Stefano Rizzo

Dreams are never easy.

Beautiful, yes.
Worth chasing, absolutely.
But no one hands them to you.

Today: 20 minutes in threshold.
Heat.
Heavy legs.
A mind that wanted to quit.

And I kept going anyway.
Because everyone wants the result.
Few want the process.
No excuses.

Just me, the road, and the discomfort.

I’m training for the and every painful session like this one has a purpose bigger than me because I’m raising funds for the a cause that sits close to my heart.

Dreams are beautiful precisely because they cost something.
Believe in yours.
Suffer for it.
And when you can, run for something greater than yourself.

👉 Link in bio to support

Three weeks ago a doctor confirmed me my brain works differently.
I’ve been running like this for 30 years.

Nothing’s changed.
Everything’s changed.

I stopped here today, for a sec, and something made me take this photo.

Not a finish line.
Not a PB.
Just a Sunday somewhere in west London.
That’s progress. I think.

I’m still figuring out what the diagnosis means.

Meanwhile I’m training for the this autumn, raising money for

I’ve been running along the Thames since I’m London without knowing why I needed to.

Not only for fitness. Not really. Something else.
A pull I couldn’t name, that made the day feel slightly wrong
when I skipped it.

A few weeks ago I found out I’m (and NOT I “have”) ADHD.
And suddenly the running made a different kind of sense.
Not because running helps with ADHD, that’s what
everyone says, and it’s true, but it’s not the interesting part.

The interesting part is that running and ADHD are the same thing.
Same nervous system.
Same need for the feeling of moving forward before anything else makes sense.

I’ve been self-medicating for decades.
I just called it training.

I’m 52. Training for the Royal Park Half Marathon this autumn. And somewhere between the diagnosis and the race, trying to figure out what it means to understand yourself this late.

More soon.




But first, this.

I was on the side of the road at mile 24.

She went past and I saw something in her face that I don’t have a clean word for.
Not strength, because strength had been there the whole race.
This was different. Quieter.
(I’ve seen it before. Not often. It doesn’t come from training.)

She didn’t need more fitness in that last kilometer.
She needed to remember why she started.

Somewhere around mile 24, she did.

I coached the training. She coached herself to the line.

This is why I love this job.
I’m still not sure which one is harder.

EMEA Hyrox Champs Day 1.
Volunteered as

Station 2. Sled push. 8 hours.

What I saw:
- Someone racing in a wheelchair.
- A dad and daughter screaming for mum at the sled.
Both incredible.

Also what I saw:
- Sled push technique that I still can’t explain.
- About 70% wearing the new Hyrox shoes.
- Huge muscular athletes completely cooked. At station two. Out of eight.
- Everyone sprinting the first lap like there’s no second one.

Here’s the thing nobody talks about.
- The new world record holder was mid-pack at lap one.
He paced. He prepared. He knew what was coming.
- The shoes didn’t save anyone.
- The muscles didn’t save anyone.
- The Instagram WOD didn’t save anyone. (And btw this is main reason because I’m not posting my WOD)

Question:
What separates finishing strong from surviving?
Answer:
Specific training on the stations.
Structured pacing strategy.

Someone who’s watched your sled push when you’re fresh AND when you’re broken.

Station 2 doesn’t care how strong you look.
It cares how you trained.

Tag someone who needs this before their next Hyrox.