Once the confetti has fallen and the party horns are silenced, there is but one thing to do on New Years.
Sleep.
Glorious sleep.
But for some reason I keep finding myself chasing the rabbit and falling down the hole.
I think it's because I'm addicted to happiness.
For the past I-don't-know-how-many years, I have risen before the roosters on New Years Day and trudged through wet and snow and misery to stand at the side of the river and wait for crazy to happen.
Wearing shorts when there's snow on the ground is about as crazy as it gets, I suppose.
WAIT.
I do believe there is one thing crazier -- jumping off of a perfectly nice sidewalk into 37 degree water. THAT is crazier.
By the way, in that photo just up there, she's saying exactly what you think she's saying. And yet ...
Once the initial shhhhh...ugarploozleflarp wears off, the people who gather at the river on New Years Day just to jump in the frigid water always come up smiling.
Every freakin last one of them.
I still don't get it, but I most certainly get it.
Pittsburgh's Polar Bear Plunge most certainly is a fantastic way to start the year.
Congrats to yinz who conquered the cold this year, especially to those of you who have been doing it for years and years.