Dear fellow runner,
there’s a race that has left a deep mark on my journey as both an athlete and a person. Not just because of the distance, or the hours spent on my feet, but because of everything it stirred inside me. I’m talking about the Tuscany Crossing, an event that takes place in one of the most intense and poetic corners of Italy: the Val d’Orcia.
I’ve faced it three times over its 100-mile distance (even finishing seventh overall once), completed it twice, and every time I’ve come out changed. Today, I want to share what it truly means to take on 160 kilometers — and more — in a landscape that has the power to speak to you, if you’re willing to listen.
Indice
Running in Silence: Fatigue as a Language
One of the first things you learn on a course like the Tuscany Crossing is that silence is never empty. In the hills between Castiglione d’Orcia, Montalcino, and Bagno Vignoni, the wind has its own sound, and every step becomes a dialogue with the landscape.
The race offers several distances — 15, 53, 103, and 160 km — but the principle remains the same: it’s you, your legs, and your ability to listen to what’s happening around and within you.
During my first 100 miles there, I thought the hardest part would be the physical one. Instead, it was the long night — when sounds fade, thoughts stretch out, and doubts creep in. And yet, that’s exactly where something new is born: another way of running, built more on mental endurance than on muscles. That’s what makes these races something far deeper than a simple challenge.
Preparing for Uncertainty: Weather, Mud, and Water
The Tuscany Crossing teaches you never to take anything for granted. The clay terrain and unpredictable spring weather can constantly surprise you: you can go from a chilly dawn near 5°C to a scorching afternoon above 30°C. And then there are the river crossings, which, depending on the rain, can range from small streams to refreshing knee-deep baths.
That’s why every training run I do in preparation includes one extra variable: adaptability. It’s not enough to train on hills and descents — you need to develop the awareness to know when to push, when to wait, when to stop and catch your breath just to take in the view.
Because, after all, that’s the privilege of running in a UNESCO World Heritage site: you’re a guest before you’re a competitor.
Running Together, Even When You’re Alone
What strikes me every time is the variety of people you meet along the way: those who run fast, those who walk, those who have just begun, and those who seem as if they’ll never stop. But there’s an invisible thread that connects us all — the shared effort.
When you pass another runner in trouble, a glance, a nod, a simple “forza” is more powerful than a dozen energy bars.
Even the tourists watching from the trails, the volunteers at the aid stations, the photographers — they’re all part of this “temporary tribe” moving across Tuscany’s white roads. There’s no rivalry, only mutual respect.
And when, as happened to me, you’re forced to drop out because of a physical issue — in my case, stomach problems during my last edition — you realize that even that is a form of respect: for your body, for the race, and for the story you’re writing.
Between Returns and Pauses: Why the Tuscany Crossing Stays With You
Years have passed since my first 100 miles, and still today, when I lace up for a long run, I often find myself thinking of a specific stretch of the Val d’Orcia.
There’s something in those hills, the vineyards, the trails opening up to the sky, that stays with you. Maybe that’s why, despite my last disappointment, I know I’ll be back. Maybe not next year — maybe the one after. But sooner or later, I’ll be there again, ready to be surprised.
Because these races aren’t run just with your legs, but with all the life you carry with you.
And if you too are thinking about tackling a big distance — 50, 100, or 160 kilometers — know that the Tuscany Crossing is the perfect opportunity to do it in the right spirit: respect, awareness, patience when needed, and determination when it matters.
I wish for you that, when you find yourself in a golden field lit by the afternoon sun, you’ll realize you’re not just running a race.
You’re living a rare piece of the world.
See you on the trails — maybe right there, in the Val d’Orcia.