April 27, 2024 – 11:34 PM – Forest Village, Xanthi
18 hours and 34 minutes since the start.

At the finish line, Christos Katsanos—one of the race organizers of the ROC (Rodopi Challenge), an 89km race with 4,800m of elevation gain—is waiting for me.

He hugs me and asks,
“Apostolos, 18 and a half hours. Tell me, what is it?”

With a trembling voice and tears in my eyes, I answer:
“The most beautiful race of my life.”

It all began around 21 hours earlier. The race was set to start at 5:00 AM, and I knew that for proper physical and mental preparation, I should wake up 2.5 hours before that. So I went to bed at around 7:30 PM after a big plate of spaghetti with red sauce—because without topping off your carb reserves, you’re not going anywhere.

I woke up easily. I meditated, made three rice cakes with peanut butter, and had a big cup of coffee that I found downstairs in the hotel—everyone else still asleep.

By 4:00 AM, we were ready, geared up, and dressed. We were staying about 30 minutes from the starting point, so I had time to rest and reflect on what I was about to do.

The race cutoff was 12:30 AM, meaning I had 19.5 hours to make the full loop and return to where it all began—Forest Village.

Before I realized it, I had started running—headlamp on, slow and steady pace. The first 7 kilometers were downhill. Many runners start fast since it’s cool and downhill. I didn’t. I kept reminding myself:
“The real race begins at kilometer 60.”

After five hours, I reached the first aid station in the village of Prasinada. Smiling volunteers welcomed and helped me. I ate (trachanas and pasta), changed socks, grabbed new energy bars and gels, and moved on.

Next stop: “Pagalos” after 15km. I reached it about 3 hours later, climbing steadily. I was still feeling good—physically and mentally. As I left the station, my phone rang—yes, I had a waterproof, old-school button phone! Outdated? Maybe. But in these conditions, it was perfect.

I saw missed calls from Nikos, Theo, Konstantina, Vlassis, and my mom. I called them all back.

The energy I got was like drinking a whole cauldron of Gallic magic potion—and then some! It was all I needed to keep going. Their voices lit a fire in my legs, and before I knew it, I was at kilometer 60—back at Prasinada, where I’d first stopped 30km earlier.

This time, though, things were tougher. I refueled, ate well, and left for the final 30km, but something felt off. I was getting tired. My quads hurt. My hydration vest was bothering me, and I kept putting on and taking off my rain jacket due to temperature shifts—wasting precious time.

For the first time in the race, I didn’t know how I felt.

To keep going, I focused on what most people take for granted:
The green of the forest was more vivid than a Stabilo highlighter.
The golden light of the sun painted nature like a masterpiece.
The babbling brooks sounded better than any Dolby surround system you’ve ever heard.

But my mind and soul also traveled to key moments in my life:
The painful ones—losing my father, losing my best friend.
The beautiful ones—starting theSPEAKERS, earning my first Master’s, the day I quit my job, my dogs Sparky and Elvis, my first love.
Pain fueled me just as much as joy.
I kept going. I had to. Just a little more.

The phrase running through my head was:
“One step at a time.”

I knew I had to save energy, because this next section—the real race—was the hardest: a brutally steep climb starting at kilometer 72, the infamous ascent of Theologos.

As the sun set, another challenge began: running in the dark. Thankfully, all runners carry powerful headlamps—bright enough to light half a mountain.

I entered the climb of Theologos.
It was practically vertical.
Headlamp on, dizzy, exhausted.
My heart was racing.
I could see other headlamps moving slowly ahead.
If hell had an uphill section, this would be it.

I dug deep, managing both the climb and the dizziness caused by low blood sugar and dehydration. I had run out of water. No more streams. I had to reach the mini station at kilometer 79 where—thankfully—there was water this year. That saved me.

The volunteers had lit a fire, and the scene reminded me of Walden; or, Life in the Woods by Henry D. Thoreau. I got chills. The book describes a Harvard graduate who leaves the city to live in the forest by Walden Pond in Massachusetts. He builds his own cabin, grows beans, eats fruit and vegetables, reads, writes, reflects, keeps a journal, and embraces the power of nature. For two years, he tries to balance “the vitality of the wild with the intellect of the civilized man,” rejecting industrialized life.

Isn’t that exactly what the 239 of us were doing in this race?
Going against the norm.
Against what society calls “normal.”
Against what most believe a human being can or should do—running 90km in the Rhodope Mountains.

With 4km left, after running for 18 hours, I suddenly felt an overwhelming surge of energy.
No pain.
No dizziness.
I was running.
I reached the finish line.
It felt like a dream.
Had I really just finished?
Had I really run for 18.5 hours?
Can I now dedicate this effort to my father, as if he’s somewhere out there watching me?
YES.
It was our race. We ran it together.

April 27, 2024 – 11:34 PM – Forest Village, Xanthi
18 hours and 34 minutes since the start.

At the finish line, Christos Katsanos is waiting for me.

He hugs me and asks,
“Apostolos, 18 and a half hours. Tell me, what is it?”

“The most beautiful race of my life,” I reply, my voice trembling, tears in my eyes.

A heartfelt thank you to everyone who stood by me during training and who truly believes in the things I dream about.
Nikos, Sotiris, Theo, Giannis—thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Apostolos Koumarinos