It's cold in MN. Scratch that. Cold is feeling a little uncomfortable, then slipping under a blanket. This kind of cold freezes your ass and makes you cough when you breathe it in. But Minnesotans have thick skin.
To prove it, we jump in one of our 10,000 lakes in January.
I did this last year after slamming about twelve bloody marys. I was slurring by lunchtime, but it was worth it. There was no way in hell I would jump into frigid waters of death while sober.
To say it was cold is a massive understatement. It's motherfucking cold. Your skin screams in pain as it submerges into what feels like cardiac paddles electrocuting your entire body. Your head feels like it shrinks to the size of a raisin.
I can't even begin to wonder what this kind of trauma does to a pair of testicles. It must takes weeks for them to make an appearance again. "No you go back down and see if it's safe! He's trying to kill us!"
I was worried my breasts would look like ziploc bags of ice cubes, but they came out okay. I was proud of them. My hair didn't break off and I didn't lose a toe.
In fact, I didn't lose anything but fear. I felt liberated! I cheated death for crissake! I felt free to skydive, rock climb, fly to Greece, pole dance, and sing karoke. Anything that invited fear before was gone.
Will I do the plunge again? No. Will I go and cheer everyone else on while they toggle that fine line between life and death? Hell yeah. It's a life-changing event that unlocks a fearless streak in each and every person that completes the mission.
That, my friend, is priceless. Even if you do lose a testicle.