Bendita locura

"You're crazy, Raúl! That's crazy!" I couldn't say how many times I've heard that phrase. Since the day I set foot in Kenya introducing myself to the camera with that "I am Marathon Man" spiel, which would eclipse my first name forever, I have not stopped traveling, running, living adventures and paying tribute to that madness that moves us to dream big. and feel alive. I have run alone, from the city of Marathon to the center of Athens, without refreshment points, without guide marks on the ground and without a cheering public. I have lived with the Bedouins in the middle of the desert and I have learned to live from nothing like Lawrence of Arabia himself did. I have jumped into the icy waters of Lake Prestvannet in Tromsø, Norway, at minus fifteen degrees. I have dived with the Bajaus, a community that lives in floating villages in the open sea and whose genetic adaptation to diving has made headlines in the scientific community. In the Ilemi Triangle, a border territory disputed by various tribes from South Sudan, Ethiopia and Kenya, I feared for my life for the first time. And, despite everything, today, when I look at my daughters, I think that being a father is the top of my follies, the Michael Jordan of all of them: "Blessed madness."