Mallorca Got Us All

My time in Mallorca was filled with a lot of emotions. There were ups and downs, moments of excitement, moments of fear, stress, joy, exhaustion, and plenty of things I still do not fully know how to process.

There was never really a dull moment.

On our first full day there, we tried to take a bike ride out toward the lighthouse. It was supposed to be one of those beautiful Mallorca rides. Scenic roads, amazing views, and a chance to take in the island before race day.

On the way back, things changed quickly.

Kat fell on the bike and ended up in the ER. She broke her hand and needed stitches above her eye. It was scary and stressful, especially being in another country, but the people who stopped to help were incredible. The EMTs were excellent. The hospital staff was kind. Strangers on bikes and in cars stopped to check on her and make sure help was coming.

Four of us went to Mallorca, and somehow all four of us had some kind of fall, crash, or accident while we were there.

Mallorca got us all.

My bike is now at the shop getting repaired from my crash during the race. Kat is still recovering from her accident. We are home, but parts of the trip are still very much with us.

Before the race, I was afraid of what would happen once it was over.

Not physically, necessarily. I knew there would be soreness and fatigue. I knew I would need time to recover.

What I was afraid of was the emotional part.

What happens after something like this is done?

What comes next?

How do I keep carrying Alex with me going forward?

What do I do now?

For months, the race gave me something to focus on. It gave me structure. It gave me a way to move through the grief, the memories, the pain, and the love. Training for Mallorca was never just about triathlon. It was never just about finishing a race.

It was about Alex.

It was about carrying him with me.

It was about finding some way to keep moving when part of me still feels stuck in a moment I can never change.

I thought those questions might hit me hard once the race was over. I thought I might come home and feel lost.

But we have been home for about a week now, and so far those questions have not really surfaced in the way I expected.

I think part of that is because life did not slow down when we got back. There has been a lot of ongoing care for Kat after the accident. Appointments, recovery, helping her with what she needs, and trying to get things settled again. My bike needs repairs. Our bags had to be unpacked. The house needed attention. Normal life was waiting for us the moment we walked back through the door.

Maybe the questions are still there underneath everything.

Maybe once things settle down and we find our way back into a normal routine, they will resurface. Maybe that is when I will really begin to process what the race meant, what the results mean, and what this whole journey has been.

Maybe that is when I will have to sit with the bigger question of where I go from here.

Over the weekend, my friend’s daughter asked me if I still miss Alex.

It caught me a little off guard. Not because the answer was complicated, but because it was so simple.

I told her, “I miss Alex every day.”

And I do.

Every day.

Some days it is loud. Some days it is quieter. Some days it sits underneath everything else I am doing. But it is always there. Coming home from Mallorca did not change that. Finishing the race did not change that. Nothing about this journey was ever going to make me miss him less.

Maybe that is part of what I am still learning.

Carrying Alex with me does not only happen during the big things. It was there during the training. It was there in Mallorca. It was there on race morning, in the water, on the bike, on the run, and on the red carpet.

But it is also here now.

It is here while Kat is healing. It is here while my bike is in the shop. It is here while Jason gets ready to start summer classes. It is here while we try to plan the ramen dinner we still owe him for his birthday. It is here in the ordinary parts of life that keep moving, even when part of me wants everything to pause for a little while.

For now, time goes on.

The world does not pause for me, even when I want a break.

There is no clean ending to grief. There is no finish line where everything suddenly makes sense. There is only the next day, the next thing, the next small responsibility, the next way we keep going.

Mallorca is over.

The race is over.

But missing Alex is not over.

Carrying him with me is not over.

I do not know exactly what comes next yet.

For now, I am home. I am tired. I am grateful. I am still processing. And life, somehow, keeps moving.