When “Not Enough” Has Nothing to Do With Effort

I’ve been training for IRONMAN 70.3 Mallorca for months now.

Every workout, every early morning, every long ride and run has been tied to something deeper than just finishing a race. This has never been just about triathlon for me. It’s been about purpose. About showing up for my sons. About carrying something meaningful across that finish line.

But this week, something shifted.

When I found out that Jeremy and Kristen are coming to Mallorca, it meant a lot to me. More than I expected, honestly. People taking time out of their lives, spending money, traveling across the world just to be there—it’s not something I take lightly.

It’s a gift.

But almost immediately, that gratitude turned into something heavier.

Not because of anything they said or did—but because of what my mind did with it.

Suddenly, it felt like more than just my race.
Like I wasn’t just showing up for myself, or even just for my boys anymore.
It started to feel like I needed to show up for everyone.

And that’s when the weight hit.

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I know, logically, that no one expects anything from me other than to be there.

But emotions don’t always follow logic.

Somewhere along the way, support turned into expectation in my head.
Not because anyone put it there—but because I did.

And it built up quietly until it didn’t.

I found myself on the floor in my office, overwhelmed, having a panic attack.

Not because of the race itself.
But because of everything the race represents.

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There’s something else underneath all of this that’s harder to talk about.

All this work I’m putting in—the training, the discipline, the commitment—part of me keeps coming back to the same thought:

What if it’s still not enough?

Not in the way that matters most.

Because no matter how hard I work, no matter how committed I am, no matter what I do…

I can’t bring Alex back.

And I think that’s where a lot of this weight is coming from.

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There’s a part of me that wants this to mean enough.

To be big enough.
To matter enough.
To somehow balance out something that can’t be balanced.

And when I sit with it long enough, I realize that’s not something any race, any finish line, or any amount of effort can ever do.

That doesn’t make the effort meaningless.

But it does make it feel small sometimes when I compare it to something that can’t be changed.

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This isn’t about fitness.
This isn’t about preparation.

This is grief.

This is love with nowhere to go.

So it looks for somewhere to land.

For me, it landed in this race.

I’m starting to understand that this race was never meant to fix anything.

It doesn’t undo the past.
It doesn’t change what happened.

But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.

Because this isn’t about changing the outcome.

It’s about carrying something forward.

Every mile, every hour, every moment of this race is a reflection of:

• love that didn’t disappear
• a commitment to keep showing up
• a choice to move forward, even when part of me is still looking back

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I don’t need to prove anything to anyone who will be there.

They’re not coming to judge me.

They’re coming because they already believe in me.

And maybe more importantly—

I don’t need this race to be “enough.”

It just needs to be honest.

I’m still excited for Mallorca.

I’m still committed.

But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t also scared.

There are things I can prepare for—and things I can’t.

There’s always the possibility that something goes wrong.

That I don’t finish.

And that thought is hard, because of everything this means.

But I’m starting to see that finishing the race isn’t what gives it meaning.

Showing up does.

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There’s a difference between trying to prove something…

and trying to honor something.

I think I’m still learning that.

And maybe that’s what this journey is really about.