We Did It: Our Freezing, Glorious, Record-Breaking (Hopefully!) New Year's Day

We're still thawing out as we write this, wrapped in every blanket we own at our Blue Heron Beach Cottage. Our hair still smells like salt. Our toes are finally regaining feeling. And we can't stop grinning about what just happened.

This morning, we joined 4,900 other slightly unhinged humans in Birch Bay's attempt to break the Guinness World Record for the largest polar bear plunge. Yes, we voluntarily stood waist-deep in the Salish Sea for 60 seconds on January 1st. No, we haven't lost our minds (we think).

The Night Before: "Are We Really Doing This?"

Last night, we laid out our swimsuits and stared at them like they might bite. The weather app cheerfully informed us it would be 38 degrees at noon. The water temperature? A balmy 44 degrees — which sounds reasonable until you remember that's refrigerator-cold.

We'd signed up weeks ago in a burst of New Year's ambition, but now reality was setting in. One of us suggested maybe just watching from the beach. The other countered with, "When else are we going to be part of a world record?"

Game on.

Morning of: The Energy Was Contagious

Walking down to the beach at 11:30 AM, we could feel it — that electric anticipation when thousands of people gather to do something wonderfully ridiculous together. The registration tent was chaos in the best way. Volunteers handed us our bibs (complete with RFID chips to verify our participation) while shouting encouragement over the crowd noise.

People were everywhere: groups in matching tutus, families with three generations represented, a guy in a full Viking costume, someone's golden retriever wearing a life jacket (unclear if the dog was participating officially). We saw our neighbors from down the road and ended up forming an impromptu support squad.

The Moment of Truth

Here's what they don't tell you about polar plunges: the anticipation is worse than the actual plunge. We spent 20 minutes doing the "should we take our robes off now or wait?" dance. Pro tip: wait.

When the announcer started the countdown, something shifted. Suddenly we weren't just two people about to freeze — we were part of this massive, breathing organism of humanity, all choosing to start 2026 with an act of collective courage (or foolishness, jury's still out).

The siren blared. We ran.

The first contact with water is a full-body shock that temporarily deletes all rational thought. But then — and this is the magic part — you look around and see thousands of others experiencing the exact same primal "COLD COLD COLD" reaction, and suddenly you're laughing. We grabbed each other's hands, steadied ourselves against the waves, and started counting.

60 Seconds That Felt Like Forever (and an Instant)

Those 60 seconds were wild. Our bodies went through stages: shock, then numbness, then this weird euphoria where the cold didn't matter anymore because we were doing it — actually doing it — with 4,900 other brave souls.

Someone next to us started a chant. A kid on someone's shoulders was counting down from 60 at the top of his lungs. We saw one woman doing yoga poses (show-off, but respect). Time became elastic — every second lasted an hour, but somehow it was over in a blink.

When the final whistle blew, the beach erupted. We'd done it. Whether Guinness certifies it or not (Norway currently holds the record at 3,134 participants), we were part of something extraordinary.

The Aftermath: Cold Bodies, Warm Hearts

The trek back up the beach was a comedy of numb feet and shaking hands trying to operate towels. The hot chocolate station had a line longer than a Starbucks on Monday morning. Everyone was talking to everyone — comparing experiences, sharing photos, making promises to do it again next year.

We overheard one first-timer say, "I've never high-fived so many strangers in my life." That captured it perfectly.

Why This Mattered

Back at the cottage now, finally warm, we keep returning to why this felt so significant. It wasn't just about potentially breaking a world record (though how cool would that be?). It was about starting the year by doing something that required us to override every sensible instinct we had.

It was about being part of our community in the most literal way — standing together in uncomfortable conditions, choosing shared experience over individual comfort. In a world that often feels disconnected, we spent the first day of 2026 profoundly, freezingly, joyfully connected to 4,900 other humans.

Plus, we have the best answer now when someone asks how we spent New Year's Day.

Would We Do It Again?

Are you kidding? We're already planning our costumes for next year.

To everyone who plunged with us: you're all absolute legends. To everyone who watched from the beach: we get it, and we'll save you a spot in line for hot chocolate next year when you inevitably join us.

Here's to starting 2026 with the coldest, boldest, most unforgettable celebration possible. Our bodies have forgiven us (mostly). Our spirits are still soaring.

See you next year, Birch Bay. We'll be the ones in the matching ridiculous outfits, ready to freeze for glory all over again.

P.S. — Still waiting for Guinness to verify, but we're calling it: Birch Bay, you magnificent, frozen warriors, we did it.

Photo courtesy of The Northern Light and Sacha Sanguinetti, Birch Bay Chamber of Commerce.