We thought we had as much chance of being selected to run The Speed Project as winning the lottery. And guess what? At the end of March, we found ourselves in Los Angeles. And it wasn't to enjoy our new villa in Beverly Hills. We're on Santa Monica Pier, excited but also a little stressed, ready to cover the 550 km of desert separating us from Las Vegas.
I say "we" because I wasn't going to run 550 km all by myself. It takes a team for an adventure of this magnitude.
When we had the opportunity to apply in September, we didn't hesitate. Honestly, we really didn't think we'd be selected. To support our application, we did have some secret arguments: a French-Canadian team and the choice of the so-called "OG" option, meaning three women, three men. Because if we're going to suffer, it might as well be equally.
“Run, motherfucker, run!“
When we received the email informing us that our application was accepted, it was already late January. We had given up hope. So we had nine weeks before departure. Nine weeks to confirm the team, train, organize, find sponsors, convince crew members to join us, and find a name.
At this stage, we had five runners: two in France (Stefan and I, Vanille), three under the snow in Canada (César, Myriam and Tristan). A sprain struggling to heal, a capricious knee, and many questions. We very quickly opted for the team name "Risky Bizness", because it summed up the situation quite well.
So at the end of January, we all put our running shoes back on and planned one to two weekly calls. We managed it a bit like a business. We divided up the tasks and got busy.
Quickly, Mackenzie joined the team of runners. Our friends Thomas, Jasper, Stephanie, and Julien volunteered to handle the logistics during the race. Greg, a photographer friend, joined the team to best capture the intensity of what we were about to experience.
Over the weeks, everyone found their role, the team took shape, and the organization was put in place. Despite the fairly short deadline we had, we arrived in Los Angeles rather prepared. On-site, we finalized the last preparations: emergency shopping, vehicle pick-up, and we learned to do things together for the first time.
Friday, March 28, 4:00 AM. Over the microphone, the speaker electrified the crowd, who chanted his words at the top of their lungs until the finale: "Run, motherfucker, run!". Risky Bizness and 79 other teams set off, en route to Sin City.
For 44 hours, we took turns day and night, under an unrelenting sun, on a road whose end we often couldn't see. There was no downtime. It was a race against time, against fatigue, sometimes against oneself. The first 200 kilometers were intense, driven by enthusiasm, but little by little, the reality set in: this was no ordinary race.
The heat rose, the sun beat down relentlessly, sometimes the wind picked up. And of course, a few mishaps came to spice up the adventure: the padlocked bike without the code, the quickly clogged RV toilets, the shower water that remained desperately cold, and the drinking water that almost ran out.
The relays followed one another. We encouraged each other, motivated each other, and watched out for each other. We switched runners every ten minutes. We were as well-drilled as a Formula 1 team. When night fell, the temperature dropped and the road became silent. We passed the watch in the darkness like a sacred torch. Moments where we felt both vulnerable and deeply connected.
And then, we ate. A lot. All the COOKNRUN provisions we had. Because when you run for a long time, nutrition is essential. The bars are our fuel, especially when the body starts to give up. They are delicious, with varied and balanced flavors. We alternated with apples and dried mangoes, a good fruity boost.
We also had our savory meals: veggie bolognese pasta, oriental tabouleh, and the holy mashed potatoes. The one that saves a team. The only one that still goes down after 40 hours. We laugh about it, but luckily we had that. Every bite is a treat and allows us to keep going.
As the sleepless hours passed, the kilometers flew by. Fatigue became more and more present, but the team spirit and motivation remained intact. And that's what makes all the difference.
The Speed Project is not just a race. It's an experience. A mix between a road trip with friends, a Koh-Lanta challenge, with the added effect of a collective adrenaline hug.
When we saw the illuminated "Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas" sign, the emotion was immense. We were exhausted, but proud and closer than ever. It's not just the end of a race, it's the end of something bigger. A human journey we will never forget. What we experienced together during those 44 hours is simply unique.
The Speed Project is ultimately a deeply human adventure. A raw, intense experience that allowed us to discover not only our physical limits, but also what we are capable of achieving together.
— Vanille @riskybizness.crew / photos Gregda
