I can’t quite explain it, but something deep within me is pulling me toward Ironman 70.3 Mallorca. It’s not just a race—it feels like a calling. A quiet, persistent urge to do something bold, something that stretches me beyond what I thought I was capable of.
This will be my first long-distance triathlon. I’ve chosen one in another country, with an ocean swim and a bike course that climbs through the mountains of Mallorca, Spain. It’s ambitious. It’s intimidating. And it’s exactly what I need.
I’m doing this for my sons. I’m doing this in memory of Alex.
Losing him this year has been the most devastating experience of my life. There were moments when the grief felt too heavy to carry—when I questioned whether I could keep going at all. But even in the darkest times, I’ve felt his presence. Subtle signs. Quiet reassurances. A feeling that he’s still with me, still cheering me on.
This race is my way of honoring him. Of proving to myself that I can keep moving forward, even when it hurts. It’s a promise: to live fully, to push through the pain, and to show up for the people I love—including the one I carry in my heart every day.
I’ve officially signed up. Training has begun. And every mile, every stroke, every climb will be for Alex.
I don’t know what awaits me at the finish line. But I know why I’m starting. And that’s enough.
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