Yesterday, we were thousands. Thousands of stories, backgrounds, languages, ages, and abilities. Thousands of different reasons for being here. Yet, for a few precious hours, we became a single community in motion.

I find myself reflecting on this today, as the footsteps have almost faded into silence once again. The mountains remain unchanged. The Giau still stands. So does the Sella. The roads that yesterday carried a great human river seem to smile at me today and whisper, “It’s done.” And yet, something has changed.

Every year, the Maratona leaves a mark. Not on the asphalt, but in the hearts of people.

This year, we chose a challenging word: PAX — peace. A word that holds one of humanity’s deepest and most universal aspirations. Peace is perhaps one of the few things no one opposes, and yet it remains one of the hardest things to build.

That is why yesterday we did not want merely to speak about peace. We wanted to live it. We shared space, effort, anticipation, smiles, climbs, and descents. Peace does not emerge because everyone is the same. It emerges when people who are different choose to be together without seeking to prevail over one another. We engage, we challenge ourselves and each other, but we do not wage war.

Perhaps this is why cycling continues to teach us something important. No one reaches the summit entirely alone. Even when riding individually, we are always part of something larger: a road, a landscape, a community, a story.

The Dolomites remind us of this truth. Giulan a Madre Terra — thank you, Mother Earth. Yesterday, among these extraordinary mountains, we were privileged to experience a small but tangible expression of peace. Not perfect. Not permanent. But real.

And this is how peace grows: through thousands of small, everyday gestures — a greeting, a word of encouragement, a helping hand, a simple thank you. The quiet acts that hold the world together. Thank you for bringing them with you onto our roads.

And when you return home, take with you what lives in these mountain passes: the silence, the serenity, the grandeur of the mountains. In a world increasingly overwhelmed by noise, they continue to dance to the rhythm of Nature. May that music welcome us again next year.

Next year will be a special one: the 40th edition of the Maratona. We will ride to the rhythm of Müjiga — music in its truest sense: sincere, inclusive, capable of harmonizing differences and giving value to every voice.

A s’udëi. Until we meet again.

Thank you, one and all.

Michil Costa