Lake Michigan New Year's Day Swim
I feel great on the walk to the beach. I’m actually running to the shore.
I’m not worried about the temperature (24 degrees Fahrenheit), the wind (bitter as a hag’s breath), or my general policy of not swimming in Lake Michigan (sewage, industrial pollution, Ohio State grads).
A few weeks back my friend Jeff casually suggested starting 2011 with a midday swim in Lake Michigan. I didn’t need much convincing.
In college the university’s water polo team practiced outdoors throughout the year. In the warm months this was a blessing as we got tan thighs and a good glimpse of the student body. In the winter, which is usually over by Valentine’s Day, each practiced ended with a chilly, Speedo-clad sprint to the safety of our towels.
I had experience. I had a tiny bathing suit. I was ready to prove my manhood to the Great Lake.
Undressing, I steel myself with these thoughts on the frozen sand of North Avenue Beach.
In the summertime, North Avenue Beach becomes its own neighborhood as Chicagoans duck work to play volleyball, flirt and use up the precious, precious warmth.
On New Year’s Day only the delusional and still-drunk are out. There are enough of these to form a crowd. Some strip and squeal. Others take pictures and laugh. One man in a thong, angel wings and Batman masks dances.
Once my clothes are off it’s time for action. Taking light, barefoot steps over the ice, Jeff and I reach the water. I dip my feet in and life leaves them immediately. This is not the time to take my time.
I high-step out into the lake. The water rises, and when it gets to my waist I stop, turn towards the shore and drop under. This will be a brief visit.
Sprinting back to the shore I can feel my body shutting down. My feet don’t bend and contour to the ice rocks as I crawl out. They land flat on the ice like blocks of wood.
My ego, however, is still working, and it tells my body to stop and respond to the group of swimmers complimenting my orange Speedo. My survival instincts need reordering.
Back on dry, frozen, terrible land, the veteran New Year’s Day swimmers dry off and get dressed in an orderly fashion. I do not.
I put on part of one sock, then decide my hands really need the warmth more and try a glove. But stiff fingers and gloves won’t let me straighten out my sleeves. OK, so the gloves are off and I’m back working on the socks. One sock is on. Now I realize icicles are forming in my hair. So my hat goes on. Then it comes off because my shirt wont’ fit over it. I put my shirt on backwards and return the hat to my head. Then I work my other sock over my bright red toes and up my ankle. I hike up my pants, and cram my feet into shoes, I’ll tie the laces later. Now the gloves.
Finally, after much suffering and shivering and visions of frostbite amputations, I am ready for pictures.
I will never, ever, do this again. But on this day you have not beaten me Lake Michigan. I stand, hunched and shaky, the victor. I will visit you again in the summer. I will run towards you again, with feet full of toes. And I will not enter your waters, because they’re still kind of gross, no matter the weather.
My Kind of Town is a regular series of post about the activities, events, tastes and sights that are essential to the Chicago experience.