Dreams Come True if you Work Them. Energy, Pattern, Force and Form- Self Discipline is Worth the Work.

Hometown Ironman race, on my street even! Who would have ever thought this would be a reality. Here we are, though, the race of a lifetime. With nothing in a lull and full of high anticipation. It was a race that was full of exactly what the spirit of Triathlon represents. The cumulative energy of both athlete and spectator were above amazing; this was a transformation for my community. The Spirit of Triathlon came alive in Benzie County that day. It was amazing to see the whole community in support.

When Ironman rolled into town at the beginning of the week, it almost looked like a circus had rolled into town. The Tents were up as fast as they had got into town, and you could feel the excitement buzz around the locals questioning what was to be. Signs around town began to warn of road closures for the big event. Very few were heard to grumble, most locals willing to excuse the closure of M-22 for the day and postponed their vehicular travel. Making this an ideal opportunity for cyclists to preview the course in advance.

For myself, my preparation began to amount in some stress as I had previously ridden an old bike that had lots of miles and had been used in all of my races and training, lots of miles. Things at the last minute became unfixable. So the Hunt for a bike was on.

I had put the word out I was looking for a bike. Aid came, as Marines find their own, a brother came to my side and offered me aid. Randy Newbold, owner of Crystal Lake Adventure Sports, a local Veteran, offered me the assistance of his Bike shop and Mechanic, Bryan. We troubleshot on the bike and quickly came to the realization this was not the right bike for this race. With Randy's tenacity and grace he was able to navigate through his network and find an absolute miracle of an opportunity; in the local area, a 2019 Specialized Shiv TT bike was available. An avid bike collector Randy knew this was only happening because of divine intervention. He made the bike available for me to take to a local fitter, Mark Geraldo, of Ride Science, to get fitted properly. Upon fitting, we realized there were some technical difficulties. Mind you, please, this is all happening a week away from the race! We went over to Pat at Mission Cycles, and he was able to update the software, and I was on it!!!

Working on a new bike a week before race day, most would say, is nuts. Never change anything before race day. Well, my mind was made up, and I was able to ride the bike for about 20 miles before the race and be much more comfortable than my previous bike. It was amazing and a blessing. This was only the beginning of the excitement. As I was at Ride Science, I had been on the light table for the feet. It shows your arch in the foot. I had previously mentioned a bout with planters fasciitis from changing shoes a month earlier, and now I was fighting some issues. When we looked at my feet on the machine, it showed my right arch collapsing due to an injured metatarsal. I had been taking it easier the previous month due to an inflammation happening in my foot. I knew I had already made the decision to race. I went for a walk while Pat fixed my software issues; walking downtown in Traverse City, I stopped into Running Fit, the shoe store. I was immediately drawn to a pair of Adidas Bostons and knew beyond a doubt I needed this shoe as it was the one I was looking for before buying the shoes that caused the injury. Here we go, changing bikes and shoes before race day, breaking all the rules!

 

A Marine knows how to adapt, especially on the fly. OneMind, any weapon, these were my tools. It was time to go to work. I was ready to go. I gathered my things together the day before race day and headed down to Athlete check-in. I saw familiar faces and met with a local Athlete and lawyer, Fredrick Stig-Nielsen. With words of wisdom and encouragement for his first Ironman, I pointed him to the check-in tent. Linking up with Randy and his wife Elaine, giving hugs of celebration and community. It was a little bit of a party before the race with all of the excitement bubbling. The town began to flood with athletes from all over the country and world! I dropped my things off in transition and headed right down the street to have dinner with my Amber and the girls, my Mother and Aunt. It was a beautiful evening, and surprisingly I was able to get some rest.

 

The morning of the race was beyond perfect; I was able to drop my things off to Triathlon and go back home for my wetsuit and breakfast, to avoid the big anxiety of the crowds' anticipation, giving myself just enough time to get down to the swim start and mingle with the local athletes. I ran into Fredrik and waited in the swim chute with him as we talked through our excitement and race plan. Upon getting to the water, the music hit me, and I began to do a bit of a jig and dance before jumping in the Betsie Bay. Baptism! How absolutely blessed I was to have made it to this moment...I was in the water, and the cheers of the crowd began to drift. I was doing it; I was having my race.

 

I made it through the darkness of the water with relatively low anxiety and no real issues, other than the occasional thought of losing my watch or my timing chip, the other swimmers were courteous and gave space. I was almost out of the water; I could see land. Making it upon shore, I stripped my wet suit and began running to my bike. I pulled my goggles and swim cap off my head and pulled my arm through my sleeve. Intentionally leaving my swim cap and goggles. I felt something drop. I panicked for my new goggles I had just purchased the day before, another new thing before race day! Looking for them only allowing for seconds to search. Seeing nothing, I moved on to my bike. Transitioning over quickly grabbing my helmet, strapping it, grabbing my bike, and running with it as fast as I could though transition on this new super-fast bike. Hauling all over through my neck of the woods. It was a perfect course and an amazing day for a bike ride.

Upon coming back into town from the bike, I was met with the pain of my foot. But keeping my mind on the race and why I do these things. I do them to Honor my Brothers and Sisters. They gave me this opportunity to have this understanding of freedom. I put the pain aside and went to work on the run. I was blessed to see all of the athletes as they ran through the Betsie Valley Trail. It was a great day of celebrating everyone's hard efforts in training and finally showing up to such a gnarly race. I was able to make my run steady and stayed within my goal range. I came across the line at 5 hours and 25 minutes, running full stride across the finish line into the Arms of Josh Mills, the Mayor of our Town; he gave me my medal, and Kristine, his wife, gave me a much-needed water. When I wiped the sweat from my eyes, I saw my family. Amber and my girls Raya, Talullah, and Lilah, my mother and Aunt, a blessed Man I was. To be encouraged by this whole community, and to be blessed with this race of my dreams.

Randy opened up his bike shop to provide some much-needed recovery and respite. Allowing for myself to get a foot rub from myself and some rehydration. I gotta shout it out; my gratitude over bounds with joy and humbleness. Thank you to my local community for making this race a reality. For pulling together for me and supporting me. My undying loyalty to My Veteran Community and the efforts that each one of you makes to pursue their dreams. This is my why; this race was a testament to freedom. A testament of community. A Testament of the American Dream. Thank you all for being a part of my network. May you all be inspired to keep facing the day and whatever challenges are presented with a positive mind and achieve the things you never thought were possible. Many Blessing-Love y'all for Love Is Semper Fidelis. God Bless.

Written by: PFC Gerald Jennex' 01-'05, 3rd Battalion 1st Marines Infantryman

The Summer Adventures of C & J - Part 1 The Cow Didn’t Do It!

 

One dark night when we were all in bed. Mrs. O'Leary took a ladder to the shed and when the cow kicked it over, she yelled up in the night, it'll be a hot time in the old town tonight.

Fire! Fire! Fire! ~ Cad. L. Mays

In 1871 the great Chicago fire was blamed on Mrs. O'Leary's cow, but no one knows how it started. The same can be said of the many devastating fires ravaging through the northwest this summer. My veteran and I grew up in Northern California and were asked to be campground hosts on the south side of Mt. Shasta, CA. Campground hosting is one of those areas in marriage referred to as 'compromise.' My idea of fun is not spending the entire summer and early fall in an RV, running everything off of a generator, and worst of all, no internet! Many combat-wounded veterans, including my veteran Curtis, prefer the forest's isolation to the busyness of town and civilization.

We arrived at our destination in California to the beauty of Mt. Shasta and the heavenly scent of Ponderosa pines. The mountains covered in pine trees brought back many happy memories of roasting s'mores over the fire as a child. A few days after we arrived, the Lava fire started to the north of Mt. Shasta. The smoke billowing up over the peak gave the mountain an appearance of a volcanic eruption. The Lava fire began on June 25th. The Tennant, Salt, and Dixie fires followed shortly after. Curtis and I had driven down to Redding, CA, to use the library and were leaving town when the Salt fire started not far ahead of us on the interstate. At this point, we were both growing in concern as we now had major fires with zero containment to the north and south of our campground. 

Being a campground host was proving to be a challenge. Curtis and I were seeing our home state quite literally burn to the ground, and yet fires at individual campsites were still being allowed. In our minds, it seemed like a no-brainer to cease all fires due to the extreme heat, lack of water, and multiple fires already burning out of control. The air quality was terrible, making breathing difficult for Curtis, who is missing part of his left lung. Every day we woke up and went to bed in a haze of smoke. Drama with campers seemed to increase as the fires spread. Curtis felt like he was back in the military having to babysit privates. Several campers left fires unattended, which he had to douse. One camper used the entrance to the campground as his drag strip. After calling his license plate into the CHP for drag racing, we later found out there was a warrant for his arrest for drug and gang-related activity. Over July 4th weekend, we had a female camper that went to every, and I mean every single campsite, in an attempt to seduce men. Age, race, and marital status did not matter to her. She would make the rounds sporting her feminine wiles until her husband or children tracked her down, taking her back to camp. It is unknown if mental illness was to blame or if it was an excess of drinking. There were some friendly people that we met. Several campers that came through were Vietnam veterans. One veteran served in the Navy and did one tour in Vietnam as an EOD diver.

Ultimately, the McFarland fire sent us into a state of panic and forced us to evacuate. Curtis had driven two hours north to Medford, Oregon, to visit an old friend from high school when the forest ranger called and told him a fire had started a few miles north of our campground. Knowing how quickly fires can burn, Curtis called and told me to pack a go-bag, unlock my scooter and get ready to ride out. If you have never been evacuated, I want you to think about what you would pack for two people if you had to leave your home and accept it may not be there when you returned. My children's maternal and paternal grandparents and many of our friends lost their homes in the Campfire that burned the entire town of Paradise, CA. Oh, the conundrum of choosing from my favorite books, sandals, jewelry, clothing, and makeup. It was easy to pack for Curtis. He wears t-shirts, shorts and has two pairs of shoes, one of which he wears. Ultimately I chose sentimentality over practicality. I could always buy more sandals, clothing, and makeup, but I could not replace the jewelry, my bible, and gifts I had onboard that the children had given us.

I packed our laptops and essential documents in my backpack. I was ready to go. I took everything out to where my scooter was parked. At this moment, the California Highway Patrol (CHP) came through the campground on a loudspeaker, telling us to prepare to evacuate. Curtis had called and said he was a half-hour away. I spent the next half-hour getting the RV packed and ready to go on the chance Curtis got back in time. Fifteen minutes before his arrival, the CHP drove through again, giving the order to leave. By now, I could see the red of flames glowing brightly through the growing thickness of the smoke. I was starting to panic inside. I got on my scooter, rode through the campground, making sure all of the campers were packing up to leave, and prayed Curtis would get back in time to hook up the trailer.

On his rush back from Medford, Curtis was pulled over for going over 100mph. After explaining the situation to the officer, he was given police escort the rest of the way. He later told me it was like the parting of the red sea, complete with lights and sirens as people moved over to make way. We loaded our scooters, waited for the last of the campers to evacuate, and drove to safety. One of the campers had not taken the CHP seriously and had not packed up. Ultimately we had to force them to leave their camping gear, get into their car and follow us out. They seemed confused about the rush to go even with visible flames and bombers flying low overhead, dropping retardant less than a mile from the camp. I would have left everything had Curtis not made it back in time. I had accepted the inevitable loss of our beautiful fifth wheel. However, material things can be replaced, but lives cannot.

Curtis and I miss the California of our childhood. The once beautiful mountains covered in pine trees have been reduced to ashes, with desert shrub brush taking their place. The snow-capped peak of Mt. Shasta from our youth is now brown and bare. The pristine lakes we learned to water ski on are nothing more than muddy ponds. Curtis wanted to go to California to recapture the feelings of joy and peace from his childhood, the memories of war had overshadowed. Instead, he was empowered by overcoming the adversity of a wildfire, getting campers to safety, saving his RV, and best of all, he proved himself a hero in my eyes all over again.

Written by: Justina Lyn, Veteran Caregiver