Showing Up

Mallorca is less than a month away, and lately it feels like this race is carrying a lot more than swim, bike, and run.

On the surface, there are plenty of practical things to think about. My hip has been acting up. I’m still trying to sort out my nutrition on the bike and make sure it works the way I need it to. I need to pack my bike, make sure I have the tools to rebuild it when I get there, and somehow keep track of all the gear, equipment, and details that come with doing something like this for the first time. And not just for the first time, but for the first time in another country, across an ocean, far from home.

That is enough on its own to make this feel big.

But the truth is, what feels heavy about Mallorca is not just the event itself. It is what the race represents.

I got my first email from Ironman the other day, and it made everything feel more real. This is not just some thing I said I would do. It is not some distant event off in the future. In less than a month, I will be on a plane headed to Mallorca. In less than a month, I will be there to try to fulfill the commitment I made to Alex and Jason that I will continue to show up for them.

That is what this race means to me.

It is not about suffering. It is not about punishment. It is about showing up. It is about being willing to do hard things, inconvenient things, uncomfortable things, because they are worth everything to me. They always will be.

And yet, I would be lying if I said this was simple.

Part of me is afraid that something will happen and I will not get to start the race. Part of me is afraid I will start and not finish. And I know that if that happened, it would feel like failure all over again. Not because a race result defines me, but because this has become tied to something much deeper than a finish time. It has become tied to a promise.

I know logically that this race cannot fix the past. I know it cannot undo time. I know it cannot bring Alex back. But grief is not always logical. Love is not always logical either.

What I am realizing is that the work itself is the easy part. The training, the long rides, the fatigue, the soreness, the logistics, even the uncertainty — those things are concrete. They give me something to do with my love. They give shape to my grief. They give me somewhere to put my commitment.

What is harder is accepting that life keeps moving even while I still miss him. What is harder is not yet knowing how to carry Alex’s name in a way that feels okay. I may know in my head that continuing on, living life, and carrying him with me is right. But emotionally, I am not there yet. Not fully.

So maybe that is part of why this race feels so heavy. It is not just a challenge. It is not just an event on the calendar. It is one visible way of living out a promise in a world that keeps going when part of me still wants it to stop and look back.

When I picture the finish line, what I feel first is not triumph. It is sadness. I see myself on my knees screaming his name.

I will be crossing that line wearing Alex’s name on my jersey. I will have done this for him, for Jason, and for myself. And somewhere in that moment I know there will also be the question: what now?

Maybe that is part of what scares me too. Not just whether I can do this, but what happens when the thing that has been giving my grief structure comes to an end. What happens when the training is over, the race is done, and I am left again with love that is still here and a son who is not.

I do not have a neat ending for that. I do not have resolution. I do not have peace wrapped up in a way that makes for a clean story.

What I have is this: the work is easy compared to the loss. The miles are simple compared to learning how to live in this reality. And still, I will keep going.

That is what Mallorca means to me.

Not proof. Not payment. Not redemption.

Just a promise, lived out the only way I know how right now.

To keep showing up.