27. Redemption: Returning to Finish What Matters

Have you ever felt like you missed your chance?

In this episode, Ash shares the powerful story of returning to the South Dakota Half Marathon three years after an unfinished race that followed months of debilitating migraines. Through personal storytelling, leadership lessons, and insights from Mindset and Atomic Habits, you'll discover why redemption isn't about rewriting the past—it's about choosing to return and finish what still matters.

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Transcript

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Hey everyone, welcome back to the Epiphany Effect. I'm your host, Ash. This is the podcast where we explore how the words of the wise can spark insights and inspire meaningful action in our lives. Today's quote is a simple one, but it carries an incredible amount of wisdom. The best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago. The second best time is today. Chinese proverb. I love this quote because it reminds us that while we can't change yesterday, we still have a choice about today. How often do we convince ourselves that we've missed our opportunity? Maybe we tell ourselves that we're too old to start a new career, too busy to go back to school, too out of shape to get healthy again, too late to repair a relationship, too far behind to pursue the dream we've quietly carried for years. We spend so much time wishing we had started sooner that we forget something incredibly important. The opportunity to begin again still exists. And sometimes beginning again is even more meaningful than getting it right the first time. I think every one of us has something unfinished. Maybe it's a goal we quietly walked away from, a project that never got off the ground, a conversation we never had, a commitment we made to ourselves that slowly faded into the background as life became busy. Sometimes we leave those things behind because we lose interest. But often that's not the case at all. Life simply happens. Health challenges, unexpected responsibilities, career changes, financial stress, family obligations. Circumstances interrupt our plans long before we're ready to let them go. And over time, what started as not right now slowly becomes maybe it just wasn't meant to be. I've learned that's one of the biggest lies we tell ourselves. A delay is not the same as a defeat. An interruption is not the same as an ending. Today's episode is about redemption. Not the kind of redemption you see in movies where everything magically works out in the final scene. I'm talking about a quieter kind of redemption, the kind that happens when you decide your past doesn't get the final say. Because redemption isn't about pretending failure never happened. It's about erasing disappointment or rewriting history. Redemption is choosing to return with new strength, new perspective, and the courage to finish what once felt impossible. A few years ago, I experienced that lesson in a way I'll never forget. It started on a rainy morning in South Dakota. At the time, I had no idea that one of the most disappointing races of my life would eventually become one of the most meaningful. And now looking back, I realize it was never really about the race. It was about learning that unfinished stories don't have to stay unfinished. To understand why finishing that race mattered so much, I have to take you back to 2019. At that point, there wasn't a 50-state half-marathon journey. There wasn't a blog, there wasn't a podcast, there wasn't even the idea that running would become such a meaningful part of my life. Earlier that year, though, life had thrown me a challenge I never expected. For four and a half months, I had migraines every single day. Not every week, not every couple days, every day. Eventually, the migraines started to improve, but they left something behind. I still woke up with headaches almost every day. They weren't as debilitating as the migraines had been, but they were just a constant reminder that I wasn't quite back to normal. Mentally, I needed something to look forward to. My husband Joe and I had signed up for the Sioux Falls Half Marathon in South Dakota. We had family there who could watch our two boys while we ran, and it felt like the perfect opportunity to celebrate getting through such a difficult season. This race represented hope. It represented moving forward. Or at least, that's what I hoped it would represent. Race morning arrived, and it wasn't exactly ideal. It was raining. You know those mornings where you question whether anyone in their right mind would willingly stand outside waiting to run 13.1 miles. It was one of those mornings. But we trained, we were there. So we stood at the starting line in the rain, hoping the weather and my head would cooperate. The race began. And for the first couple miles, everything seemed manageable. I kept checking in with myself. So far, so good. Then, somewhere around mile three, I felt it. That familiar ache. The headache I'd been trying so hard to ignore started getting worse. I remember trying to convince myself it would pass. Just get to the next mile marker. Maybe it'll settle down. But it didn't. It kept getting worse. And there was something else happening. We were slowing down. More and more runners passed us until eventually there was no one left behind us. Just us and the golf cart. If you've ever run a race, you know exactly what that golf cart means. It's the vehicle that follows the last participants on the course. I remember looking back and seeing it there, not rushing us, not pressuring us, just quietly reminding us that we were the last ones. Between the worsening headache, the rain, and the realization that we still had more than 10 miles to go, Joe and I had to make a decision. Was today the day to push through? Or was today the day to listen to what my body was telling me? So we stepped off the course. I called my family and asked them to come pick us up. I wish I could tell you I handled that moment with grace. I didn't. I was disappointed, embarrassed, frustrated. I had wanted this race to symbolize the end of a difficult chapter, but instead it felt like the difficult chapter had won. I remember the drive back feeling incredibly quiet. Not because anyone said anything wrong. There just wasn't much to say. The race continued without us, the finish line came and went, and we went home. For a long time, that's how I remembered the South Dakota half marathon. Not as the race I started, but as the race I couldn't finish. Looking back now, though, I realized something important. That race wasn't a failure, it was an interruption. At the time, I couldn't see the difference. I thought stepping off the course meant the story was over. But sometimes life doesn't end a story. It simply pauses it. And what I didn't know then was that three years later, I'd find myself standing at that very same starting line. Same race, different season, different perspective. And that changed everything. As I look back now, I realize the South Dakota half marathon taught me something I didn't fully yet understand at the time. Sometimes we think redemption means going back and changing the past. But that's impossible. The past happened. The race in 2019 still ended the way it ended. I still stepped off the course. I still rode back with my family feeling disappointed. Redemption didn't erase that experience, it gave it a different ending. And I've noticed the same thing happens over and over again in my work. One of the things I enjoy most about operational excellence is helping teams solve problems. Sometimes you can walk into a situation, and because of your experience, you have a pretty good idea of what would help. You see patterns, you recognize opportunities, you know there's a process or tool that has worked successfully somewhere else. The temptation is to think if I can just explain it well enough, everyone will immediately get on board. But leadership doesn't usually work that way, especially when you don't have direct authority. Influence takes time. I've had conversations with leaders where I genuinely believed I knew something that could make their work easier. I could see the obstacles they were facing, I could see a path forward, but they weren't ready yet. Sometimes they had different ideas they wanted to try first, sometimes they weren't convinced the change was necessary, sometimes they simply weren't ready to hear it from me. Years ago, I probably would have walked away frustrated. I might have thought, well, I tried. Now I've learned something different. Instead of forcing the idea, I try to plant a seed. We have the conversation. I ask questions. I've shared what worked elsewhere, then I give them space. Sometimes they try their own approach first, sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't. And many times, weeks or even months later, they'll come back and say something like, you know that idea we talked about? And I always smile a little because now it isn't my idea anymore. It's become their idea. And because they've discovered it for themselves, they're far more committed to making it successful. That has taught me something important about leadership. Good leaders don't abandon worthwhile ideas because the first attempt didn't succeed. They learn, they adjust, they remain curious, and when the timing is right, they return. The same principle applies to our lives. Sometimes we assume that because something didn't work out the first time, it never will. But maybe the first attempt wasn't wasted. Maybe it was preparing us for the second. That reminds me of something Carol Dweck writes about in her book Mindset. She explains that people with a growth mindset don't see setbacks as permanent failures. They see them as opportunities to learn, as feedback, as part of the process of becoming. When I think back to South Dakota in 2019, I realize I spent a long time viewing that race through a fixed mindset. I couldn't finish. I failed. I'm not a runner. Those statements feel true in the moment, but they're incomplete. A growth mindset asks a different question. What is this experience teaching me? Looking back now, I can answer that question. It taught me to respect my body's limits. It taught me that wisdom sometimes looks like stepping off the course instead of pushing through. It taught me resilience. And maybe most importantly, it taught me that unfinished doesn't mean impossible. Then there's another book that shaped the way I think about change: Atomic Habits by James Clear. One of my favorite ideas from the book is that every action you take is a vote for the type of person you want to become. I've thought about that idea a lot while reflecting on this journey. Going back to South Dakota in 2022 wasn't just about earning a medal or checking off a state. It was a vote. A vote for becoming someone who finishes what matters. A vote for becoming healthier, for becoming more resilient, for becoming the kind of person who doesn't allow one difficult chapter to define the rest of the story. And here's what I've come to believe. Our identities aren't built in one dramatic moment. They're built through thousands of small decisions. Every time we return after disappointment, every time we choose courage over comfort, every time we take one more step towards something that still matters, we're casting another vote for the person we're becoming. Maybe that's what redemption really looks like. Not one grand dramatic comeback, but a series of quiet decisions to keep becoming who we were capable of becoming all along. So what do we do with this? It's one thing to hear a story about a half marathon. It's another to recognize the unfinished stories in our lives. The truth is, most of us aren't carrying around unfinished races. We're carrying unfinished dreams. Maybe there's a degree you wanted to finish, a business you always hoped to start, a relationship you've wanted to repair, a healthier lifestyle you've promised yourself for years. Maybe it's simply becoming the parent, spouse, friend, or leader you've always wanted to be. And somewhere along the way, life interrupted those plans. Maybe you convinced yourself that enough time had passed. Maybe you've even started telling yourself, if I were really going to do that, I would have done it by now. But what if that's not true? What if your story isn't over? What if you've mistaken not now for never? One of the biggest lessons I've learned from running is that progress doesn't usually come from one extraordinary day. It comes from showing up on ordinary days. The same is true for redemption. Redemption rarely happens at once. It happens one decision at a time. One conversation, one workout, one application, one apology, one chapter, one mile, one vote for the person you're becoming. So this week, I'd like to leave you with one simple exercise. Take out a notebook or open the notes app on your phone and answer these two questions. First, what have I left unfinished? Don't overthink it, just write whatever comes to mind. Then ask yourself a second question. Which of those things still matters to me today? Because not everything unfinished needs to be completed. Some dreams do belong in the past. Some seasons are over, and that's okay. But I have a feeling there's probably one thing on your list that still stirs something inside you. Something you've quietly hoped to return to. Something you've almost talked yourself out of believing was still possible. Maybe that's where your redemption begins. Not tomorrow, not when life gets less busy, not when you feel more confident, today. Because every step you take toward that unfinished story is another vote for the person you're becoming. Before we wrap up, I'd like to leave you with one question to reflect on this week. Where in your life have you mistaken not now for never? And what would it look like to return to it today? I hope you'll spend some time with that question. Maybe write about it. Maybe talk about it with someone you trust. Because sometimes one honest question is all it takes to change the direction of our lives. As I think back to that rainy morning in South Dakota, I don't remember the rain as much anymore. I don't remember being the last runners on the course. I don't even remember the golf cart following behind us. What I remember now is that the story didn't end there. Three years later, I stood at the same starting line. Not because I had something to prove to everyone else, but because there was something I wanted to prove to myself. That one difficult day doesn't get to define who I was. Crossing that finish line in 2022 wasn't about just completing 13.1 miles. It was about reclaiming a story I thought had already been written. And maybe that's what redemption really is. Not pretending the hard chapter never happened, not erasing disappointment, not rewriting history. It's choosing to believe that the chapter you're in doesn't have to be the final one. The best time to plant a tree may have been 20 years ago. The second best time is today. So whatever unfinished story is waiting for you, whatever dream still whispers in the back of your mind, whatever goal you've quietly convinced yourself is too late, maybe today is the day you return. Thank you so much for spending part of your day with me. If this episode encouraged you, I'd love for you to share it with someone who could use the reminder that it's never too late to begin again. And if you'd like to continue reflecting beyond today's conversation, visit AshVorDeck.com to download the free Epiphany Effect Reflection Guide. You'll also receive my weekly reflection newsletter with leadership insights, practical growth ideas, and encouragement to help you recognize the moments that shape you. Until next time, keep looking for the moments that shape you. Because sometimes the greatest epiphanies aren't found in the moments when everything goes according to plan. Sometimes, they're found when we find the courage to come back and finish what matters.