As the minutes tick down, we shed layers and huddle around a roaring fire. I slip on a home-made linen shift, the only torso covering I have that isn't my wool long underwear or a sweater. The men stand barefoot, or booted, otherwise clad only in brightly colored boxer shorts. I wonder if they brought these ridiculous shorts intentionally, expecting a cold plunge to be part of the experience somehow. Grey has been repeating "Polar Plunge?" in a joking way for at least two days. I'm not sure he actually expected us to take him up on it.