At 2:00 a.m., the alarm went off.
I had slept barely three hours.
Under normal circumstances, that would have been a problem. But the previous evening had been one of those dinners you remember long after the trip is over. We had gathered at St Clement's Café and somehow what was supposed to be dinner turned into hours of conversation. Running, work, life, ambitions, experiences. The kind of discussions that enrich a trip far beyond the event itself.
So while the lack of sleep was real, there wasn't even 1% regret.
At 2:40 a.m., after getting ready, I headed down to reception. More runners were already there waiting. Nobody seemed fully awake, yet everybody seemed switched on.
That's when things got interesting. We were told we'd be travelling by minibus to the start. Blindfolds were handed out. Immediately, Squid Game came to mind.
The journey wasn't short. Some people used the opportunity to get a little more sleep. I couldn't. By then I was fully invested in the challenge. My mind kept trying to piece together what was coming next, despite having almost no information to work with.
Eventually we arrived. One hundred runners. Different countries. Different ages. Different backgrounds. All gathered for the same challenge.
I'm pretty sure everyone had different objectives, but personally I knew one thing: I wasn't there to simply participate. I wanted to test myself against some of the best people in the room.
After the briefing, we received our equipment and headed towards the start. There was a silence hanging in the air. The kind that mixes nerves, tension, and excitement.
Nobody looked tired anymore.
The rules were simple. Reach a checkpoint to receive a clue leading to the next one. Complete the sequence correctly and eventually you'd find the finish.
Then we started running.
The pace was fast from the beginning. Maybe because of my background in running, I resisted the temptation to follow. Instead, I settled into my own rhythm. I knew there would be a time to push later.
The first three checkpoints were chaos.
Inside Epping Forest, every shortcut looked promising until it didn't. Every trail felt capable of leading somewhere useful or leaving you completely lost. It felt more like navigating a maze than racing through a forest.
Luckily, at that stage, many of us were still moving together. For over fifteen kilometres, I shared the route with six other runners. Different nationalities. Different generations. Yet united by the same ambition. After all, there's probably a reason you're running through empty streets and forests at five in the morning.
We shared route ideas, race impressions, and encouragement. It became a small temporary team.
That lasted until checkpoint four. There, everything changed. We were handed two different destinations: Checkpoint 5A and Checkpoint 5B. Both had to be completed before reaching the finish, but the order was up to us.
The group immediately started debating routes and calculating options. I thanked them, wished them luck, and left. Perhaps because I was the youngest, they didn't expect it. But I wanted to experience the challenge on my own. And if I was going to reach the finish line, I wanted to get there completely empty. From that point onwards, the race truly began. Thirteen kilometres remained.
Just me and London.
The city felt surreal. Long empty avenues stretched into the distance. Entire streets without a soul in sight. At times it felt like I was running through the set of The Walking Dead.
Around kilometre twenty, my legs started to complain. The strange thing was that I kept getting faster. During those hours, a lot of thoughts crossed my mind.
I thought about the decision to move to Madrid. About taking risks without knowing where they'll lead. About how saying yes to one opportunity can open doors you never expected. About the people around me in this race and the professional success many of them had achieved.
I thought about how badly I wanted to build something meaningful myself.
I thought about how much I wanted to belong in rooms like this.
Eventually, after more than thirty kilometres and having crossed a huge portion of London, I spotted a building covered in Nike branding.
The finish.
As soon as I crossed the line, applause erupted. I wasn't expecting it. For a moment I genuinely didn't understand what was happening. The team was cheering. Other runners were cheering. People were congratulating me from every direction.
Then I started talking to some of the participants who had already arrived.
That's when it clicked. Fifth place. And by far the youngest runner there.
The truth is, the position itself wasn't what mattered most. What mattered was that I had enjoyed every moment and given absolutely everything I had.
But if I'm honest, the result did mean something. Because throughout the race I'd been thinking about one thing. I wanted these people to know I was serious. I wanted to prove that I belonged there. And perhaps most of all, I wanted them to remember me.
The day ended with an incredible post-race recovery experience. Breakfast, hydration, recovery protocols, and conversations with runners as they crossed the finish line one by one.
Looking back, those conversations were almost as memorable as the race itself.
Real stories. Real people.
The kind of moments that remind you why running continues to open doors I never expected to walk through.
