This year marks ten years since I picked up sports again. Running didn’t come first.

Back then Cristina had already started running and I was still a couch potato. I had quit smoking a couple of years earlier, stepped away from the graffiti life and gained a bit of weight. The first thing I actually tried was indoor cycling.

It was the spring of 2016 when I walked into the weirdest gym I’ve ever seen: it was in a basement in Vitan and it smelled like fungus and sweat. But I wanted to make a change, so I went after it.

Back in 2015 I had tried running, but ended up with a bad knee. No warm-up, no cool-down. I had no idea what I was doing. No wonder.

Radu was running cycling classes there and the idea stuck with me. I ended up going all in until early 2020, when COVID locked everything down.

I don’t remember much about those classes. But I remember the heavy sweat next to my bike. The Rammstein tracks blasting through the speakers. Radu’s ability to lift the entire room. The feeling of it all – almost like meditation.

For fifty minutes I could disconnect from everyday life. And at that time, that was enough.

I never started cycling with a goal of losing weight or gaining anything in particular. The process itself was enough and it was transformative.

Two months after that I showed up at a Tuesday run with 321sport and gave it a shot.

Then came my first half marathon: three loops around Herastrau Park. I have no memory of my time or pace. What I remember is Flavia and Radu waiting for me at the end of the third loop. That moment felt transformative.

Over the years I’ve done my share of races. Very few of them left me with any memory of splits or times.

Before every race I study those numbers obsessively. I plan the splits. I rehearse the execution. And then, after the race, they disappear.

What stays are different things.

How we almost died at RSR 2017 and missed the final cut-off because of the weather.

How Cristina was almost blown off the ridge after Custura Peak while Radu insisted on taking another selfie, even as the mountain rescuers were yelling at us to drop altitude as fast as possible.

How in 2018 we reached Omu Peak in seventh place overall at Marathon7500 but couldn’t hold the pace later in the race.

How in 2019 I met Daniel struggling somewhere around kilometer seventy at Ciucaș X3.

How in 2020 we organized our own race and ran Ciucaș X3 with friends – and almost got mauled by a bear – more here.

How in 2021 I bonked at Tryavna because my ego pushed me into a pointless battle with another runner (we both DNF’d somewhere around kilometer fifty) – more here.

How in 2022 I went back and finished Tryavna, running the last half marathon together with Cristina, George and Iluc – more here.

How in 2023 I ran Ciucaș X3 Ultra (108km), signed up for the teams category with another runner and finished second on Saturday-then came back the next day for the half marathon (thanks Bogdan for the shoes!).

How in 2024, at the first edition of Giants during RSR, I burst out laughing when I saw the downhill course. It was an absolute shitshow.

And I’m not even cherry-picking. These are just the first memories that come to mind.

I couldn’t tell you a single finishing time from memory. For that I’d have to open Garmin Connect and dig through the data.

But the memories are still there. And I keep looking forward to making new ones.

Numbers help you run the race but memories are what survive it. Ten years in, I’m still curious what the next memories will be.