Before Mallorca: Showing Up

I leave for Mallorca in less than a week, and this race has become much more than a race.

When I first signed up for IRONMAN 70.3 Mallorca, I was apprehensive. Kat and I had just canceled our plans to do Augusta, and I wasn’t sure how she would feel about me possibly doing a race if she wasn’t. I was also full of grief after losing Alex. But for the first time, I felt like I had a real reason — a real “why” — for doing something like this.

This was not about chasing a medal or proving I could finish a triathlon. I needed to do something big. Something hard. Something uncomfortable. Something that would require months of consistent, dedicated training. Something that would force me to keep showing up, especially on the days when I did not want to.

Because that is the promise.

As long as I am able, I will continue to show up for Alex and Jason in whatever form they need me. Whether I am tired, sad, cold, unmotivated, distracted, or afraid, I will keep trying to show up. I will keep putting in the work. I will keep moving forward.

My love for Alex and Jason is immense, and I felt like I needed to do something that reflected that.

Over the last eight months training became the one thing I was consistently able to do. There were days when getting out of bed felt hard. Days when focusing on work or normal life felt almost impossible. But I could get up and bike. I could drive to the pool. I could run. I could follow the plan. I could do the next thing.

In some ways, training became therapy.

Sometimes it got me out of my head. It got me outside, into nature, away from the thoughts that had been weighing on me. Other times, it gave me space to think. Space to think about Jason. Space to think about Alex. Space to feel them with me.

When I lost Alex, I lost half of myself with him. The only part of me that kept going was for Jason. It feels wrong to say that sometimes, because I never want it to sound like Jason wasn’t already everything to me. He was. He is. Jason has always been precious to me. He and Alex have always been the center of my universe.

But doing this race helped me feel like I was still going for Alex too.

I struggle sometimes with how to explain what Jason means to me now. He has not become more important because Alex is gone. That would never be true. But losing Alex has made me painfully aware of how quickly everything can change, and how fragile life really is. I am grateful Jason is here. I want to protect him from the dangers of the world, even though I know I cannot protect him from everything. I want to love him fully and unconditionally for as long as I am able.

I cannot think of Alex without Jason, or Jason without Alex. They are so close in age, and so intertwined in my heart, that I almost cannot remember a time without both of them in my life.

In my mind, it will forever be Alex and Jason.

The physical part of training has been hard, but the mental part has been harder. Getting up when I did not want to. Driving to the pool early in the morning when it was cold outside. Pushing through a tough bike interval when my legs were tired. Going out for a run when every part of me would rather not.

It is easy to back off. It is easy to take a rest day. It is easy to say, “not today.”

But then I would not be showing up the way I said I would.

I used to love running when I was younger, but as I got older, it became harder and harder. Swimming was something I loved recreationally — being in the pool or at a water park — but I was never a distance swimmer. I still do not really think of myself that way.

But I kept going.

When I picture Alex with me during training, I mostly feel him when I am running. That is the hardest part for me. That is where I feel him the most. It feels like he is there helping me along, giving me strength, helping me put one foot in front of the other.

I remember one long Sunday run that was especially hard. I was running around the fields at work, and at some point my body just went on autopilot. It almost felt like an out-of-body experience, like I was watching myself move through space. All I could think about was Alex. I kept asking him to help me keep going.

And somehow, I did.

Now that the race is almost here, I am scared.

I worry about the travel. I worry about the logistics. I worry about starting. I worry about finishing. I worry about being good enough.

But more than anything, I think I am afraid of myself — my own mind and emotions.

What if I panic in the cold water? What if I cannot control my emotions on the bike? What if I spend too much of myself too early and have nothing left to give on the run?

This race means something to me. Everyone out there on that course will have their own “why,” and this is mine. But I am still learning about myself, and I do not always react the way I think I will. I have pictured the finish line so many different ways. Sadness. Crying. Yelling Alex’s name. Maybe silence. Maybe something I cannot even imagine yet.

I do not know how I will feel when it is over.

Before the swim, I imagine I will be telling myself to stay calm. You can swim this distance. It is not that far. If you can make it out of the swim, you can finish. Get into the water. Find your space. Find your pace. Just swim.

Then the bike.

I keep picturing riding away from Alcúdia with the ocean to my right, heading toward the mountains and the long climb ahead. There is something about that image that stays with me. The water, the road, the mountains, the fear, the beauty, the reason I am there.

And then the run.

I know that is where I will need Alex most.

I am trying to bring as much of him with me as I can. His name is on my jersey. His Steam profile picture is on my bike. His name will be on my arm. He is always in my heart.

Having Kat there means the world to me. Her support in this has meant more than I can probably explain. Having Jeremy and Kristen there matters too. When I see them on the course, I know it will give me motivation to keep going. They will be there to witness something that is much bigger to me than a race.

I am excited to be doing something for Alex again. Doing things for Alex and Jason gives me purpose.

I hope Alex knows how important and special he is. I hope he knows how much I love him and that I would do anything I could in this world for him.

I hope Jason knows that he and Alex are, and have always been, the center of my universe.

When I step into the water, I think I would want to tell Alex that he can accomplish anything he wants to do.

And maybe I need to tell myself that too.

I do not know exactly what will happen in Mallorca. I do not know how the swim will feel, or how my legs will respond on the climb, or what emotions will come for me on the run. I do not know if I will cry at the finish line, yell Alex’s name, or simply stand there unable to speak.

But I know why I am going.

I am going because I love my boys.

I am going because grief needed somewhere to go.

I am going because for the last eight months, training has helped me keep moving when I did not know how.

I am going because in my mind, it will forever be Alex and Jason.

And as long as I am able, I will keep showing up.