Thousands gathered yesterday on the Coney Island boardwalk to once again welcome in the new year by shedding their clothes and hurtling themselves into the chilly Atlantic Ocean waters. The 2015 Coney Island Polar Bear Club swim saw a turn out of well over 2,000, and while some opted to watch and cheer from the comfort of dry land, almost half came determined to taste the Atlantic's frigid brine.
"This is my 18th time doing it in 19 years," Sean Sweeney, 49, said before the swim began. Sweeney was one of first who gathered on the boardwalk, an area that became a kind of awesome, stationary street parade complete with dance music, dancing, costumes, food, and lots of half naked shouting. "18 years ago you wouldn't have been here," Sweeney told me, standing shirtless with an American flag draped across his shoulders like a boxer. "It grows every year and I'm fine with that. I think it's fantastic. I have a bunch of friends who are doing it for the first time and I always say to people ‘If this is the worst you’re going to feel all year, you’re way ahead of the game.'"
(Scott Heins/Gothamist)
Some divers, like Sweeney, have made the plunge a longtime new year's personal tradition; others, like myself, were marking their maiden voyage into the seas of freeze.
At the registration line I signed a drowning and hypothermia waiver, gladly donated the suggested $20 to Camp Sunshine (the plunge is a charity event, after all) and was given a red wristband, indicating that my swim time was 1:05. The woman who signed me up gave me a sticker, wished me luck, and suggested I try Coney Island's new "Plunge" toasted lager, which was made special for those making the dip. The prospect of cold beer on a sub-freezing day seemed odd, but maybe the booze blanket would come in handy.
"Just run in," Cathy O'Gara, 55, told me. "What I do is I run in and dive under, then I get back up and dive again. That’s my thing," she said. Cathy has been polar plunging for the last 6 years straight, but is moving from Staten Island to Arizona later this winter.
Hordes of New Yorkers made their way toward the beach as 1 o'clock neared. In the half-naked, shivering scrum I spotted a man dressed as Mr. Clean, a full orca whale onesie, and a trio dressed as The Life Aquatic's Team Zissou. "We had a friend coming dressed as the Jaguar Shark," one told me, "but she partied too hard last night."
The starting line (Scott Heins/Gothamist)
Finally, at the word "PLUNGE," I sprinted down the cold sand to the surf, waded in up to my knees and then dove under. It was ridiculous. The cold water hit my head like a hammer and when I tried to stand up again I wobbled and nearly fell, punch-drunk with shock from the 41 degree water. I had just enough clarity to remember O'Gara's technique and threw myself under the surface a second time for a few harried breast strokes, then surfaced again and stumbled back up onto the sand. I felt woozy, but refreshed; doing something so vacuous—stripping down and running into the ocean with a thousand others— brings on a kind of frostbit euphoria. Seconds after getting out I was grinning like a fool.
"At least it's a dry heat," quipped one man as he walked past me, his full red long underwear suit drenched and covered in sand. "These people are absolutely insane," another woman said, safe in her big parka far away from the shore. The plunging continued on until roughly 3 p.m., and some brave souls made multiple trips out into the ocean. One 25-year-old man, Bryant, made three separate plunges. As I stood watching him come out of the spray I asked him how he plans to finally warm up. "Snuggle," he said. Happy new year.
