450km from Chamonix to Marseille. Unsanctioned. No Fixed Route. As fast as you can. Chance athlete Davide Tempesta was the 2025 winner, but for him it was about more than the result.
1. Beginnings
The seed was planted in my head long before I ever stepped onto the route. It came from a restlessness, a feeling that something was unfinished from the last TSP from LA to Vegas, where I discovered a need to test the limits of what I thought was possible. I had already run The Speed Project from LA to Vegas as a relay in 2025, but the idea of attempting it solo from Chamonix to Marseille felt like stepping into completely uncharted ground.
Mont Blanc for me is home. There has always been a huge debate on whether it belongs to Italy, France, or Switzerland, but the reality is that the idea of racing back home triggered butterflies in my stomach.
“It made no sense, and perfect sense at the same time.”
Why this route? Because it absolutely made no sense, and perfect sense at the same time. TSP is an unsanctioned race where you choose your own adventure and your own path from point A to point B. From the mountains where I’ve always felt at home, down through the valleys, across unknown roads, to the sea. It was a line that symbolized transformation for me. And I knew that: even with the most amazing supporting crew and my best friends with me, I had to run that route SOLO. Because I was truly looking to find something within myself. Before starting, I was nervous. Anxious. I felt a knot in my stomach the day before, and I couldn’t sleep for days leading up to it. I imagined struggle, beauty, pain, focus, and maybe a finish (if I was lucky). But I never imagined I would actually win the race.
Kitlist: AROW Lightweight Tee, Ultra Short v.3.
2. On The Move - Mind, Body, Environment
The early hours were rough. Always super dark, far colder (and hotter) than expected, and a reminder of how much I hate early mornings. A 4 a.m. start on the first day, followed by 2 a.m. on the next. To settle into the effort, I had to practice a lot of patience. I tried to be as methodical as possible, leaving aid stations efficiently, knowing it took me at least 5 km to find a rhythm. Most nights I stayed grumpy until sunrise. I kept repeating: breathe, keep it simple, trust the body, don’t overdo it.
The route unlocked things I didn’t expect. I had hallucinations in the middle of the forest on an incredible trail section. Sometimes the silence felt heavy. But then the smallest things, sunlight breaking through clouds, footsteps echoing in tunnels, my friends’ mantras when they pace me, suddenly became extraordinary.
“At some point, I wasn’t fighting anymore. I was flowing.”
Day 3 was when everything aligned. I was closing in on the leader and decided not to sleep, to give everything and catch him. The body moved without hesitation, the mind was quiet but wired with adrenaline, the night felt alive.
The race changed me. There were massive ups and downs, especially at the end of Day 2, when rain poured, fatigue set in, and running along roads with no shoulders and fast cars felt unsafe and brutal. That was when I felt stripped down to rawness, finally facing who I truly am.
The biggest shift came when I chose not to sleep in order to close the gap and pass the leader during the night. I pushed for 50 miles before realizing he had DNF’d. Even then, I kept grinding all the way to the finish.
Kitlist: Ultra tee in White, Ultra Short v.3.
3. Serendipity, Surreality & The Unknown
There were countless small joys: seeing my crew at every aid station, the calls with my family and friends during the dark moments of the race, strangers shouting at us for running in the rain along the roadside, and conversations with people who couldn’t believe what I was doing and how many kilometers I was in. These moments carried real weight because they were so unexpected.
“There are hours I can’t account for—time just disappeared.”
There were dreamlike hours where time warped. I have almost no memory of what happened between 3 a.m. and 8 a.m. on Day 4. Hallucinations came at night: a shark emerging from a rock, Sasquatch following me, entire forests of broccoli-shaped trees. I welcomed them all as they came, without resistance.
But the most surreal moment still gives me goosebumps. I was thinking deeply about my family when I spotted something on the ground: the exact same “Lucky Llama” I had once given my wife. A small worry llama, meant to release you from any fear or burden. To find the identical one, at that exact moment, around mile 250—it was unreal.
4. Suffering, Strength & Support
The hardest moments for me were:
Day 2
Nonstop Rain
It started cold at 2 a.m. and didn’t stop until noon. I was close to hypothermia, bought an umbrella, and grabbed hot tea in a bar to warm up. It reminded how much I grind during discomfort and how much my Italian brain is wired to complain!
Day 4
No Sleep
I was so sleep-deprived I needed a five-minute nap, but I was too wet to stop on the roadside. I asked my crew for an emergency aid station, but they drove past, also sleep-deprived. I ended up hugging a friend running with me, closing my eyes for 90 seconds while jogging. Surreal. Dangerous. But it forced me to find that last drop of adrenaline to push through.
Final Day
Arriving Into Marseille
The heat was brutal. My body temperature spiked, and I was wrecked. One crew member dragged me into a Five Guys to grab a Powerade. When he asked,“Do you want to quit?” I stood up instantly and found energy to keep moving toward the finish.
“The crew’s belief in me was often stronger than my own.”
The support crew was everything. I owe them my life. Logistically, food, water, safety, and clothes. Emotionally, the quiet encouragements, the looks that said “you can.” They supported my crazy idea, helped shift my goal from just finishing to winning, and ran aid stations like a NASCAR pit crew. Their belief often felt stronger than mine, and I leaned on that. I cannot thank them enough for making this possible. I put my life in their hands, trusted them, and they truly took care of me.
Running long distances has changed my perception of time. On paper, 450 km (281 miles) seems impossibly long. But broken into chunks, each piece becomes its own lifetime. Time stops being a clock and becomes about presence, this moment, then the next.
5. Reflections + What Remains
The last kilometers into Marseille felt like a pilgrimage. I was completely cooked; it took forever to cover the final segments.
When I think about the finish, it wasn’t just the sea that stayed with me. It was the city’s diversity, the French friends I was eager to see (Running Club Catalans, who had become family over the past months), and the release that hit all at once: relief, disbelief, gratitude, pain.
“It wasn’t an ending. It was a crossing into something new.”
I knew this was not an ending but a crossing into something new. The run gave me perspective. Some answers, but better questions: about limits, about identity, about why I chase things that feel impossible, and what’s truly worth energy and focus.
It felt like therapy. A mirror for self-reflection, forcing me to reframe my priorities in life.
If I could carry one emotion from the run into everyday life, it would be surrender: the calm acceptance that we can’t control everything, but we can choose how we move through it, honestly and fully.
6. Running, Chance & What’s Next
The kit I used most was from Chance. The socks carried me through most of the course with zero blisters (they’re Italian-made, I could tell). The AROW Ultra Shorts V3 prevented chafing and gave a light compression that felt perfect on tired quads. By Day 2 they were soaked and disgusting, but my crew washed them mid-race so I could wear them again fresh for the final stretch.
The Ultra Tee kept me cool and moisture-free. The quality of the material and seams impressed me. Out there, small details matter. Even a 5% positive difference in comfort can change the entire experience.
My grandma, who was a sewer, use to describe good products as (“manifatto con cura ed amore con precisione per ogni cucitura")
Whenever I put on Chance pieces, I feel that same spirit: where fabric choices are intentional and design simply makes sense.
“I run because every run creates a story that outlives the performance itself.”
Chance’s ethos (meaning, movement, connection) was everywhere in this run. Meaning in choosing my own route. Movement across roads, gravel, forests, and countryside. Connection with my crew, with strangers, with everyone who became part of this story. That’s why I run. Because every run creates a story that outlives the performance itself.
To someone not chasing a PB but chasing something deeper, I’d say: don’t measure in numbers. Measure in honesty. What matters is the truth you carry at the end, not the time on the watch. The real excitement isn’t the race itself but everything behind it: the months of training, the sacrifices, the sleepless nights, the long runs in the dark. That’s where the meaning lives.
What’s next? Well. I have to say this run didn’t close anything but rather opened more doors. I’ll race Black Canyon 100k in February and Cocodona 250 after. But beyond racing, it’s about continuing to explore the unknown. Doing things I never thought possible (like cycling, which I’ve always hated more than running, yet I just started last week).
It’s about staying open. Accepting challenges without resistance. Making mistakes, learning, solving problems, moving forward. That’s the journey that I am chasing.
Davide’s Kitbag
AROW Ultra Tee - White
AROW Ultra Tee - Red Rose
