I may or may not have been under the influence of Christmas spirit when I agreed to subject myself to the polar plunge with my sister. It's not until February! Hell! It'll be spring by then!
Uh. I'm a moron.
On Saturday we'll be polar plunging, and I can guarantee that I'm going to scream like the little bitch I am. I don't know how or why I agreed to this, but I can't turn back now.
I tend to do things on a whim, without much thought. Hence marathons No. 1 and 2, that time I got a tattoo on my wrist and the fact that I moved back to my hometown.
Compulsive, I believe it's called. Or stupid. Whatever.
And so now I'm going to jump into a body of water mid-winter. Neat.
With that said, I've always told myself that one day I'd do the polar plunge. I need to check it off my list of stupid things I've accomplished, after all. So at least I can look forward to crossing off another asinine idea, right before checking off marathons No. 3 and 4.
But I will, for the next six days, be praying to big, baby Jesus that he show us some mercy and at least raise the mercury in the thermometer to some degree above zero. Because I'm pretty sure that when I walked the equivalent of a block-and-a-half yesterday in the sub-zero temperatures, my face fell off.
I don't lie.
I'll also be contemplating my plunging attire, because you better believe that if I'm going to die of massive shock to the system on Saturday, I'm going to do it in style.
Bikini? Perhaps. However, I was thinking more along the lines of full-body armor.