Prefer to watch instead? The YouTube link can be found at the bottom.
Back when I was running marathons, there was always a strange emotional letdown after race day.
For months, life revolved around training: early morning runs, long weekends, carefully planned miles, watching what I ate, studying the weather forecast, and constantly thinking about pace, preparation, and race day itself.
And then suddenly, there it was. Twenty-six point two miles. The finish line. The medal. The pictures. The feeling of crossing the line exhausted, accomplished, and completely alive. Also a little sore. Okay, very sore.
My daughter and I had a tradition after big races. We would go out for breakfast still wearing our finisher medals. It was our way of staying inside the moment a little longer, soaking it in before regular life returned.
But eventually we’d go home, the medal would get hung up somewhere, and it would almost never get worn again.
And somewhere in the days that followed, something quieter would show up too.
The adrenaline faded. There was no longer a big race circled on the calendar. No training plan waiting for me in the morning. No massive goal pulling me forward every day.
It was just ordinary life again. Coffee. Laundry. Work. Errands. A normal day.
What always surprised me was that the letdown didn’t mean the race hadn’t mattered. And from what I’ve heard from other runners over the years, I don’t think I was alone in that feeling. It mattered a lot. I was proud of it. I was grateful for the experience.
But pride and gratitude didn’t completely erase the quiet question that showed up afterward:
Now what?
I’ve written before about how, during marathon training, I realized that the most important mile is the one I’m in. Lately, I’ve been thinking about what happens after the finish line too.
And honestly, I think I’m realizing something similar about this whole Awakening With Don journey.
At first, Awakening With Don was simply a place to share what felt true. A place to put words around recovery, presence, spirituality, and the ordinary moments where life keeps teaching me.
Then the weekly reflections became part of that rhythm. Week by week, I kept writing. Not because I had everything figured out, but because writing helped me notice what I was living.
And eventually, alongside all of that, the memoir became part of the journey too. Writing it, editing it, preparing it for release, wondering whether anyone would read it, and hoping it might matter to someone.
And then eventually, it happened. The book came out.
People bought it. People responded kindly. People told me it meant something to them. And I’m genuinely grateful for all of that.
But after the initial excitement settled, I noticed something familiar.
Life just kept being life.
I still wake up and make coffee. I still take the dog out. I still answer emails, run errands, fold laundry, and look at the same to-do list I looked at yesterday. Some days feel meaningful. Some days just feel ordinary.
And that doesn’t mean the book didn’t matter. It did. It still does.
But maybe part of me expected the meaning of it to keep carrying the same emotional intensity it had on launch day. And of course, it couldn’t. Nothing stays at finish-line intensity forever.
That’s not failure. It’s just life moving forward again.
The marathon ends. The launch ends. The big moment passes. And eventually we find ourselves back inside ordinary life again.
And honestly, maybe there’s something important in that.
Maybe life was never meant to be lived only at the finish lines.
Maybe the quiet, ordinary days were the real life all along.
I’m still sitting with that.
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If this kind of reflection helps you slow down, I send one like this every Sunday morning. You can join the Circle at awakeningwithdon.com.
