#weracetogether

I will tell the story of RAGBRAI 2019 as all stories are told, from the conclusion. Over the week we rode for 553 miles and climbed for over 21,000 feet. We had five bike mechanical issues requiring shop stops on the way. We had 14 and 13 beer stops, one pork chop, a wood fired pizza, countless pies, cinnamon rolls, pancakes and sausage, cheesecake, cookies, cobbler, homemade icecream, bbq, tacos, BLT, noodles, fresh sweet corn, gyros, pickles, french toast, and I am sure a few other things I am forgetting. We listened to two lines of about 200 songs (and sang the rest of the songs...well I did). We saw cows, horses, kittens, rams, goats, donkeys, rabbits, and one golden retriever (a half mile from the Mississippi). We threw over 20 milkweed balls. We encountered hundreds of people with stories and laughter. We thanked officers and paramedics and nice old church ladies. Well, that's the overview; now for the stories!!!

USAF cycling team- out to help!

Please note the stories may not be told by day- because this is RAGBRAI!!!! (If you don't understand let's go to Iowa the last week of July and bring your bike.) BIKE SHOPS ON THE ROAD RAGBRAI is a traveling city of support, including traveling bike shops. These shops manage everything from flat tires (because yes, people on a 500 miles ride forgot to learn how to change a tube or to even bring a spare tube) to broken bikes (no seriously, "here are the three parts of the bike and this piece that is hanging off. Can you fix it?"). No matter what was brought to them the bike shop staff were always smiling. We know this because for the first four days we became friends with the guys at Bike World and then the next three days we rode by getting "hellos" and waves, while they asked about our bikes. It all started on day 1!! This was our gravel day and the first day we met Brad. Oh Brad!! We were about five miles out from the overnight town when we stopped at a small pass through town on a big hill. After a quick stop I picked up my bike and suddenly it won't roll down the hill. This is not even me being on the bike pedaling, it won't roll down the hill. In this moment Patrick says the best line of the day (maybe the trip)-- "It is operator error or is something wrong?" The look I gave him at this moment I am sure said a bunch of curse words that I won't type out here, but "are you kidding me right now" would have also been communicated in the moment. So I did what any person who has been riding a bike for ten hours would do; I handed Patrick my bike and said here you roll it down the hill. When it stopped and refused to move for him too, he confirmed it was in fact not operator error. Oh good, because I was worried this was going to be a long week of me not knowing how to use a bike (please read that line in the most sarcastic tone with eye roll.). This led to us going back up the hill with what ended up being a broken spoke. Turns out the gravel may have jostled more than my internal organs. This was when we first met Brad. Brad who was putting back together other bikes with "brake problems", "derailer problems", and "I don't know what happened problems", smiled as we stood there waiting our turn. Brad then looked at my bike and confirmed, again, it was not operator error. Then he proceeded to fix the problem. Now you might be thinking "great job Brad, way to fix that issue." But this would not be our last encounter with Brad or Bike World and one other bike shop I don't recall the name of, sorry. Nope Brad would go on to fix Patrick's chain and adjust his cables for better shifting up hills; Bike World would go on to sell me a tire (not a tube, a tire-- this will be important later), an the other bike shop would also sell me a tire and fix my bottom bracket making my bike no longer sound like a paint can rattling up hills. Every time we needed help they were there (or close enough) and they were light hearted with positive words and smiles. We laughed through being close to tears each time we stood at their tents. And Brad-- you ROCK!!! And I am glad you got to see your mom during the trip and got a good home-cooked meal!!! GRAVEL Holy crap super fun day!!!! I was in love with riding the gravel loop the moment my tires hit that slightly muddy, somehow dusty, all bumpy road. However, my riding buddy was not feeling the same way. This was day one of riding and seriously trying not to die or end up with serious injury on day one was a HUGE concern on this 18 mile loop. At about 3/4 of a mile into the gravel course and Patrick announced he was done (there may have been curse words; correction there were curse words). I was now between a gravel road and a tough place, like the end of our adventure on day one. I stood at the top of this little hill, looking at the bigger hill, while Patrick wrestled his demons. But lets be fair I stood there like a three year old with a five dollar bill outside an icecream shop. I am pretty sure I was trying not to smile and bounce and yell, "This is F-ing awesome" (ok so to be honest I may have yelled that)!!! This moment was not about me; I was ride or die and there was honestly a chance at death since this was a new riding type for us. Patrick agreed to go up the next hill which would put us about a mile into the 18 mile ride and maybe 200 feet of the 1500 feet climbing on this loop done. At the top of the next hill we stopped (me still in three year old  "Can we PLEASE do this" mode). To my excitement Patrick now announced that while this was clearly a bad idea, maybe not our worse idea but a bad one, he was game to go!!! Pretty sure I was fist pumping the air and yelling "they can't take our freedom" as I headed down the hill full speed. We would stop a few more times at the top of hills with Patrick shaking his head and me bouncing on my dirt packed cycling cleats. We would also make it about five miles from the end of the loop when the rain came back. This added a new component of mud to the course. I was told on several occasions to be careful, even by the ladies at the patch stop (Pottawattamie County, the highest county in Iowa, yeah that wasn't on the description). It seems people know that look in my eye of "I live for danger" and they all try to help Patrick to control this behavior in order that I may not find out where the nearest hospital is in Pottawattamie County (I can tell you it was not going to be on the gavel road we were riding). We made it safely to asphalt again and Patrick's death grip on his handlebars loosened, high fives were given, and oh yeah, tires were changed (tires that I would carry on my bike for the rest of the day-- I honestly didn't mind the attention, because "hell yeah we did the gravel"). For the rest of the trip any gravel on the road was met with Patrick yelling "gravel" in his best Clint Eastwood raspy voice. Because when you overcome the gravel loop you announce that this is old news to you and you are invincible (well, except for that broken spoke mentioned earlier). MILKWEED BALLS

Patrick is attracted to oddities (I mean he married me, you have to know this statement is true). So when he saw a tent with butterflies and heard the words "do you want balls" he couldn't deny the intrigue. Turns out Milkweed Matters is an Iowa group who puts together milkweed balls for cyclist the throw along the roads of Iowa in an effort to grow more milkweed to help the monarch butterflies to thrive in Iowa. Here's what you do-- you pick up milkweed balls, which are designed with "clay" as a no till natural tilling seeding method, you put them in your pocket, you ride your bike along the roadway, you find an area where other wildflowers are growing, where there is no mowing and no crops, then you toss them out there. That's it! Each day the tents are located on the route and you pick up more balls to throw. (You do get told not to eat them and not to take them out of the area, as this milkweed is specific to growing in this area.) A few notes- throwing things from your bike is awkward (for me) and you get dirty looks from those who don't know. I explained on more than one occasion that I was not throwing trash on the roadway, I was throwing milkweed. To which the most common response was a roll of the eyes. (Look people I am saving butterflies here. Does someone saving butterflies litter? No, no they don't. They save the fucking butterflies!!!) JERSEYS THAT BIND US

In cycling events what you wear matters. Things like shorts, padding, gloves, helmet, all very important; but your jersey cements who you are in the minds of those passing or being passed. This is your calling card, it is the story you will tell for the day-- for one day, maybe one mile, but it will forever define you for that person. This is why the jersey is a very important choice. Jerseys bring out the conversations in people. They are easy talking points- "oh you have a jellyfish on your jersey, I was once stung by one"; "Oh your jersey has an anatomically correct heart on it, does it mean something (the answer is no, it just looked tough)". The conversations go on like this. But there are these jersey conversations that also stick out. Patrick was wearing his Escape from Alcatraz jersey. We had done the race a number of years ago. This jersey was noticed and remarked on often during the day. We were standing around in a pass-through town when I guy came up and mentioned that he had done the race back in the late 90's. He told of how much we liked the race and visiting California. he then said, "Yeah, I did the race because when I was a kid we were visiting Alcatraz when the escape happened. I remember the sirens and the commotion." At this point all Patrick and I could do was stare at the guy who didn't lead with this part of the story; no it was a casual second thought. I am pretty sure I questioned the guy, "You mean you were in San Francisco when the escape occurred?" He looked at me like he shouldn't have to repeat himself, but very nicely he said, "Yeah we were there on a family vacation looking at the island when it all happened." Then he said the following, "Well, you guys have a nice ride." Wait!!! What just happened???? Patrick and I just stood there for a minute as this guy walked on to talk to other people. Then I am pretty sure we just started laughing. This is what happens on RAGBRAI, you meet people, they tell you something cool or unique or unexplainable, and then they are gone.  WE STOP FOR BEER-- WELL, IOWA CRAFT BEER TENTS RAGBRAI is a drinking game. We found out from a friend (Thanks, Kevin) that on the route would be these white beer tents- IOWA CRAFT BEER TENT (a mix of Iowa breweries)- and you could get an armband. This armband was the gateway to a free tshirt at the end of the week. Here are the rules-- Get a band; Buy a $5 craft beer or root beer at the tents; You must buy at least ten beers and you have 14 stops to achieve the goal; Only one beer per stop will count towards your total. The second set of rules that you have to follow is how to get your beer-- Have your money out; pick which beer and learn its number; get in line; walk to your beer's number; grab beer off the table; walk through, handing your money to the staff at the end of the line; scan your armband; find a shady place to sit and drink. It is a super easy process, except for on the first day when you didn't read the sign about having out money, this gets you a few dirty looks that say "bless her little heart". Patrick will tell you the process was slightly different, because for him he walked through the line and told the money taker "she's paying for me." To which I always answered, "I don't know him." And then the money taker took my $10 without any gesture to give me change.  Now, those are the rules, but the game is really-- "What can Teresa drink and still ride and then what can Teresa drink and not feel that weird pain in her left ankle?" GAME ON. Each day there were two stops, three on one day and only one on the last day. We made a plan to stop at each stop starting on day one. This was a good plan because the beer stop on day one was after the gravel, a celebration beer for sure. For the most part the last beer tent was about 10 miles outside of town which gave me a great opportunity to have a dark beer and still be able to get to the night town safely. We never had a bad beer. A few "not my favorites" but never a bad one. In fact the day I had to drink before 9am (because it was short course day) I had a blueberry pancake beer which was the perfect breakfast!!! Mostly at the first stop I had a root beer or a cider (because fruit mid morning does not bring about judgement).  The IOWA Craft Beer Tent would also play a vital role in the State Trooper Story found later in this post. BUGS OF IOWA

On the first night in Iowa I got bit by a bug on my ankle. I'm from Florida so I get bit by bugs all the freaking time. But this REALLY hurt. The following day my ankle was hurting on the ride, like really hurting. By the following day my ankle was swelling and bruising-- and hurting every time my shoe touched it (which is a lot over 70 miles a day). Moral of the story Iowa has bugs that belong in Australia!!!! PIE

I know it is a photo of icecream.

One does not talk about RAGBRAI without talking about pie. Honestly, it is one of the reasons to love RAGBRAI and if you don;t understand this this you missed the point of RAGBRAI. The best pies you will find will be the pie stands with 7 year olds or 70 year olds handing out the pies. There is only one rule in RAGBRAI- eat pie, eat pie often! A TIRE, A GIRL, AND A COP WALK INTO A BEER TENT The final story I will tell about RAGBRAI 2019 is a story about the greatness that is the Iowa State Patrol. It was day four (of seven) Patrick and I were set to do the Karras loop which puts the ride miles over a century ride. We had finished the loop and all the hills required to get there. We were ready to get another fruit smoothy and a beer before we checked this day off the list. During the loop my bottom bracket started to sound like a paint can rattling with every push. I knew I was going to be stopping again at a bike shop tent to figure out this sound, because one thing was for sure it was not a "happy" biking sound. Not to be out done Patrick decided to get a flat tire. Not just any flat but a full tire blow out. This would be his second in the week (we are on day FOUR)- the "other" tire. I am pretty sure at this moment my actual words were, "You are fucking kidding me?" Patrick shook his head, "nope". Then many more curse words got said in that moment. Given that my bike actually could be ridden I decided to ride ahead to scout out a bike shop tent. Well, there was not one at the first town down the road. I can back to let Patrick know that I was going to rid on till I found the bike tent and I would bring back a tire for him. He was to sit under the tent at Tom the Turkey and get a fruit smoothy. Funny enough he had "ride friends" there who had been on the course and at this stop with us previously. I rode up about 10 miles and found the bike repair tent. I told the guys about my bike and the paint can noise. "Sure we can look and fix it, but it is going to take a minute." Great, well you see the other problem is my husband needs a tire and is ten miles that way (pointing back down the road). The bike shops guys could not leave and pack up yet and only had the shop truck. I looked around and saw a state trooper vehicle. I asked the bike guy if he knew where the state trooper was located. He pointed up the hill near the beer tent as he handed me the tire I needed to get to Patrick. I told him thanks and that I was going to be back for my bike after I got the tire to my husband. The guy yelled "good luck" as I marched up the hill.

Actual photo sent to State Trooper. Patrick with a bag of unmarked medication. 

The State Troopers were walking away when I stopped them. They turned around and the only way I can explain this is they looked like "Super Troopers"- mustaches and aviator sunglasses in place. I smiled, I did not laugh. I told them I had a situation. I then explained that they could either take me and the tire to my husband or they could take the tire to my husband. Yep, you heard that right- there was no option to tell me no. They noticed that too and looked at each other like I was a unicorn asking for directions. After a few moments of repeating the request, officer one tried to tell me they could not do it but officer two said they had to call their supervisor. I told them I would wait. Officer two walked away, I swear he looked like he was pretending to dial. Officer one just started at me. I looked over my shoulder to see the bike shop guys watching and smiling. Officer two walked back up shaking his head- not at me but as his partner. I was grinning so big when he told Officer one that the supervisor had given the go ahead to take the tire to my husband.

Loop patches.

As Officer one stood there astonished at the response. I began to tell the Officer two what my husband looked like and where he was located. This took much longer than I intended, as it seems the officers were not familiar with the area. We played a game of"who's on first" when I was telling them I had no idea what the two name was but that I knew he was as the Tom Turkey tent and that said tent was ten miles "that way". The officer rolled his eyes at me. I never lost it wanting to yell at him, Dude I am from Florida. DO you know where Florida is? A hell of a lot further away than your house." But I didn't, nope I took a deep breath and explained one more time where I left my husband. Oh wait it gets better. The officer asked for my husband's cell number. The issue here is that my husband's phone died earlier in the day and is in my pack on my bike. In full disclosure I told the officer this information. Officer two looked at me dumbfounded and officer one I am pretty sure threw up his arms in a "are you fucking kidding me" gesture. Officer two, after a few deep breaths, looks at me and says, "You know you are making this very difficult for us?" What I didn't say was "if you had left fifteen minutes ago when I gave you the details you would be there by now and not standing here dealing with me." Instead I told him "I know. And I promise I am not trying to but let's be honest cell phones aren't working out here anyway." Then I told him that what I did have was a photo of my husband form earlier today. I actually had a photo of him sitting in the exact spot that he would later be found in!! I also gave the officer a friend's phone number. A friend who I knew was still out of the road, and who I also knew was more than likely not near Patrick, but it was my best chance (the cops never called Kevin).

Kevin and Kelly- TEAM AWESOME

RAGBRAI 2019 Day 2 - Atlantic RAGBRAI to Winterset, Iowa So I took a little writing break and need to get started again. There are still some stories I want to tell from RAGBRAI. It is obvious that my concept of when stuff occurred is WAY off so I took some time to go through our photos, figure out when and where they were taken, and started to piece things together in hopes it would make these posts a little easier to write. Oh the stories I still have to tell...

Walnut, IA had a theme & a big foot

So Day 2 started with more wind, approximately 68 miles, and 2000 ft of climb. I'm going to declare at this point that every day of the ride, for the entire week involved wind. It was Day 1, while riding through Walnut, Iowa (Walnut Fire & Rescue - best T-shirt on the route according to me) that I decided it was time for Iowa to, "Turn off all those field fans." Iowa never did turn them off. I laughed continuously all week when I thought about my "field fans" joke. Teresa stopped laughing after the 3rd time I said it. I digress.

Practice breakfast in Wiota, IA

We found cinnamon rolls in Wiota, Iowa and refilled our pockets with Milkweed Balls (Milkweed Matters) just outside of Anita. Monarch butterflies lay their eggs exclusively on milkweed, and monarch caterpillars only eat milkweed. We tossed milkweed balls across the state. Then we rolled into Anita, IA. I'm going to try and paint a picture of what has become the most memorable experience of the entire week. I say this in a completely positive way. The hour we spent here that resulted in this particular story is OUR favorite to tell and we will forever love Anita (and the Huffy's Tavern) for it.

French toast in Anita, IA

We rolled into Anita, Iowa and I was hungry again. The earlier cinnamon roll was what we (I) like to refer to as "Practice Breakfast." A term we coined with other participants in Wiota. Anita was busy. A lot of cyclists were checking out the quaint, historic downtown. Many were in lines for food or other things. I had been eyeing signs for french toast all morning so we found it and got ready for breakfast. It was very satisfying. We enjoyed our food on the back of a big truck with a hydraulic lift as our table. As we were milling around, I heard cheering, so I investigated while Teresa was at her bike presumably getting ready to ride out. I wandered toward the Huffy's Tavern and saw a fairly large group of people cheering, laughing, and generally having a great time. I walked closer. The cheers got louder. Truthfully, I was hoping for something involving puppies. Golden Retriever puppy Olympics? I hadn't seen a Golden since we left home. Again, I digress. Then I thought maybe wrestling of some sort...it is a bar, so maybe. Mud? Oil? Midget? It was only Day 2 and obviously I was a little loopy and maybe in a slight sugar coma from my breakfast. The crowd parted and I saw it. I blinked. Took it all in, turned quickly, and started hollering for Teresa. I was running in my cycling shoes and yelling for my wife to come quick...and bring a dollar. My actions told her something was wrong. The plea for money told her I probably found more pie, beer, or cinnamon rolls. It was none of the above. I grabbed her hand, made sure she had a camera, and dragged her back to the side entrance of the tavern. I remained silent as we approached. She could not see through the crowd or glean what was about to take place. We stood behind the group while donations were requested and numbers were chosen. Then the crowd parted and we stepped forward. I smiled. Teresa laughed, pulled out a dollar, and requested a number. We both started laughing as the Vibrator Race began. I'll let that sink in. Each vibrator had it's own lane. They were all turned on and set to high. You could hear them raring to go, like race cars at Daytona -- only vibrators. Hot pink, Baby blue, Leopard...it was a battery-operated rainbow. The start barricade was removed and each one vibrated it's way to the finish line. Our chosen number did not win, but we will absolutely always remember the time in a small town in Iowa I stumbled upon Vibrator Races, and we had the time of our life cheering for a six inch juggernaut to beat the others down the track. I'm not going to be able to top that story, ever. -- AND THERE IS VIDEO PROOF BELOW!

Teresa "was I flirting?" Hess, climbing on top of a fire truck/pizza oven.

But we did still have almost 60 miles left in the day to ride. Teresa convinced a guy with a Scottish(?) accent to let her climb on top of a firetruck (Dang Brother Pizza) and put her feet in a makeshift hot tub in Casey, Iowa. I had to stop and buy a bar-end plug in Stuart, Iowa (very minor mechanical).

I felt I needed to protect myself

We stopped at a petting zoo/adoption drive just outside Stuart. If they had had the polydactyl kittens out, Teresa would have probably taken one. For the first 2 days my chain kept popping out of gears on climbs. It was getting frustrating so we stopped in  Dexter, Iowa so I could have a new bike chain installed and get my rear brakes adjusted (gravel ate those brakes alive). As the traveling mechanic checked my chain with his chain checker: "A new chain is recommended when this measures .5. Yours is measuring a .75 and I can actually still move it back and forth." Brad, the same mechanic that fixed Teresa's bike on Day 1, fixed my bike on Day 2. Thanks Brad and Bike World. After another Iowa Craft Beer Tent stop we made it to the overnight town and enjoyed a fun Taco Night with the Swenson's (Kevin & Kelly) in a Methodist Church basement. Great Times!  Side Note: I really enjoyed Winterset and their theme. However, I do also feel like they missed an opportunity to do a Game of Thrones theme: Winterset is Coming... Again, I digress. Thanks for reading. There is more to come!

If you are able, please help us support the Navy SEAL Foundation.

Patrick's Donation Page for Tampa BayFrogman Swim 2020

Patrick & Teresa are actively raising money for the Navy Seal Foundation.   Supporting the Navy Seal Foundation-Frogman Swim 

We've been blogging for a while now. If you enjoyed this one, you may enjoy others. Look though the Blog Archive on the right, for more of our experiences and random thoughts. 

Thank you for your ongoing support of our adventures.  

Please feel free to share our blog.

Day 1 of riding... across a state... with a bunch of strangers (and a surprisingly large number of Pensacola Friends)... When you are not used to sleeping in a tent, on an air mattress, it takes a couple days to adjust. Night 1 in the tent was not great. I was startled awake in the evening by a fun fireworks show at Council Bluffs RAGBRAI. I was startled awake in the morning by a massive thunderstorm. Day 1 is really the best day for inclement weather. Everyone is usually at their best and most rested. Spirits, energy, and patience is all very high. We meandered around the campsite, a harsh "field" the night before that had become a slick mud pit with the rain. Clay-based mud seemed to stick to everything, steal cleat covers (Kevin), and cake on the bottom of cycling shoes. Seriously, we scraped and wiped and cleaned our shoe bottoms for 40 minutes BEFORE we could start to actually clip into our pedals. With the majority of the storm passed, we took off. There was still rain, but the majority of the lightning seemed to be gone. It was supposed to be a 60 mile day with the optional 20 mile gravel loop. SIDE NOTE: I'm going to say "supposed to be" a lot, because our mileage records seemed to be in direct conflict with what we expected EACH day. This was our plan for day 1. Ride the first part of the day, including the gravel loop on our gravel tires. Take the time after the loop to change to our road tires, and push out the rest of the day with ease. For various reasons, the main one being Teresa's bike is able to have a rear rack and panniers (saddle bags), she was the pack mule for the week, so she happily carried everything except my snacks... who am I kidding, she carried my snacks too. Roads were slick so we did see some people loose control and crash hard throughout the morning. We took it easy and chipped away at the mileage before the Gravel Loop. We don't really consider ourselves Gravel riders, but we had trained for a couple months on the closest terrain we could find, at home, in Florida. There were differences.

Pre-gravel beef jerky snack and selfie/groupie.

We pulled up to a couple of guys looking out over the loose gravel rocks on the far side of the railroad tracks in Underwood, IA. It was overcast. I rolled up with apprehension. Teresa was SUPER excited. One guy was saying to the other guy, "I don't know, man." The other guy, wise beyond his bearded years says, and I quote, "Look, ask yourself this...in 10 years are you going to regret NOT doing this?" Apparently, the hesitant dude wasn't that committed, because shortly after Teresa and I started, only the bearded guy passed us. We rode for 3/4 of a mile before we hit the first hill. We knew the loop added some significant elevation, but weren't worried before hand. I slowly climbed that first hill, crested the top, and went barrelling down the other side. HOLY F*!KING SHIT. I literally thought I was going to die. LITERALLY. I came to a stop 1/4 of the way up the next hill, white as the gravel, breathing hard, and cussing like a sailor. Teresa came up beside me grinning like a Cheshire cat as I'm spewing expletives. "There's no F'ing way we're doing this. We're going to die. This is a bad f'ing idea. Shit...." It went on for a couple of minutes. Teresa was visibly disappointed at the possibility of skipping the gravel loop, so I committed to the next hill. We slowly climbed again, crested the top, and went down the other side with me on my brakes with that earlier bearded guy's words rattling around in my head, "...in 10 years are you going to regret NOT doing this?" I need new rear brakes on my road bike, now. To be fair, Teresa checking on me after that hill and I was of the mood - now is NOT the time to try to talk to me. So we kept going. Up slow, down slow - repeat. My mood improved the further we got. Teresa pointed out that she wasn't sure there would be patches for the loop. We later saw signs that implied otherwise, which further improved my mood.

The earned PATCH

We hit the mid-town for the loop, McClelland, just before another storm hit, but they had patches, food, shelter, and good news. It was only 4 miles back to the main route (pavement)! We actually waited for a train to pass before we could venture back onto the payment. But it was worth it. We made the loop uninjured and without bike issues so it was a win. Ultimately, I am glad we did it, but maintain it was BAD idea. We made it back to Underwood, and started changing tires for the remaining 50 miles left in the day. In the middle of a rainy (and now windy) Monday in a small town in Iowa, Bill found us. It's so much fun to have a familiar face in a crowd of strangers.

We actually caught up with Bill (again) and Laura multiple times on Day 1! I think this was Neola or Midden.

Avoca, I needed this.

From Underwood to Marne was kind of miserable because of the constant head-wind, but we did it. We stopped for beer, food (Mr. Porkchop), cinnamon rolls, and pie repeatedly along the way. I was especially excited about water slides in the City of Avoca, of which, video exists. ;)

More pork chop, now... please.

   Teresa looked like she was carrying an octopus with the gravel tires sticking up on top of her rear rack. EVERYONE noticed and commented how bad-ass she was to do the loop. They were right. (I didn't garner as much attention).

To Teresa, by many: You did the gravel loop? And then changed your tires? Bad-ass! (or Awesome!) (or Hardcore!) (or Impressive).

Marne was also a pass-through city in 2001. I'm glad they kept the sign/photo op for 2019.

We made it to Marne, IA. This was the last town before our end-point for day one. We were about 10 miles from our tent and food and anything else that wasn't a bike saddle. We walked up the mountain into Marne and surveyed the Roadhouse Bar and Grill  and party. Good times, but we really wanted to be done for the day, so with another piece of pie we headed back to our bikes. Now is probably a good time to let you in on a little secret. I, Patrick, have a hard time enjoying being on a bike. It baffles both myself and Teresa that I enjoy RAGBRAI so much. With that being said, at this point in our day one, I was over it. I HATE riding in wind. Period. And for the last 50 miles we'd been riding in a steady, signification head-wind, climbing up hill after hill. Seriously. Miserable. No more patience. No more understanding. No more compassion. How Teresa didn't kill me is still a mystery. I picked up my bike and started pushing it toward the main road when I hear Teresa say, "My bike's not rolling." ME -- "Is it operator error or mechanical?" - crickets....I'm sure a venomous stare was boring a hole in my head. We continued down the hill toward the main road. She didn't say anything else so I assumed it was operator error. I hopped on my bike and merged into bike traffic in time to look back and see Teresa try to follow and hop off her bike. "My bike's not rolling. It's not operator error - asshat." Broken spoke. Nice. We headed back up to Marne and met the traveling bike mechanics at Bike World. They were very quick and friendly which always helps. We actually ended up being on a first name basis with them as the week progressed - because Karma I guess. So far as I can remember, it was smooth sailing into Atlantic RAGBRAI.

If you are able, please help us support the Navy SEAL Foundation.

Patrick's Donation Page for Tampa BayFrogman Swim 2020

Patrick & Teresa are actively raising money for the Navy Seal Foundation.   Supporting the Navy Seal Foundation-Frogman Swim 

We've been blogging for a while now. If you enjoyed this one, you may enjoy others. Look though the Blog Archive on the right, for more of our experiences and random thoughts. 

Thank you for your ongoing support of our adventures.  

Please feel free to share our blog.

On to Council Bluffs RAGBRAI... As far as travel days was concerned, this one was about the easiest. The most frustrating part of getting from the East side of Iowa to the West was trying to stay connected to internet so I could finish some work tasks (and Teresa could finish school assignments). We woke up early and started exploring Keokuk. Truthfully, I was on my hunt for an Official Keokuk Ragbrai t-shirt for my 2019 collection. I eventually found one at the YMCA :) We really noticed things seemed familiar. The Hampton Inn and the Walmart gave strong feelings of deja vu. Interestingly enough we did our first RAGBRAI in 2013 and it occurred on the same days so Facebook started showing Teresa some very applicable "Memories from 6 years ago." Apparently, our meeting place for our Charter was Keokuk, IA in 2013. Breakfast, charter check-in, bike & luggage drop off, and onto the Charter Bus. We saw a lot of wind turbines... and that was about it. After a disappointing lunch at Taco John's, I fell asleep.

  Teresa and I have a very specific track record with buses. Seems that whenever we are on a bus (charter, race, school), it gets lost. Once at the Disney Marathon, our bus from the Animal Kingdom, onsite hotel, missed the turn to the bus drop off, made a U-turn across 9 lanes of traffic, back-tracked, and cut across another 9 lanes of traffic to make the turn. This happens more than it should, really. So, while deep in a much needed slumber, I was violently shaken and I hear my lovely wife whisper, "We're in Nebraska...giggle, giggle, giggle." Begrudgingly, I was awake for the the remaining 45 minutes of navigating BACK to Iowa and through RAGBRAI traffic. The group eventually made it to our overnight camping field, found our tent, luggage, and bikes and headed to the Expo. Again, I was on the hunt for the Official Council Bluffs RAGBRAI t-shirt for my 2019 collection. I had been able to pre-order many of them but missed the ordering cut-off on a few. I want to be kind of specific with this part. This is not an exaggeration. The 1st stop we made was the ONLY indoor section of the Expo - Registration. We walked in the door and someone in my group said, " This is registration. There is no way those shirts are in here." We immediately left, looped the outdoor expo twice with no luck and regrouped. I found a group of friendly volunteers wearing the shirt and inquired. "Yes, we got our shirts today. Yes, they were selling some. Yes, we'll show you." WE HEADED TO THE INDOOR SECTION OF THE EXPO. No more shirts.

That was our excitement the day before the riding start. It was nice to have a relatively un-eventful day. We retired to our tent and settled down for some sleep. About 30 minutes later, the fireworks started.

If you are able, please help us support the Navy SEAL Foundation.

Patrick's Donation Page for Tampa BayFrogman Swim 2020

Patrick & Teresa are actively raising money for the Navy Seal Foundation.   Supporting the Navy Seal Foundation-Frogman Swim 

We've been blogging for a while now. If you enjoyed this one, you may enjoy others. Look though the Blog Archive on the right, for more of our experiences and random thoughts. 

  Thank you for your ongoing support of our adventures.  

Please feel free to share our blog.

It's only 8 hours to Keokuk Ragbrai, he said... We ate way to much in Memphis and crashed at the hotel. Our idea of sleeping in was 6:00 a.m. Yes, we are bad at vacations. I decided to take care of some work things, and Teresa decided to complete some school items before we got started with our 2nd travel day. It was only going to be an 8 hour drive so we weren't in any hurry. As we debated on whether or not to U-turn and head to the Bass Pro Pyramid, we crossed into Arkansas and decided to save that Pharaoh sized adventure for the next time we were in Memphis. Onward North ish! After about 10 minutes I pulled out my little blue Passport To Your National Parks book and started looking for cancellation stamp locations we could stop at along the way. Sure, we may have to detour a little bit, but YOLO, right? I also took the time to determine the possibility of stamps within the U.S. Forest Service - Mark Twain National Forest. We've noticed that while a lot of National Parks have these stamps, the National Forests may or may not. Given there are many, many visitor and Ranger Stations in any given National Forest, the chances of stumbling on the right one, with the stamp, is really a gamble. Regardless, I made my pick and Poplar Bluff Ranger Station would be our first stop on our way to the Ozark National Scenic Riverways Visitor center. Going off the interstate. 3/4 tank of gas. I chose well from the 20 or so options for Mark Twain National Forest Ranger Stations and the Poplar Bluff location delivered! It ended up being on the outskirts of the forest and the employees were very eager to help with the stamps and provide some additional recommendations for places to stop. I love the US National Parks & U.S. Forest Service employees/Rangers. They really enjoy the outdoors and are eager to share and help! With my book stamped, more maps in hand, and a couple of brochures we were back on the road headed to Ozark National Scenic Riverway. 1/2 tank of gas. Again, the Ranger was extremely helpful. I got my stamps and we walked around the little museum/visitor center. "Someone" wanted to swim so we got a recommendation that was only 5 miles away at Big Spring along the Current River. We headed down the road. 1/4 tank of gas.

The plan was to take a "short" walk and a "quick" swim. We kind of got lost because of a closed bridge, but we found it. Our walk was longer as we were looking for a secluded area to swim. We found a nice spot along the shore and started making out, like teenagers. Aw. Then some boats came so we moved on. Then we found a very romantic overlook viewing the area where the river and the spring met and kind of started necking, again. Aw. Then we realized we were in direct line-of-site of the main (only) road. Cars came so we moved on. We finally jumped in the river and frolicked for a little bit. It was a fun side trip, but we had more to do and headed toward Elephant Rocks State Park. 1/8 tank of gas. So there aren't many options for gas stations in the Mark Twain National Forest. At this point in the day, the low fuel light was on and the needle was reading "E." We're winding through two lane, desolate roads, when we saw a sign: "Highest Point in Missouri." YYYYYAAAAAASSSSS. So I made the turn and we started driving up. Fuel for our vehicle could wait. This impulse stop wasn't even a possibility of a stamp, but how often do you drive by the highest point in Missouri? Pavement ended and we entered the gravel road to the Taum Sauk Mountain State Park. We got out and saw the "marker." It's not a typical peak. We just as quickly jumped back in the car and ventured to a close Taum Sauk Lookout Tower. From the top we could see the Taum Sauk Reservoir. It was pretty cool! Back in the car. Mission Alpha: Find a Gas Station. Low fuel light on for 20+ miles. There is exactly 1 gas station between the highest point in Missouri and the Elephant Rocks State Park and we JUST made it on tank fumes. Breathing a sigh of relieve and realizing it was getting kind of late, we continued to Elephant Rocks State Park. We obeyed the no swimming signs, but it was increasingly harder to keep Teresa from removing clothes and jumping off the big boulders into a spring fed lake. The pink granite rocks were impressive and EVERYWHERE. It as a great stop. When we got back in the car, the GPS indicated we still had 6 hours to Keokuk. I truly thought it was lying. It was not. We were still very much south-west of St. Louis. Kevin Swenson heroically waited up and flagged us down in front of a Middle School Gym. He then showed us the place he and Kelly saved for us to sleep, helped us set up my hammock and Teresa's sleeping bag, and immediately and impressively fell fast asleep on his air mattress. I don't know how Kelly slept through all Teresa's beating and banging. Pro-tip: Sleeping in a gym with a bunch of strangers is not as glamorous as it sounds. I was to sober and my ear plugs didn't help a lot.

Regardless, we had made it to Iowa and that's how an 8 hour driver turned into a 13 hour adventure. As far as the story telling goes, I'm still 2 days away from the actual cycling on our cycling trip! You'll notice there was no mention of a food stop. I don't think we stopped for food. I managed to keep Hangry Patrick at bay with a cooler full of snacks - this was a miracle in and of itself.

If you are able, please help us support the Navy SEAL Foundation.

Patrick's Donation Page for Tampa BayFrogman Swim 2020

Patrick & Teresa are actively raising money for the Navy Seal Foundation.   Supporting the Navy Seal Foundation-Frogman Swim 

We've been blogging for a while now. If you enjoyed this one, you may enjoy others. Look though the Blog Archive on the right, for more of our experiences and random thoughts. 

  Thank you for your ongoing support of our adventures.  

Please feel free to share our blog.

Well, we are already 1 week past 2019 RAGBRAI, and finally picking up a little physical activity again. While Teresa is working on one very long blog post, I've decided to tell some of my stories. People laugh when they hear EVERYTHING that happened - I hope you'll get a chuckle from these posts, which I plan to be a multi-part series, based on each day.

(Travel To Keokuk, IA) - Memphis Here We Come. We really enjoy Memphis. Specifically, we really enjoy eating all the food in Memphis. The city is a convenient stop half way to our first Iowa destination, Keokuk. 

We really like to eat when we travel. As such, our trip planning for this particular day was, "What time do we have to leave home to be able to eat lunch AND dinner in Memphis? (because we wanted Gus's World Famous Fried Chicken, Memphis TN. and Blues City Cafe). News flash, we left late, and it took us until mid-way through AL to determine that YES, our GPS picked a different path this year. No problem. Recently, I've also started collecting Cancellation Stamps in a little Passport To Your National Parks. We also try to find stamps in National Forests if an opportunity presents itself. (Sidenote, this is ME on a trip these days: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DPLxEwqL4Wg).

So somewhere on Interstate 65 in AL, I decided to see where we could stop and get me some stamps! The answer was Tupelo, MS so we rerouted and got to the destination with the stamp(s) about 15 minutes after it closed. Not be be deterred we explored the Natchez Trace Parkway and a few other National Park areas in Tupelo before we continued to TN. Lunch in Memphis was now well behind us and we pushed to be able to have dinner at Gus's. Luckily we made it there about 15 minutes before they closed. I hope someone from Gus's reads this because BOSTON (a fellow trail runner/athlete) was an awesome host/server/conversationalist. We ate, a lot and then walked up and down Beale Street enough to eat, again, before we crashed at the hotel.

Hey Teresa, can you take a selfie of me in front of this cool sign? J/K...kind of.

If you are able, please help us support the Navy SEAL Foundation.

Patrick's Donation Page for Tampa BayFrogman Swim 2020

Patrick & Teresa are actively raising money for the Navy Seal Foundation.   Supporting the Navy Seal Foundation-Frogman Swim 

We've been blogging for a while now. If you enjoyed this one, you may enjoy others. Look though the Blog Archive on the right, for more of our experiences and random thoughts. 

  Thank you for your ongoing support of our adventures.  

Please feel free to share our blog.

Let's go to Michigan, they say. Let's do Titanium (140.6), they say. It will be fun, they say. Oh, wait... pretty sure I said those things!!!

Reunited to run!!

It all started as I was looking for another 140.6. I really like home grown races and especially long distant ones. They are different than the "big" race moguls. There is a different type of community feeling and as an athlete you become a part of this community, absorbed by them and when you leave a piece of you stays and a piece of them comes with you. It is just different. Not better or worse just different. When I searched for this "different" Michigan Titanium (MiTi) came up. A locally grown race that supports the local YMCA. They have been running the race for a few years. Plus the race gave options for me and my husband, Patrick, on distances and types of races. With a few taps and clicks we were off to the races, 1000 miles away from home. (The trip also gave us an opportunity to see family and friends-- BONUS!!) The trip up was fairly uneventful UNTIL Indiana. Driving through the flat lands with corn and soy bean fields when suddenly I remember my new cycling shorts are hanging above the dryer at home. Pretty sure they were dry by then. After hearing me say a few words that made me thankful my mother was not in the car Patrick went to calling bike shops in Grand Rapids to find a replacement. After a few calls he found replacement options and my mind settled back to driving. Of course this was too good of a moment to miss posting to Facebook. Given my normal check, check, triple check tendencies my loving husband found great entertainment in this moment (after he fixed it). With the post another friend reached out, suddenly I was having Fusion cycling bibs overnighted to a family member's home in Grand Rapids. All bases now covered to literally cover my butt. The day before the race we headed down to the race site to check out the water. Coming from swimming in salt water the fresh water was... well, refreshing. We swam just under a mile, getting nice and loose. The normal race tasks took place after this- packet pick up, athlete meeting, figuring out parking,drop off bikes, pack gear bags, and SLEEP. Done. Done. Done, enough.

Shark Kitten shirt- YEP!

Race morning was an early up morning since we needed to drive back into the city. But not as early as other races since it was a mass start. The one problem in the morning was a pesky flat tire on Patrick's bike. Good thing he is the king of calm and good with tools. The bike was fixed up fairly quickly with only one trip to the car, but I was going there any way. We put up our gear bags. This on here, that one there, recheck, and down to the shoreline.  

No Wetsuit Needed!!

The water was wetsuit legal, barely. Many athletes ran around high fiveing to get to wear their wetsuits. I felt on the fence and Patrick wasn't wearing his. In the end I ended up wearing my sleeveless. We listened to one more athlete safety meeting, searched the water for the buoys in the fog, and sang the National Anthem. With one more deep breath I turned to the water next to Patrick. A smile, a kiss, and the message we have repeated to each other hundreds of times, "Have a good race. I love you." At that we faced forward and waited for the horn to start. Before the race starts there is always that moment in my head where the voices of others drop and the only thing I hear is the water. Even though there were no waves, you can hear the water, trickling, breaking in front of you as you step to your start point.

In there somewhere!

And then there it is piercing the silence. The race start sounds, and the water becomes turbulent. I dive in, seeing the green of the water underneath me. The sun is covered by clouds and a fog hangs over the lake making it hard to see more than a few buoys up. The swim is two loops. My mind breaks it down, four lengths, let's go. In the beginning I am swimming around the through the crowd, dodging arms and legs. I take the outside for a bit and I find some clean water. There is another woman to my right. She continues to push in at me. I have open water to my left so I move closer in to the buoys. She follows. I can see the turn buoy clearly now and she makes a hard left coming over my right side. I push her back out a little trying to not be swimming under her. She seemed to get the message. Seemed to, but nope. Suddenly she comes over the top of me, my arm mid stroke pushes her leg down and she stops right in front of me. I stop as well and look at her, yes maybe a bit aggressively, daring her to say something to me so I can point out her inability to sight and the factor that she has kicked me in the face. In the few seconds of opportunity I give her she says nothing so I swim on. The rest of the swim is without incident. I should not have worn my wetsuit as the waters were warm once I got moving. At the end of the swim the fog remained. I moved from the water into transition, after stopping at the "strippers". Wetsuit strippers. I wish I could get my wetsuit off that fast on a normal swim day. In transition the volunteer handed me the wrong transition bag, which meant running back out of the changing tent to get the biking bag. Thank goodness I had not stripped down before opening the bag. Yep, I laughed to myself at the chance that situation could have happened. I run back out and grab the right bag and then back in to change.

I put on my new cycling bib (thank you Fusion Sports USA), my tri top, and stuffed food of all sorts into my pockets. With a few clicks out to my bike I was headed out of transition. It did not take long to find the hills of Michigan. I turned out on to the main road and then on to the road heading out of the city, it was here that hills started to appear. I looked down to start the numbers games in my head only to realize my watch was not working properly. I was clicking off miles but it was not. No big deal. In the first twenty miles I am loving my cycling shorts, loving the country landscape, happy to see a water stop, and feeling good enough on the hills. After that my legs starts to tighten some on the hills and I could not get comfortable on the bike; good news my watch was clocking miles correctly again. Around  mile 40 my knees started to feel tight; tighter on the uphills. It was about this time when I found my first REAL northern road. Meaning potholes, cracks, "fixes", and pebbles. Now, I knew this was coming and we trained on some rough roads; however, I didn't expect it for so long on the bike. The good this was that on one of the pebble roads there was a downhill--- FUN FUN FUN!! After two bathroom stops I was on the second loop.

I saw Patrick, my husband, who was gaining on me on the bike (yay for him). He was not his happy self. He yelled to me that he was pulling out of the race but I didn't know why. At this moment my heart sank. I was already feeling my legs getting tighter, I was already tired with half the bike and a marathon to go and now my heart hurt too. I wanted to pull over on the side of the road, throw up my hands and cry. But as Patrick tells people I fit in the "too stupid to quit" category of people. At this point, nearly alone on the bike course, I decided to take it five miles at a time. Inside of those five miles it was one mile at a time. I told myself to just focus forward and pedal. I was starting to get myself back together when a race truck zipped past me and pulled over onto the shoulder of the road. Out from the truck jumps Patrick with a slight limp. As I am pushing up the hill he tells me that his legs cramped, that he will see me on the run course, that he's okay, and that he kept going after he told me he had stopped but that today was not meant to be. if he could push a little further when he was so ready to give up then so could I. I yelled back that I could not stop, because honestly the back of that pick up truck was looking like a good place to "store" my bike.

The second loop of the bike found me face to face with the same friendly water stop volunteers. All smiles and cheers as I passed or stopped to use the restroom. It was after passing them that the road felt most lonely. Every once in a while there was another cyclist passing me or (thankfully) being passed by me. There weren't conversations, just words of encouragement. Each of us knowing that right now we were fighting our own battles. I was on my way back, about 15 miles to go and I was alone. No one behind me, no one in front of me. I had to pee from the pebbled road and the refilled water. It was quiet- too quiet. Even the songs playing in the back of my mind seemed to play with the volume down. I needed something. I did what every good triathlete does I found distraction in my bike bell. Oh you don't have one??? Well you should get one. Actually this is the first race with my bell. I was scared to use it at first and then mostly used it for thanking volunteers and bystanders. A few times I dinged the bell as I was passing- ENCOURAGEMENT!! But here I was alone and my hand found the bell. Through the hills of Michigan- ding, ding, ding. I rang the bell fast and slow, in tempo with songs my mother sang to me and in erratic rhythm and just made me smile. As I neared the water stop (before I could see it) I ended my musical "fit". I jumped off the bike as a volunteer held tight to it and ran into the restroom. After once again successfully taking on and off my bib shorts, I headed back to the bike. the lady holding my bike asked if she could ding the bell. Of course, who would not want too it is bright pink with a kitten wearing sunglasses. I assured her she was more than welcome to do so. She laughed and rang the bell a few times, laughing with each ring belting out. I took back my bike, hopped on, and after a few rings headed off into the farmland headed back to transition. I was thankful as a crested the last hill then coasted past the turn around and toward transition. My legs were tired and my mind was back to trying to talk me out of finishing this thing. The run would be difficult given how my legs already felt and given the brick wall a kept feeling my body hit. Ring the bell, just ring the bell and smile. I came off the bike, back home in transition. I grabbed my run bag and dipped into the changing tent. With clean and dry run shorts and a tank top on I was ready to go. Well after my brace and socks and shoes and visor and sunglasses, and run belt and food supplies were all on or situated. 

Stupid Watch!

Just as my mind started to tell me about how hard this was going to be I saw the smiling faces of Patrick and his cousin. It was going to be hard but I had support stronger than any doubt in my mind. After a stop at the porta potty I was out of transition and onto the run course. I was suppose to be running intervals at 3minute running and 1 minute walking. I had packed an extra watch in my transition bag to set the intervals since I could not change them on my triathlon event. The problem was I had only used this watch once and today my mind was not figuring it out. I ran the first loop (first of four, each 6 and a little bit miles) in some weird intervals as it took me almost 4 miles to figure out the watch.  I had quickly needed to tuck my tank top under my sports bra, every time it touched me I wanted to throw up (yeah this was a new sensation). So here I am starting off my marathon fighting a watch, fighting a shirt, and fighting my brain.

I love him!!

Patrick met me in the first loop up near the midway of the loop he was all smiles and straw hat (I love to hate that hat). He checked-in with me asking if I was taking in fluids and if I was feeling okay. "Yes" and "fine" seemed to be all I could muster up to say. What I do remember is being so happy to see him there. On a race course far from home you don't see faces you know, faces you train with, faces that you trust to help keep you going. You see strangers who smile and say kind words, but they are different than those who have seen you cry and laugh and scream. I was selfish wanting Patrick there as I knew he was there because his race day did not go as planned, but in that moment I just wanted him there. On my second loop Patrick was back at the loop start. the sun was starting to get low int he sky. Patrick and his cousin were going to head out for dinner. I almost just said, "yep let's go." I no longer had my bell and "fun" was fading with the sun. This is the moment for me that happens often, it is a moment when I realize it isn't that I don't want to quit, it is that I am too dumb to stop. At this point my intervals were backwards. I was running only for a minute and walking for three minutes. Granted I was speed walking, pushing a good pace.

Happy Running!

There are times when thoughts linger in our minds. Over this past year my mind drifted back to being in the Tampa Bay and the events which took place that led to not completing the swim in 2018. Processing the event over and over in my head, playing out the moments down to each second. Trying to remember all the details and feelings. Planning for the still unknown of that past day. In the mist of these thoughts something truly "Frogman" started to come to mind- it was never about me, not about one single person, not about one single journey. Since I started participating in the Tampa Bay Frogman, it was about a community. A community who lifts each other up. A community who holds on their strong shoulders the weights of others. A community who never allows someone to be left in the darkness. When I look back on my 2018 swim I was focusing on the wrong thing. I was focused on me not making it across the bay. I was focused on my mind becoming confused. I was focused on my body stopping. What I was failing to focus on was the community. The community of people who stood there on that shoreline to honor those who gave their lives as sacrifice. The community of families of soldiers and swimmers who hug each other and thank each other for being there with love in their heart. The community of safety persons, including my father and husband, who make sure that no person feels alone. In the moment when my swim stopped a year ago I forgot about that community and I allowed myself to focus on the wrong thing and for far too long. 

On 13 January 2019, I stood on the shore feet on the cold wet sand. I stood there, gazing out at the water for one moment before taking a step towards the other side of the bay. In that moment I saw my family, I saw the other swimmers, I saw the kayakers and safety boats, and I saw the families and friends of others who stood there with smiles and encouragement. If I am being honest in that moment I was swept back to those thoughts about myself. I was scared and fearful of failing again. I felt my wetsuit tighten just at my chest. Catching my breath I pushed back those thoughts and looked at what was really around me- this community built on strength, courage, faith, and love.  This swim would be a little different for me as it would be the first time my father was not my kayaker. He was leaving me with a trusted guide, my husband, Patrick. I knew I would miss my father being there with me on the water ("Left", "left", left"). I heard him tell Patrick, "Keep her left." In that moment I knew I would not be without my father out there, he was just letting someone else yell at me for a bit. Someone, who I must, say is very skilled after hours upon hours and miles after miles of yelling at me from a kayak. 

Before the first swimmers go off there are a few things that happen on shore which remind you of this community you are a part of just by standing there. First you will hear the safety briefing. No matter how many times I have stood on this shore I always perk my ears at this briefing. I have learned this water, but I have also learned in years of open water swimming that water changes faster than any element out there and it deserves respect. Next you will hear the names of the fallen read aloud. In this moment there is silence and reflection. A reminder not of why we are here today but of why we have the opportunity to be here today. After this the colors are presented. The color guard stand under the flags of our nation and our military branches. You will hear the first words of the Star Spangled banner come from a swimmer dressed in a wetsuit. It is what you hear next that changes you from one person to a community (if you needed one more moment). That one voice by the song's second line becomes 30 voices, then 50 voices, then 100 voices, then every voice on that beach. Together we sing then cheer. This will be the only time that all of us are one together, but it will be felt long after the music stops.  I was in the last wave for the swim this year (I made assumptions as to why, but Patrick reminded me that wave isn't what mattered). A start is a start and I am ever grateful to be a small part of the Frogman Swim events. I watched and waited while the other swimmers left. The beach began to clear of kayaks and wetsuit donning bodies. The onlookers thinned and tents and supplies were getting stowed away. There I stood with my fellow "last wavers" as we took those first steps into the cold water. I will say this they certainly save the most humorous for last. The whole five minutes we waited you saw smiles and heard jokes. I had to laugh when one of the guys said, "One day I'll be tough like the ladies and wear a short sleeve wetsuit. But not today!"  I turned to wave one more time at Patrick, who would be easy to spot in his duct tapped together straw hat. Here is where it always gets interesting. You swim for a little bit without your kayaker  (well, I do so my kayaker doesn't have to run over a swimmer). But it is sort of like a game of Frogger out there, dodging kayaers and swimmers, trying to find "clean" water. As we passed the radios towers, just getting sight of the bridge, Patrick was close and we were starting to stay North (left, as my father tells me). Once insight of the bridge the crowd starts to thin. I am glancing in both directions and I see very few swimmers or kayaers. Patrick keeps directing me and switches from my right to my left, given the position of the sun this allows me to see him better.  It is interesting to have swam with a kayaker for so long that you learn each other's facial expressions and small signals. A little wave means "move further left, closer to the kayak". When I glance up at him a small nod gives reassurance that he has me on course even though I see only a few swimmers near us and then a large amount to the far right of us fading into the waves. I trust him and focus on following these cues, on arm over the next.  As the sun rose the currents began to pull stronger. the tide was pulling to the right (not the right direction for me to be going). But something more personally daunting was ahead of me- the sandbar. On this sandbar a year ago my swim ended. As the shallow of the bar became visible my heart pounded in my chest. Oh, and not metaphorically, this rise in heart rate can actually be seen in the report out on my Garmin. I was breathing more often trying to calm myself back down. Telling my self it was "silly" to have such thoughts. Then below me nestled in the short grass was a small ray. He was calm and oh so over the chaos of us swimmers. That's what I needed to be "oh so over the chaos happening in my brain." I watched the water fall off my arm as I took my breath looking at Patrick in the kayak. there was no chaos in that view. I put my head back down and focused on long and strong strokes, feeling the current pulling more and more.  A few more rays later, including a big beach ball sized one, the sand bar began to fade. this only takes about 2 seconds in these waters. Suddenly the water is this dark green-gray color. You can't see the bottom just the bubbles of air that push under and around you from your arms that are living in both the above and below of the water. In this deep the danger is you don't realize how hard the current is not pulling on you. There are no cues from the grasses any more. But you feel it. you watch other swimmers get further from you and you notice that the buoy appears to be drifting against the current and away from you.  This is where my stubbornness (shocker) started to come out. We were at the far side of the channel, fighting current to stay left and keep the buoys the the right. I was at of the "Freddie the frog" buoys and I was soon going to miss getting up around it. I know this isn't a race but for me this day was about redemption and I was going to cover every inch of the water on this day. Patrick pulled ahead to not get pushed in the kayak against the buoy. I fought and found myself face to face with Freddie. He was bouncing as the current tugged at him but I refused to let his dart and wave scare me. I pushed to swim straight north to get above the buoy. I was just even with it and starting to go under the edge of it. As I was honestly about to left myself off the hook and just be the wrong side of one buoy, I decided to take one more shot. I pushed two freestyle strokes and then dove under the water coming up on the other side of the buoy and pushed to the south side of it so quickly. It was a stupid thing to do but I was laughing to myself as I came up looking at Patrick's face, which clearly said, "I don't know what you did but I am sure it was a bad idea." I was on the north side of the buoy rope, all buoys across the bay had remained to my right, as they were meant to be.  Now came the fun part. Soon we would turn right and the current would be with us. the only challenge would be to stay near shore and not get pulled back to the channel. In this section several swimmers from different waves start to blend in again. You are no longer alone, instead you start to wonder where everyone came from and how our community lost itself and found itself in the three mile span.  Patrick smiles at me and nods his head. I signal that I love him and then I take the final left to shore. As I glance up to spot I see people walking and people standing in the water, some are swimmers on their finish approach and some are guides cheering and pointing-- all are smiling. This year I stood up much earlier than normal for me. But I wanted to see the shore, to take it in, to see this community welcoming us all back.  I crossed the finish line and was greeted by smiling faces. The gentleman who handed me my coin grasped me in a quick hug and said thank you. I could only repeat his words back to him. I was so very thankful for everything this day and this community meant to me. 

As I walked across the grass towards where the kayakers come in I was greeted with my favorite part of any race, event, or day- Patrick! He smiled and hugged me, and I could not think of any place else I wanted to be.   I made it to my parents-- my mother quickly handing me a towel and my blanket and taking drinks and goggles from my hands; my father with a hint of a smile told me "good job", I told him "I missed him out there."  It is sometimes strange where we find community- in our homes, in our families, in our workplace, or on the shore of an event which honors a group of people who define community.   

This year I swam for Petty Officer First Class Jesse Pittman. He was killed on 06 August 2011, during a mission in the Wardark Providence of Afghanistan. The team was returning to base when their helicopter was hit by a rocket, killing 30 persons on board. Jesse was known to have strength and determination. An article published after his death speaks to this in a statement of his younger years-- "When he was in kindergarten, he would answer only to the name John Wayne."  "Courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway." --- John Wayne

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