It’s battle energy! No you are freezing.

My First Polar Bear Plunge
(…and the moment panic punched me in the lungs)

This plunge happened a few years ago, but the lesson stayed with me.

Why do people fling themselves into freezing water?
Some strip down to swimsuits, others dress up in wigs and costumes and leap in screaming. What fun, right?

I decided to find out. I invited a few friends to join me. Some laughed. Some looked at me like I’d misplaced a few brain cells.
Honestly? Fair assessment.

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Flashback: Panic in the Lungs

When I was younger, I practiced Goju-Ryu karate. I loved it — good people, good training — but every so often during sparring, I’d miss a block, get tagged in the solar plexus, and whoosh — breath gone.
That brief, sharp panic… followed by relief when the air finally returned.

That’s what I expected when sparring.
I didn’t expect to relive that feeling while swimming.

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The Prep

“Experts” tell you to: eat breakfast, bring a hot drink, pack towels and dry clothes, wear water shoes.
Fine. I did the whole checklist—Starbucks latte in hand, towels and dry clothes in the bag, water socks on standby. And yet I still felt like I’d missed something important. Or maybe, deep down, I already knew this was a mistake. No, surely not. It had to be one of those secret steps only seasoned plungers whisper about.

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Conditions

Air: 35°F
Water: 39.9°F

On paper, not terrible. No ice to crack through. No drifting bergs.

“How bad could it be?”
Yeah… those are always the famous last words.

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The Wait

Fifteen minutes standing around in shorts feels like an hour.
My hands were shaking—actually, my whole body shook.
My wife glanced at me, one eyebrow raised.

“This is battle energy,” I told her.

“You’re freezing,” she said.

She was right. And that was before the water.

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The Plunge

At noon, I walked onto the dock with about seventy-five others.

Get this: I could’ve bailed.
I could’ve walked back up, sat in the warm car, and told everyone I’d finally regained common sense. Probably would’ve gotten a few laughs.
But backing down from a challenge isn’t in my nature.
My wife calls it stubbornness.
I call it determined.

So I stood there, staring at the black water, letting the cold wind do its best to talk me out of it.

Someone yelled, “GO!”

Bodies crashed into the water—screams, splashes, chaos.
People dove in, hit chest-deep, and immediately clawed their way back out.

Not me. If I was going in, I wanted the full experience. In for a penny, in for a pound—determined all the way.

I walked to the end of the dock, waved to my wife, watched my brother shake his head in disbelief, grinned, and stepped off.

Shock. Pure shock.

Cold swallowed me whole.

Worse—I’d worn tennis shoes.
Swimming in shoes? Completely different animal. They drag, they slow you, they make every kick feel half a beat behind.

I sank ten, maybe twelve feet.
Touched bottom.
Kicked hard.

Broke the surface gasping—or trying to.
My chest locked. Arms tingled. Legs went numb. Panic bloomed fast, faster than thought.

For a second—okay, several—I wasn’t sure I’d make it back to the dock.
That’s how quick your brain goes to dark places.
Faster than the water closes over your head.

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What Was Happening to My Body

Cold-water folks call it the cold shock response: uncontrollable gasps, spiking heart rate, blood pressure shooting up. It lasts one to two minutes but feels like a lifetime.

It’s actually the most dangerous part of a cold plunge — the gasp reflex.
Cold hits your face, your body panics, and you inhale without meaning to.
If you’re underwater?

That’s how people drown.

And me, wanting the full experience? Yeah… I got the full dangerous experience.

Would’ve been nice to know that beforehand.

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The Comedown (and the Grin)

I climbed out grinning like a madman.

Pins and needles lit up every nerve.
My skin glowed red.
Steam curled off me in the cold air.

Strangest part? The air felt warm — because anything feels warm after water that cold.

My whole body buzzed. Pain, exhilaration, adrenaline — all tangled together. I shook, laughed, and felt unbelievably alive.

Only under a hot shower did the truth hit: I’d underestimated the cold by a mile. I was bone cold! It took me hours to heat back up.

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Would I Do It Again?

Absolutely.
There’s a little insanity in it, sure — but also clarity. A jolt that reminds you you’re alive.

January 1st, noon, 2026
I’m already plotting the next jump.

The Heart of It — What the Plunge Taught Me

When the shock hit and my lungs seized, I had a split second of pure instinct:
I can’t do this.

Not drama. Not fear. Just that old, familiar voice that shows up whenever the world turns colder or faster than expected.

But here’s what I remembered — and what I tend to forget:

Resilience isn’t forged in comfort.
It’s built in the exact moment your body begs for warmth and safety
and you stay anyway.

It doesn’t shout. It doesn’t flex.
It’s quieter — a steady hand you place on your own shoulder when panic spikes.
A whisper: Breathe. It comes back.
You come back.

The cold didn’t just steal my breath.
It handed me a truth I’d misplaced:

We’re tougher than we think —
and every now and then, it takes a little madness to remind us what’s still alive in us.

Thanks for reading — and for keeping the spark alive.
—Dennis D. Montoya
Stories Forged in Ink and Ash

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I promise warmth… most of the time.