My journey
From the construction site to the summits — the track that shaped who I am.
From construction sites to peaks
I believe I was born with my father's and grandfather's craft running in my veins. Even if it will take decades to match their experience, I quickly understood I had a natural inclination for craftsmanship and for everything technical. After my studies as a surveyor, I worked for six years in the family company, balancing bricks with training sessions and races.
There I learned what it means to build something real, piece by piece. But inside me something else was stirring: a thirst for horizons that the construction site, as grounded and honest as it was, could never satisfy.
I have spent years truly getting to know myself — digging deep inside. Not out of fragility, but out of strength. Every experience has taught me that you always come back with more awareness, but only if you have learned to accept your own limits. Just as you do when you set out to reach a summit.
From volleyball to snow
For years I chased the dream of becoming a professional volleyball player. But after so much training, I felt that path was no longer mine.
So I redirected all my energy towards the mountains, devoting myself to skiing with one great ambition: to become an instructor.
When the mountain changed everything
When I discovered mountaineering and skiing, something changed forever. The mountain brought out my wildest side — the part of me that needs open spaces, silence and adrenaline.
Skiing, for me, has never been only about training, power and physical strength. It is still a great master of life. It reflects the values I carry within me and always teaches me something new, constantly putting me to the test.
Even though I am not yet an instructor today, I would never have reached my current level, or enjoyed it this way, without having that ambition in my head from the very first day. It was the key that let me grow and have fun like a child.
Training is my first piece of gear
Every morning I am driven by the thought that I can improve, take on new adventures and challenges, and bring more awareness and life to my days.
You can own the lightest bike or the most precise climbing shoes in the world, but if your engine stalls, the adventure ends there. I understood early on that physical preparation is not vanity: it is respect. Respect for the mountain and for the road. Training hard when no one is watching is the only way to enjoy the view when everyone is.
It means having the breath to laugh on top of a pass and the strength in your fingers not to doubt the rock. I prepare my body because I do not want to endure fatigue; I want to ride it. Being in shape is my first life insurance: it is what lets me come home, every time, with a smile.
Freedom that blows into your face
Why the bike? I ask myself often. The answer is simple: it makes me feel as free as skiing does, just in another way. And it makes me crave adventure and the discovery of new lands every time I get in the saddle.
Feeling the headwind in your face, the mud that locks your wheels, the gradient that sets your legs on fire. But when you crest the climb, and the horizon opens up just for you, you realise fatigue is a fair price to pay for freedom.
Even more so when you share all of it with your companions.
A vertical dance against fear
Nearly four years have passed since I first put my hands on stone. Climbing has taught me patience. Up there, clinging to a wall that has no intention of helping you, you cannot lie.
Followers do not count, work does not count; only the next hold counts, calm breath and trust in your feet. It is a vertical dance against gravity and against your fears.
Did I start late? Perhaps. But rock does not ask your age; it only asks you to be present and prepared. Here and now.
A moment that lasts forever
Everything I do — the kilometres in the mud, the breath held on a wall, or wanting to touch the snow with my backside — serves one purpose only: to rediscover the value of simple things.
Nothing beats the warmth of a lit stove after a freezing day of effort. Cooking something warm, sharing it with a friend while the forest breathes outside, and feeling that a single moment, finally, can last forever.
