I couldn’t have imagined a worse ending

(Non avrei potuto immaginare un finale peggiore -> leggi qui)

I thought I knew how it would end.
I was wrong.

The last Madison, in reality, never happened.

I was supposed to race on Sunday and Monday. The Madison was the final event both days.
During the scratch on the first day, a rider crashed into me from behind. I went down hard. One moment I was racing, the next I was on the ground.

I couldn’t walk.

Instead of preparing for the Madison, I found myself in the hospital, getting my pelvis and right femur checked. Nothing was broken, thankfully, but the pain was enough to know I wouldn’t race that day or the next. Another rider went down with me. We were both out.

So I didn’t race my last Madison.
And I didn’t even finish my last race crossing the line on my bike.
My final lap on track cycling was made sliding on the ground.

This wasn’t the ending I had imagined.

After the race, while walking toward the car with Oskar to go to the hospital, I stopped. I started crying. Not because of the Madison itself. But because I was scared.

For a few minutes, I was genuinely afraid I had seriously injured myself. That I had broken something. That I would have to stop again. That I would lose training days right now, while I’m already working on the new chapter. Mentally, it was too much. It would have been one more thing to deal with, and I didn’t feel capable of facing it.

In that moment, the idea of missing my gym session the next morning hurt more than the idea of not racing my last Madison. Because if I’m honest, I already knew I wouldn’t race it at my best. I wasn’t prepared the way I wanted to be. It hurt not to close that chapter riding, but that wasn’t the real point.

The real point was the feeling of having to start over once again.

Then the pain slowly faded. The exams came back clear.
On Wednesday, I was already back in the gym, almost normally. That’s when I calmed down.

It’s ironic, when I think about it.

I started the season in May with a crash, on the very first day, just after coming back from myocarditis.
And I ended my endurance career with another crash. Once again, not my fault.

Almost as if the faith was telling me: enough.

Strangely, today I don’t feel angry.
There’s disappointment, yes. Some bitterness.
I would have wanted a different final lap. I would have wanted to finish upright, on my bike, with the control the Madison always gave me.

Because the Madison was my race.
The one where I always felt at home.
The one that gave me my best friend, shared victories and defeats.
The race that brought me into the national team.
The race where I competed in two World Cups, and won a silver medal in 2022 — something I would have never imagined years earlier, when I was working, studying and racing at the same time.

In more than five hundred Madisons raced over the past seven years, I always knew what I was doing. Whether I was racing with my best friend, a younger rider, or someone far more experienced than me, I felt in control. I knew how to read the race. I knew how to compete.

That’s something I’m proud of.

And maybe that’s why ending like this hurts.
Because I didn’t say goodbye riding.
Because I didn’t choose the last change.

But if I’m completely honest, I also know this: I’m not competitive anymore. And continuing to race that event just for love wouldn’t have been fair. Not to me, and not to what the Madison has always meant.

It’s time to say goodbye with gratitude.
To appreciate what it gave me.
And yes, one day, watching it from the outside, I will probably feel nostalgia.

But today I know this: the worst ending wasn’t the crash.
The worst ending would have been staying, pretending it was still enough.

This weekend I didn’t race my last Madison.
But I understood, once again, that it’s truly time to move forward.