos undressed an hour before the event begins, while others remain wrapped in their goose down. I scan the scene to identify the entrance and exit, deciding the best spot to photograph along the water's edge. One unexpected thing about this event is once the plunge begins, it is over and done in the blink of an eye. I know I need to be prepared to aim and shoot.
A few minutes before noon, everyone migrates closer to the entrance, standing bare skin to the wind and snow. A siren goes off, and the Great Migration of bare Chicagoans herd themselves into the water with screams of panic as they discover the water is cold. Some dance and leap in ecstasy, while others crawl in despair, both in high drama. Nevertheless, these human wildebeests have survival instincts that bring them to shore, where I photograph their response to the ritual of plunging into freezing water at 35 fucking degrees.
My favorite part is the irrational silliness, including the yearlong wait for something that is over in 5 minutes from beginning to end. The scene comes full circle with an esprit de corp and bond among polar bears. The first time I had plunged, I went on my own and left with a new friend. She and I are still friends today, sharing a cold plunge now and then.
Everyone then gets dressed and goes home to wait and repeat the cycle of life the following year.
My walking companion and I make it through the underpass without falling. As I walk away, I thank him for the conversation. If it weren't so cold, I would stop to take his photograph since he has a warm demeanor and a unique look. But my fingertips are still burning, and I'm starting to wonder if I have frostbite. He says goodbye and says, "The polar plunge... It shows you what you're made of,"
I acknowledge. "You are a brave soul."
