Everything was set for the race of the year. This time, the nerves were more intense than ever. Despite competing in numerous events across many places, this race was different. This race was special. I had never competed in an 800 km race before, much less one with such a daunting elevation profile.
Every detail mattered: hydration, nutrition, rest, gear, and clothing. That’s why I sought the help and support of my friend Julian from Label Collective. I needed a top that was lightweight, ultra-breathable, and of the highest quality to withstand over 55 hours of racing. And I needed bib shorts where the pad’s quality wouldn’t cause any issues during the race. Label was undoubtedly the perfect choice.
The start was set for Sunday, September 1st, at 8 AM. This time, I was competing in the pairs category with my friend Aleix, a specialist in this discipline. We started off calmly, letting others rush ahead, knowing well to save every ounce of energy for the toughest climbs and the hottest hours of the day.
But while I was feeling great, it wasn’t the same for Aleix. Something was off. With each passing kilometer, his energy waned. The extreme heat of the 80 km stretch through the Gorafe Desert, starting at km 240, began to take its toll on him. A heatstroke hit him hard, draining his strength. This time, the battle was as much mental as it was physical. Difficulty eating and drinking, a lack of energy, and an inner psychological fight. Our goal was to make it to nightfall, when the coolness and darkness would be our allies.
After passing through landscapes straight out of a movie, with fiery red sunsets, and sharing moments of laughter and tears, we finally reached the town of Gor. It was 10 PM. We had to make a long stop to refuel—food, water, energy, and a renewed spirit. We then headed into the mountains towards Velefique and the Calar Alto mountain pass.
Our spirits were revived, and at that moment, we were in second place for the pairs category. And then the real battle began: the battle of the night. We didn’t plan to sleep, which was tough after so many kilometers. A few caffeine gels and a sky full of stars later, we conquered Calar Alto at 5 AM.
But on our descent, rain started falling. Cold, thick fog followed. Visibility was nearly impossible, barely 10 meters ahead. We descended slowly and carefully, but we were drenched. Our clothes were soaked through, and the cold was biting. We stopped to layer up before continuing.
Unfortunately, about 60 km later, the combination of rain, sweat, and the grit from the mountain created painful chafing in our clothes, and Aleix couldn’t go on. We had made it to km 390, but our race was over.
The moment we realized Aleix couldn’t continue, it felt like the weight of the world crashed down on us. 390 kilometers—just over halfway through. We had fought so hard, endured so much, and now, the race was slipping through our fingers.
Aleix looked at me, his eyes filled with frustration but also a sense of acceptance. His body had given all it could, but the relentless conditions had worn him down. Every step, every pedal stroke, had become agony for him. "I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the wind. But there was no need for apologies. I knew this was beyond him. This race had asked for more than anyone could predict.
We took shelter under a tree, trying to decide what to do next. The rain hadn’t let up, and the cold was creeping into our bones. The team car would take hours to reach us in these conditions, so for now, it was just us, alone with the decision we had to make.
After a moment of silence, Aleix urged me to go on without him. "You can still finish this," he insisted. His voice, though weak, was filled with a conviction that startled me. Could I? I wasn’t sure. But Aleix’s words began to light something inside me. I had come this far. The thought of giving up now felt unbearable.
I stared at the road ahead, mist curling in the distance, the path disappearing into the haze. My legs were heavy, my body drenched and sore, but somewhere deep down, the fire still burned. This race wasn’t over yet.
“I’ll do it,” I finally said, and Aleix smiled, though there was a trace of sadness in his eyes. We knew it would be hard for him to step away, but there was no turning back now. We shared a quiet moment, knowing our partnership had pushed us through the toughest hours, and now it was up to me to carry the weight of our shared dream.
With a quick embrace, I set off, leaving Aleix behind, alone in the storm. Every pedal stroke from then on was a mix of pain and purpose. I couldn’t let him down. I wouldn’t let myself down.
The rain kept pounding the earth, the fog thickened, and my body protested with every movement. But the night was my companion now, the cold air numbing the exhaustion that clung to me like a second skin. I thought of all the faces, all the moments we had shared during the race—the laughter, the grit, the moments where we felt invincible. This race had shown us what we were made of. It had tested every limit we knew, and some we didn’t.
Hours passed. I lost track of time, lost in the rhythmic turning of the wheels beneath me. My legs burned, my throat was dry, but I kept going, driven by the memory of Aleix pushing through when he had nothing left. His voice echoed in my mind, pushing me further than I thought possible. "You can still finish this."
Finally, as the first light of dawn began to break through the fog, I saw the outline of the next checkpoint. My heart leapt in my chest. I had made it.
But this was just one small victory. The race was far from over. The toughest climbs still lay ahead, and I knew every inch of the road would demand the last reserves of strength I had left.
Yet, as I rode into the checkpoint, soaked to the bone, exhausted beyond words, I felt something stronger than the pain. Hope. The finish line was still far away, but I could feel it now, pulsing in the distance, calling me forward.
This was a race against everything—the elements, the fatigue, the doubt. But most of all, it was a race against myself. And for the first time in hours, I truly believed I could win.
