From Zero to One Hundred Miles

It was 2021, and I had just moved from Umbria to Trentino. I was 37, and my life seemed to be heading in a completely different direction: work, studying for my second degree, days full of commitments. Sport, which had once been part of me, was locked away in a drawer, almost forgotten.

Then, one night, something happened. I dreamed I was running through a forest. I don’t remember the place or the details, but I remember the feeling: freedom, breath, life. The next morning, I searched online for a running club where I could take my first steps. And I came across a name that already sounded like a promise: Gente Fuori Strada.

That’s where I met Alessandro Libardi, the association’s leader. He welcomed me naturally, believing in me when I had neither experience nor results. I could never have imagined that, years later, he would be the one handing me the buckle of my first 100 miles.

But the beginning was a complete disaster. I threw myself into every race without any method, convinced that sheer willpower was enough. I couldn’t even tell the difference between a trail and a vertical race, ran with the wrong gear, and had no idea how to actually prepare. Every start was a leap into the void, and often turned into embarrassment.

One day, someone even tripped me during a race, just to make fun of me. I was a clueless beginner, an easy target for those who didn’t believe I had the strength to keep going. But instead of stopping me, that gesture lit an even greater spark: the desire to prove, first of all to myself, that I could make it.

The turning point came when I joined a project at CERISM in Rovereto, where I found coaches and structure. I was no longer just a reckless enthusiast—I was building a path. And there I set my biggest goal: to reach the Ultras.

The first was the Malcesine Baldo Trail: 50 km and 3,450 meters of elevation gain. A tough and beautiful race, finished in 18th place overall. At that finish line I realized this was my path, and that I could chase an even bigger dream: the 100 miles.

From then on, I trained with total dedication: rain, snow, cold, darkness—every condition became an opportunity to grow stronger.

But alongside running, my relationships also changed. Not everyone understood the direction I was taking: some saw me as obsessed, others thought I was exaggerating. In the end, the circle tightened, leaving only the people who truly understood the importance of the dream I was chasing. And thanks to them, I never stopped believing.

Along that path came a very personal moment, perhaps the most meaningful of all. I organized a trail race dedicated to my father—a memorial to remember him in the way that felt most natural: by running. It wasn’t just a competition, but a gathering of people united by the same stride, the same effort, and the same desire to celebrate life. That day, I realized running can also be a bridge between what is gone and what remains, transforming pain into energy and living memory.

Alongside the races, I began to live experiences that went beyond performance. At the Milan Marathon, I pushed a disabled boy for 42 km as an ambassador for the Cystic Fibrosis Research Foundation. It was an experience that taught me how running can become not only a personal challenge but also an act of sharing and support.

Then came the Umbria Epic Adventure: 600 km and 10,300 meters of elevation gain in six days, through running, cycling, and even canoeing. It was not only an epic journey through my homeland, but also a chance to promote the culture of blood donation as an AVIS ambassador, and to highlight Umbria together with local Pro Loco associations. It was proof that sport can also be a tool for solidarity and for valuing one’s territory.

That adventure did not go unnoticed. Back in 2023, I had already received an award from local institutions for the Milan Marathon, but after the Umbria Epic Adventure came a very important recognition: an official parchment that acknowledged the value of what had been done for the territory and for solidarity. Around the same time came another milestone: my entry into The North Face Pro Program. I didn’t see it only as a source of pride, but as confirmation of the path I had chosen: proof that the road I was walking had meaning and value, shared with a community that lives the mountains with the same passion and spirit of resilience.

After the Umbria Epic Adventure, my awareness of being able to face a 100-mile race grew stronger. During those six days I lived through deep crises: we cycled until late at night, faced incredible fatigue, and overcame moments when moving forward seemed impossible. That’s when I understood that within me there was a force capable of resisting beyond limits—and from that experience, I found the courage to truly believe in the dream of the 100 miles.

And so, on September 19, 2025, at the Jurassic Miles (160 km and 4,200 m+), I faced my greatest challenge. More than a race, it was a journey into myself. At km 90, an ankle sprain threatened to stop me. The pain was intense, but my inner voice was louder: “Don’t give up.” From that moment on, it wasn’t my legs running anymore—it was my soul.

In the end, I did it. Eighth overall in my first 100 miles. At the finish line, after ringing the finisher’s bell, there was Alessandro Libardi—the same person who had welcomed me when I was just a clueless beginner—ready to hug me and hand me the buckle.

In that instant, I felt the circle close. All the dreams, the falls, the nights of training, the doubts, the sacrifices: everything made sense. It wasn’t just the end of a race, but the fulfillment of a journey.

I realized that sport is not only performance or stopwatch, but transformation.
That true strength lies not in muscles, but in the courage to get back up every time you fall.
And that every obstacle, no matter how great, is never the end, but the beginning of something bigger.
Because what remains, beyond all effort, is the certainty that rising again is the real victory.