How I ran less than I planned and partied more than I should have 🤌🇮🇹
It’s 3:30 AM, and I can’t sleep. My thoughts—about the plan, the route—just won’t let me rest. I didn’t manage to prepare for this run the way I wanted to. I simply didn’t have the time.
Over the last two months, the workload was far above normal—not that I’m complaining (I’d rather have too much work than none at all)—and somehow, I still managed to squeeze in a long run every weekend.
At 4:30 AM, I get out of bed and head to the other room. I send Andra back to bed in my place while I put on my massage boots. While they work, I go over the route I sketched out during the flight. I had downloaded an offline map in Google Maps—Naples and the western surroundings—and calculated everything multiple times: nutrition, backpack strategy, refills, and more, with two or three variations of the plan.
I knew Carmen and Paul would be joining me for parts of the route. I made so many versions of the plan that I only finalized the route the day before: I would run the first 32 km alone, then Carmen would join me for 20 km, after which I’d run another 46 km solo, and finally, Paul would run the last 32 km with me.
I picked up the gels the day before leaving, along with some energy bars for those moments when I’d get tired of gels and crave something solid.
With a half-baked plan, hastily prepared gear, incomplete carb-loading, and a body already worn out—because I had worked until 8:30 PM even on Thursday—Naples welcomed me with open arms... and everything it had to offer.
We stayed on Via Toledo, right in the heart of the city. Our host, Silvio—a truly kind man—allowed us to check in early, around 12:30 PM. Once settled, I prepared my gear for the next day’s run to ensure everything was in place, and then we headed out to explore and soak in the city…
And soak it in, we did. We had an absolutely fantastic pizza at Pizzeria Da Attilio, where tradition and innovation blend harmoniously. Founded in 1938 and now run by the third generation, the pizzeria is famous for its unique eight-pointed star-shaped pizza—a creation that delights both the eyes and the taste buds.
The authentic atmosphere and passion for pizza make Da Attilio a must-visit for any lover of Neapolitan cuisine. On the recommendation of a woman—likely from the Bachetti family—we tried some Bacetti and a pizza with nine different slices. We washed it down with a beer and a ristretto, then strolled along Via Toledo all the way to Gran Caffè Gambrinus, a Naples landmark you simply can’t miss.
Founded in 1860, Gran Caffè Gambrinus is a symbol of Neapolitan elegance and culture. Located in Piazza Trieste e Trento, near Piazza del Plebiscito, it has over time become a literary salon frequented by figures like Oscar Wilde, Gabriele D’Annunzio, and Ernest Hemingway. Its Belle Époque-style interior, adorned with artworks and refined furniture, offers a one-of-a-kind atmosphere for enjoying an authentic Neapolitan espresso or a freshly baked sfogliatella.
Initially, we went there just to have a cannolo with cappuccino, but things got a little out of hand. The cannolo didn’t come alone, and neither did the coffee. Soon, we were joined by fruit tarts, fresh fruit, a few complimentary appetizers from the house, and finally, some light summer cocktails—like Limoncello Spritz.
We left Gran Caffè Gambrinus feeling utterly satisfied and slightly tipsy. We wandered through Piazza del Plebiscito and onto the promenade along the Mediterranean Sea (or rather, the Tyrrhenian). A walk along the Lungomare di Napoli is a must, so, in high spirits, cracking jokes and indulging in silliness, we made our way to Castel dell’Ovo. This castle, located on the Megaride islet, offers breathtaking views of the Bay of Naples. Its name comes from a legend that says the Roman poet Virgil hid a magical egg in the castle’s foundations, which determined the fate of the entire structure and the city.
At this point, common sense prevailed, and we switched to hydration—an extremely sour lemonade, endlessly diluted with water and ice to bring things back to normal. We planned where to eat that evening so I could go to bed as early as possible and start my run at 6 AM.
5:30 AM. It’s time to gear up. It’s tough. I should eat something, but my stomach isn’t cooperating. I make myself an effervescent aspirin—the magic remedy that always signals a successful night 😂. I remember how, after Castel dell’Ovo, we passed by a place offering some intriguing drinks. At first, we said “no thanks” and kept walking.
But now, in the early morning, I almost wish we’d stopped for that coffee. Somehow, our steps led us back to Gambrinus, where, out of nowhere, a bottle of prosecco appeared on our table, along with more treats that would’ve been a sin to refuse. The girls ordered cocktails, and the mood became relaxed and carefree.
The devil of partying caught up with us again, and soon we found ourselves back at the bar with the magical drinks from the night before. There, I continued my “hydration,” which was much better suited for a very different kind of ultramarathon 😂. I love Italians. They’re so considerate—no drink comes alone. Somehow, there was always something on the table: green olives, something crunchy... an endless cycle of carboloading.
6:00 AM. The aspirin from last night and this morning seem to have worked their magic. I decide I’m okay and can start even earlier than the planned 7:00 AM. I prepare a few bottles of isotonic drink, fill my four flasks, and double-check all my nutrition—what I’ll carry with me and what I’ll leave at the accommodation for later. Gels, bars, salt tablets, magnesium, my GoPro, spare batteries, a change of clothes, and other essentials are crammed into my backpack, along with the four flasks: two in the front, two in the back.
I gather my courage, strap on my backpack, and step out of the classic Italian apartment—a tall, old building with an interior courtyard. Once I’m out on the narrow street, I realize my GPS has no chance of connecting to satellites—the street is too narrow. So, I take a leisurely 200-meter stroll to a charming little square.
Once the GPS connects, I take a deep breath, tell myself, “You can do this,” and set off. I feel good. Especially since the first part is, thankfully, downhill. A few hundred meters in, I pass by the place where we ended the previous night—a spectacular end to the day, but one more fitting for a city break where running isn’t the main focus. Maybe just for fun 😂.
As I run, thoughts of Italian delicacies and not-so-delicate drinks flood my mind. They complemented each other perfectly. I also recall the party atmosphere that followed us all the way back to our accommodation—not just in my head but on the streets, where the nightlife was in full swing.
Back to the run, with my mind much clearer than the night before, I arrive at Piazza del Plebiscito and spot Mount Vesuvius in the distance, embraced by the golden and orange hues of sunrise. At that moment, I feel a wave of emotion that always hits me during these self-supported runs I love so much. The sun isn’t fully up yet, but the view is stunning, and it floods me with memories of similar adventures. With teary eyes, I know I’m going to make it. I’m not sure if I’ll hit the 130 km I’d hoped for (as training for Ultrabalaton), but I know for certain there’s no way I’ll fall short of 100 km.
I reach the seafront, take a few photos, and officially begin my adventure. Over the first 5 km—along the promenade and before the climb—I just enjoy the beautiful sunrise, soaking up the light, the sea, and the sky reflecting on the water’s surface.
The climb starts with fresh energy. At kilometer 5, I’ve already had my first gel and taken my second sip of fluids. I know that hydration will be crucial after the previous day’s “festivities,” so I stick to my hydration plan obsessively. Things are going smoothly. At kilometer 9, after 4 kilometers of climbing, I face a choice: stick to the plan and descend toward Rione Terra, or keep climbing on a road I had partially run with Carmen back in spring.
I choose to keep going up. I feel too good to stop. I continue for another 7 kilometers, heading toward a point where I risk looping back to where I started. Essentially, the road leads back into Naples—just at a higher altitude 🤭.
At kilometer 16, I decide to turn back and head toward my accommodation. With a small detour, where I mix up some streets, I end up taking the same route back as I came, but now with more downhill. The good weather, the people, and the buildings keep lifting my mood, and the kilometers seem to fly by. However, one problem arises: I need a bathroom, which is a good sign that I’ve hydrated well, but I have no options nearby 😂. I manage to hold out until I get back home, which causes some strange discomfort—but that vanishes the moment I reach the bathroom 😁.
Then it’s time to set off with Carmen. The plan is for us to run 20 kilometers together. But as we talk, gossip, and laugh—with the sea to our left and Naples to our right—the run takes on a life of its own. I jokingly, but also half-seriously, tell her that running clearly agrees with her in Naples. Back in the spring, she ran 23 kilometers here, even though she’d only planned to do 10 😂. Eventually, I suggest that she join me for the second quarter of my run as well—after all, what’s the difference between 20 and 32 kilometers?
We stick to her pace, which is the most important thing. I know she can handle the distance. We decide that after the first 5 kilometers, where the promenade ends, we’ll tackle the 4-kilometer climb to an intersection I’d encountered earlier in the day. After that, we’ll see how things go… and, well, we did see 😁. We end up heading toward Rione Terra, a destination I know is about 16–16.5 kilometers away.
As we run, Carmen slowly gets used to the idea that she’ll be running 33 kilometers instead of 20. Of course, I solemnly swear that if she feels tired, I’ll call her a taxi and ensure she’s taken care of 😂.
Rione Terra, this ancient and mysterious district near Naples, feels like stepping back in time. Its medieval buildings are perched on a cliff that defies the sea. The narrow streets and authentic atmosphere make you feel like you’ve entered a storybook from another era. It’s the perfect place to capture rare landscapes and special travel moments in photos.
At kilometer 16.5, near the end of the promenade, we turn back. To our delight, we find a drinking fountain here. Later, we realize there were actually several along the way. We refill our flasks with water, add isotonic tablets, and head back toward the accommodation.
We’ve planned a short break at kilometer 19 (Carmen’s distance) at Also Café, a coffee shop where I had stopped for a break during a springtime run. Two croissants, an ice-cold Coke, and a delicious cappuccino make for a much-needed feast. I’m not sure how long we stayed, but not too long—we’re soon back on the road.
The return route includes a tough 2-kilometer climb, which we tackle with maximum respect, walking romantically along the roadside 😂. Afterward, we enjoy a long, 4-kilometer descent all the way back to the promenade. On the last stretch, Carmen is unstoppable—it’s as if something has snapped inside her. She plays music on her phone and runs as if covering this distance is the most natural thing in the world.
We arrive back at the accommodation, celebrate Carmen’s accomplishment briefly but intensely, make another quick bathroom stop, and then I’m off again. At this point, though, I start to worry about time. The first two segments took longer than expected, and I realize the 130-kilometer goal is becoming unrealistic. It’s already 3:30 PM as I set off on this third leg, and I don’t want to run late into the night—that was never part of the plan.
As the kilometers pass and I reach kilometer 70, I decide to adjust my goal: I’ll cut the distance down to 100 kilometers. I had already reworked the route about two hours earlier and informed Paul that we couldn’t follow the same path I ran during the day—it would be too dangerous at night (due to poor visibility). Instead, I suggested running along the promenade, which I imagined would be well-lit. My expectations, as it turned out, were far from reality, but more on that later.
I meet up with Paul at around kilometer 83, if I remember correctly. From that point on, we run together, chatting and gossiping as we always do during runs. As soon as we start, I realize that running on the promenade won’t be particularly spectacular, and I feel relieved that I decided to limit my run to 100 kilometers instead of attempting more in less-than-ideal conditions. I’m not saying it wouldn’t have been a good mental training exercise, but I wanted to finish by 8–9 PM and then focus on more Neapolitan "fun" 😋.
At kilometer 88, I’m hit with yet another bathroom need. We stop at a small terrace in the central park next to the promenade, where I buy a Pepsi—mainly because they have a bathroom 🤭. I also pick up a bag of Haribo gummies, which, as always, are a lifesaver.
From there, we continue running along the dimly lit promenade. The streetlights on the opposite side of the road cast light only in patches, so parts of the run are in near-total darkness. I end up needing the bathroom one last time—this time at the far end of the promenade, in the dark. So, in a truly romantic fashion, I handle it on the beach, by the sea, under the moonlight 😂.
The final 5 kilometers are a bit of a struggle, I admit. I don’t have much motivation left, but I keep running—I don’t drag myself along. The 100-kilometer mark is reached just 100 meters from the accommodation, and I get to finish the last stretch running through a massive crowd of people. I imagine they’re all cheering for me, like at an Ironman race 😂. In reality, they’re just Italians out on the streets at that hour, as they always are—young and old, buzzing with gossip and laughter, spreading the joy of life that we, too, had picked up during these three days 🤣.
Reflection. I’m not entirely sure what the takeaway from this experience is—at least as far as Ultrabalaton preparation goes. What’s certain is that I didn’t achieve the goal I had in mind, but the conditions weren’t exactly ideal either. The preparation, route analysis, and logistics all left something to be desired. Self-supported runs like this, where you carry everything on your back, are a real challenge. I’m not complaining—I love them—but under these conditions, 100 kilometers is more than enough. When you want to do everything—take photos, film, chat with friends, grab a cappuccino by the sea, enjoy the city—there’s simply not enough time. Plus, with all the climbs, cobblestones, and without the support I had at Ultrabalaton (a cyclist and a car), you lose a lot of time on nutrition and every little break.
But one thing’s for sure: I have no regrets. These three days were packed with fun, and the following day was just as memorable—we barely slept before waking up at 3 AM to head to the airport 😂. Honestly, if I could go back, I wouldn’t change a thing.
And with that, I close the tale of my 100-kilometer run. 😊