Happy New Year, go jump in the lake

Cory's story: It takes one to know one

In Seattle in winter, we are all just a little bit loco.

It's been extra-gray outside, even by normal standards. So when I saw an ad in my inbox a couple weeks ago for the 5K Resolution run with a Polar Bear Dive on New Year's Day, I instantly blasted my buddies, inviting them to join me in this lunatic of a baptism. My sly prose read something like, "Come be crazy with me!" Enticing. I had but one taker in the end: good 'ole Hilary Buckley, my delightful, and ultra-dependable, running friend and co-worker.

Hilary and I share many things, one of them being long talks about "crazy running people" in the Northwest. It's mostly because we stand in awe. I mean, who really runs around the entire base of Mt. Rainier on purpose? We are both from sunny places. Me, the Gulf South and Hilary from California. (Insta-bond over white-leg fear).

We have both been runners our whole lives. And we both, until very recently, have only donned strictly thrift store-esque workout attire. We are just not there yet with our gear ethic. But we love running.

We share magazines and swap weekly tales of our mileage. We give each other pats on the back and make promises that we'll never buy running skirts no matter how sucked into this thing we get.

The day before our date with a cold lake went something like this:

Hilary calls while I am getting a pedicure. (Not for the race, it's just, well, I needed one). She asks if I am still in. Of course, I respond. She asks if we are diving into the abyss. I say that I think we are. Forecast for the next day is "extra-gray, cold and rainy," according to my interpretation. Hilary goes out for New Year's Eve. I go to bed in my New Year's Eve outfit.

When I picked up Hil at 9 a.m., she had rested only a few hours and was wearing black cotton pants and one "technical shirt" her father gave her for Christmas. (Gear, she got gear!) I sported the same American Apparel leggings from said Eve outfit. We both agreed they would pass for those running pants we have seen.

We drove to Magnuson Park and found 1,500 people in fluorescent waterproof jackets. With hoods. And ear bands. And other things one would wear on a cold, rainy run. No worries. We proudly registered.

After all, I had on a new runner's watch that gave us instant cred. (Nevermind that I couldn't figure out how to set the time). On our registration form we were asked, by way of a checkbox, if we were doing the deed of diving. I looked to Hilary. She noticed that if we entered as a team it would automatically include the extra fee for going in the water. The last excuse was gone; we were going in.

We checked the box, then were asked to enter our team name. I looked at her, then looked at the extra-gray. Then I looked at the crazy people we had become. And then somehow my mouth formed the high-pitched, lunatic sounds of "Team Sunshine!" It was only after that I realized we hadn't brought towels ...

Hilary's take: Here comes the sun

Jogging through the mist and mud on the trails of the park, surrounded by runners of all ages, shapes and sizes, Seattle was living up to its small-town, big-city reputation. This felt less like a race, and more like a group of friends helping each other fulfill their fitness-related New Year's resolutions, if only for one morning.

We splashed together through the puddles, chatter and laughter heard over the pounding feet.

As the fog rose a little over the lake, I felt my spirits rising, too. I realized I was happy to be here. Running has always been my sport of choice, not so much for the fitness as for the people I meet.It takes a certain type of person to be runner, and I never fail to meet the most amazing individuals standing at the starting line, waiting for water at the end, and even during the races. The stories we have, the goals we aspire to, the people we love — these are the reasons we lace up our shoes day after day and head out the door, they are the ties that bond us together. And although I was running among people I had never met before, they didn't feel like strangers.

As Cory and I came up on the second mile marker, I realized the distance had passed much too quickly. My good mood began to plummet as I thought of the plunge I was about to take. For the first time, I was dreading the finish line. I slowed my pace, hoping to stretch out the final mile as long as possible. Then Cory, a few steps ahead, turned and said, "Come on girl, this town needs a little sunshine!"

Immediately, I felt my face break into a smile. She was right.Even though the weather was gray, I wanted to run into this new year with confidence and a big smile. Clasping gloved hands, Cory and I ran into the lake, dunking our heads in the frigid water. As we emerged, I knew I was still smiling. It hadn't been that bad.

Looking around at the dripping, shivering people emerging from the water around me, I saw everyone else was smiling, too.

What a perfect way to start the year.

Cory Haik is the director of content for seattletimes.com

and Hilary Buckley is a resident producer for the Web site.