Michigan Titanium- Fresh Water, Potholes, and Lighting Bugs

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!

The third lap brought darkness. This loop also brought joy. for the whole run there had been an older gentleman sitting at the far loop turn around. He was out there alone with a word puzzle book just waiting for each of us one by one to pass him. He had offered positive words on previous loops and waved as I passed saying he would see me again. It was now on my third loop, in the dark, that I felt an even greater appreciation for this man. He was standing by the sign with a flashing light as I showed up. He was a beacon in that darkness. He congratulated me on getting to the turn around and told me that he would see me in a bit. It was an unintended expectation- of course I had to come back now just to see him, there would be no quitting, he was counting on my return and would worry if I didn't come back.
The run course volunteers were all wonderful. Each time having items prepped for us as we past. they even became like the hometown restaurant you visit all the time, the one that knows your "usual". they would ask if I wanted my grapes and water, if I still wanted ice, or if I needed something new. they would chat and cheer for us. their energy could be heard in the darkness long before you would see them. 
Last loop, dark loop, tired loop, tearful loop. The families of those on the course cheered and laughed with me as I headed out on my last loop. Patrick slapped me on the butt and told me to hurry back, he would be waiting. Again it was not his intention to have set this expectation of my return but he had done just that. I turned the corner and into the darkness away from town. I started to see little lights blinking. I thought I was starting to have a migraine or was starting to hallucinate but then I started laughing and crying, these were not hallucinations of little lights, they were lightening bugs. Then I started to cry. I know it is silly. I was in the dark in Michigan closer tot he finish line than when I started and I was crying. To be fair it was just tears rolling down my face, not the ugly snot crying. Seeing the lightening bugs took me back to a place under a willow tree as a child. It was magical and calming and pain free. It was everything this moment wasn't. But maybe this moment was just that peaceful. I was here, fighting, struggling, hurting, but I was here, happy and loved. The guy passing me asked if i was okay, this was the first time he had seen me crying on the course. I assured him it was all good.
I walked on with a new determination. My body wouldn't run now but it would still go. There was a funny thing that was starting to happen on the run course in these last loops. Due to the darkness the runners would move from the outside edge of the road to the inside of the road to avoid hard to see potholes. We were all seeing each other closer, watching each other try to focus on keeping moving. We were close enough to each other to talk in tried whispers. But each pass was met with messages encouraging one step after the next, keep moving forward, or stay the course messages.
Suddenly out of the darkness there was a blink of a light. Could it be? Was it really? YES!!! It was him, I was here. I can honestly say I was more excited to see my turn around friend than I had been to see any finish line (well, maybe it was a toss up). The gentleman smiled and clapped as I approached. I told him that I had thought he moved the sign further away on me or that he had packed up. He laughed and said, "I would never leave." I was grateful for his staying power. I was grateful for that sign. And in this moment I was grateful for the darkness ahead of me, because out of the dark would come the light of the city and "home".
The last three miles went by step by step. I watched others still headed out to the turn around. They smiled. They limped. They cursed. All I greeted the only way I knew how, with words of encouragement and a smile. Putting this energy out was giving me energy too. "let's get this done," repeated in my brain. "Stay positive, be strong," became the mantra said in each step. Then there were the police lights. The turn to the finish. I knew in only a few moments I would see Patrick.
There he was, my love! MiTi allows family members to cross the finish line with us. Patrick asked what I wanted. I told him that if he was okay with him I wanted him to cross the finish line with me, hand in hand. I knew this would be difficult for him and cause a mix of feelings. But he smiled and said, "Whatever you want." Together we turned down the quiet finish line. Hand in hand. There is a finish picture where Patrick is looking at me- I love this photo (but it isn't here because I haven't bought it). I don't love it because I am finishing my fifth full iron distance race. I love it because Patrick is there looking at me as he always does, with love, care, and a strength greater than anything I will ever know. The finish line brought relief. It was over. This long long day was now over.
MiTi was not the race day I planned (most of the time my races aren't as I planned) but it was a life lesson. Sometimes strength is in pushing on more pedal stroke, or in the sound of a bell over farmland, or in the lightening bugs on a dark night. I know this, as I have noted before, love in your heart goes a long way in these races.
The rest of our Michigan trip was a whole other adventure-- with jumping into rivers, peer pressure race entry, and finding out we aren't that young any more.... 

We plan to return one day to MiTi!!!!   

Rememberance and Redemtion- 2019 Tampa Bay Frogman

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

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

Teresa's Donation Page for Tampa BayFrogman Swim 2019

Teresa is actively raising money for the Navy Seal Foundation.  For more information please read this: 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.