Real stories. Day after day.
Five months later, I found out why I almost dropped out at Ironman Emilia-Romagna. Not from fatigue, not from lack of energy, but because of a muscle I didn’t even know existed. A story I stumbled on by chance, at the table, after Gerar.
The first race of the year usually comes with emotion and excitement. This year it arrived at a sprint—wedged between tasks, exhaustion, and a 15‑minute nap that felt like a fight I’d already lost. Gerar isn’t just a competition; it’s a team exercise in acceptance and moving forward together, even when one of us is the weak link. A story about running, people, different rhythms, and the meaning that stays beyond the kilometers and the results.
I don’t run to escape the past. I run to meet it. To face what I left behind — not to fight it, but to give it a place. “Din” isn’t a location. It’s a moment. A memory. A weight. A source. Where my strength was shaped, and my silence began. This song is not motivation. It’s not triumph. It’s the quiet truth of choosing to move forward — not lighter, not faster — but whole.
Gerar isn’t about the weather—it’s about people. About teams that stay together, negotiated paces, stories told on the run, and a “we run as one” that’s actually respected. If you haven’t run Gerar, chances are you won’t quite get it. But if you’ve been once, you already know why you come back.
For a few days, Monopoli wasn’t a city—it was a rhythm. Food as an excuse, people who take you in naturally, little streets that make you slow down, and that rare feeling that you’re not just a tourist. A place that doesn’t reveal itself right away, but if you leave it alone, it sticks to you—and you don’t leave the same way.
For New Year’s, I ran away to Monopoli—not to chase performance, but to sleep, to eat, to run with no goal, and to get my head straight. With the sea, with quiet, with slow runs and the simple joy of being present. Sometimes it’s not about kilometers or plans. It’s about knowing when to leave. And where.