“The fitness is in. The glycogen is loaded. The hamstring is managed. Two prep races. Twelve weeks. All pointing here.”

That was the message from my AI running coach on the morning of my first 10-mile run ever.

A year earlier, I had the first serious football injury of my competitive life. Not something gradual, not something I could blame on age. Someone tackled me with full force and walked away without a word. That struck me more than the physical pain did.

Beyond costing me the last three games of the season, it made me ask a question I had never asked before: should I stop playing competitive football? 2025 was draining in more ways than one, and that question stayed unanswered while I started a detox vegan January this year, which extended through Lent and eventually became a weekday habit I still follow.

Personal struggles always set something off in me to reconnect with myself, and the vegan experience was the first bridge built to reach again three things that always matter to me: purpose, meaning, and growth.

Looking for a healthier outlet for my competitive drive, I started considering a transition from football and its collisions to a sport that would challenge me differently.

Then I remembered running. Not as exercise, but as something I genuinely loved in my teenage years, alongside football and cycling.

But I did not want to run just for fun. I wanted to compete, to keep feeding that drive to improve that too many other areas of my life were not giving me anymore.

Sometimes, professional life reaches a plateau that circumstances don’t allow us to evolve, or there are insufficient resources to invest in strengthening our skills. In those moments, competitive sport drives me to a stronger mental state: discipline, not overfocusing on goals but enjoying the process of getting better day after day. Baby steps.

And then a third element entered the picture: artificial intelligence.

Early this year, I started an IBM specialization in AI, and I wanted a real project to test different reasoning approaches, not a simulation. An AI running coach emerged from that and helped me create the structure of my training, the signals that told me whether my body was responding to what I was asking of it. The AI also provided the technique cues and the weekly adjustments.

That was the beginning of everything.

Twelve weeks of disciplined preparation. The right mindset. Two prep races.

The result went beyond what I expected, which was already modest: when I registered, I genuinely did not believe I could improve that fast in three months.

Two weeks before race day, I was injured again, in my hamstring, during a football match. The pain did not go away. I ran the Bern GP, which the race calls “the most beautiful 10 miles in the world”, through that discomfort.

I finished in 1:31 on a hilly course, in the heat, without feeling fully ready, without the certainty I had tried to build through months of training. But to be sincere, can we wait until we feel 100% ready before doing what we want?

In the end, I was thankful for the experience, for being able to run after so much preparation. And I realized the joy of finishing was way less about speed and strong results. I managed to listen to my inner self in a noisy situation, one where I usually get overwhelmed and burn out.

Keeping things simple, in the essential, despite all the odds of the process, let me feel peace and balance, and accept the fact that reality is not the fulfillment of my personal wishes.

“Be kind to yourself” was what a wonderful colleague told me one week before the race. Something only a human heart could say. I accepted that as the motto for the next phases: to see life and running as a journey, full of joy and hiccups, that keeps bringing me the purpose, the meaning, and the growth I am continually seeking.