29. Chapter 29
Chapter 29
WESTON
I had the worst sleep of my life. In fact, I didn’t sleep at all. Becky was so close to me, and it was both comforting and unnerving. It made me realize how much I cared for her, and how I wanted to protect her from everything that could go wrong.
My mind wandered to the race that I had taken part in so often. This would be my fifth race, but for the first time, I questioned if my reasons for doing it were right. Was I letting the ghosts of the past dictate my life? Could I blindly trust God with my future again? Jared had been a constant presence in my mind.
More than Jared, Becky saturated my thoughts. She was beautiful, smart, and brave, and I was lucky to have her in my life. But I also experienced fear, a fear of the unknown. Could I be the man she needed me to be?
The shrill sound of the wake-up siren shattered the quiet night, beckoning me, and other racers, to begin the day’s preparations. Though the early hour was brutal, the anticipation of the upcoming race fueled me. With practiced ease, I dressed and readied myself for the competition ahead.
Becky looked adorably confused most of the morning. But she was a trooper and went through the motions with everyone else. “You know you are gorgeous,” I told her as we waited for my group to start.
Her response was a mix of gratitude and playful bewilderment. “Thank you. You know, Becky from two weeks ago would have been up before everyone, applying layers of makeup, desperate to look perfect in every way. What have you done to me?” she said, pointing to her messy bun.
I traced a finger down her cheek and stared deeply into her eyes. “I’m proud of you,” I said. “You can wear makeup if you wish, but wear it because you like it. Not because you feel you have to strive for perfection. It’s your heart that truly matters. It’s your heart that I’ve fallen for.” The words tumbled out, the depth of my feelings laid bare before I could catch them. Her smile, in return, simple yet immensely powerful, sent my heart racing.
In a moment of vulnerability, I added, half-jokingly yet with a hint of earnest fear, “You better not fall for any of these other triathletes while I’m out there racing.” My words were a plea, an unspoken confession of my desire to keep her close, to be the one she chose amidst a world of possibilities.
“You’re the only triathlete I see,” she said.
With the rising sun came the boom of the starting gun, signaling the start of the race for my group. My heart thumped loudly. Adrenaline coursed through me as I plunged into the tepid ocean for the Ironman’s swim leg. My arms cut rhythmically through the water, each stroke a struggle against both the choppy waves and my mounting fatigue. The taste of salt lingered on my lips, a harsh reminder of the vastness I had to conquer.
In these solitary moments, thoughts of Dad and Jared often surfaced. Dad’s death when I was fifteen shattered me, but losing Jared—just six years later—was even more devastating. His life was a story left unfinished, cruelly cut short.
Five years had passed since Jared’s death, yet I was still trapped between the past and the present. I had thrown myself into training for triathlons with an almost self-destructive zeal. It was exhausting, this relentless pursuit of... what? Redemption? Closure? I wasn’t even sure anymore. Somewhere deep inside, I think I believed that if I pushed hard enough, swam far enough, I could somehow connect life and death. Perhaps honor Jared’s memory and keep his spirit alive through my own sweat and tears.
But today, something was different. For years, this race had been my lifeline, a way to pay tribute to Jared. Yet, under the morning’s new light, I sensed a change.
As I transitioned to the cycle portion of the race, my legs took over, pedaling hard on the flat yet challenging course. The cool wind was a balm against my heated skin. The road stretched relentlessly before me, each mile demanding more from my body than I thought possible. Thoughts of quitting, of letting my exhausted body collapse, often tempted me. But then, there would be Becky—my beacon at each checkpoint. Her electric smile and enthusiastic cheers cut through my fatigue, her presence a burst of sunshine. “You’ve got this,” she’d yell, her voice slicing through the noise, reviving my spirit.
Reaching the running segment, every step was agony, my legs screaming for relief. The path ahead was a blur, an endless ribbon of asphalt that tested my endurance to the limit.
Yet again, this race felt different. There was an unfamiliar lightness in my steps, a clarity in my breathing. Perhaps it was Becky’s influence, her energy filling the voids in my broken heart, or maybe it was the Divine intervention I’d prayed for since Brenda’s visit. I had been trying to hand over my burdens to God, seeking solace in faith rather than relentless self-punishment. I wasn’t completely healed—maybe I never would be—but as I ran, I sensed the beginnings of something new. Perhaps this wasn’t about outrunning grief, but running toward something better, something like hope.
At each checkpoint, Becky’s presence anchored me. Her unwavering support was the fuel my spirit needed to keep moving. Each time our eyes met, I felt something new awakening. These moments made me realize I wanted more—more of her in my life. With each passing mile, my feelings deepened, and I knew it was time to talk to her about our future together.