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

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