Every runner knows the rhythm of their strides can become a metronome for their thoughts. Some spark their most creative ideas mid-tempo as the strain and distance fade to memory. Others lose themselves in the breathwork of long training sessions, reconnecting with their inner core. Some push forward without mental noise, just a raw drive to improve—each stride both a step forward and inward. For Yeman Crippa—three-time European gold medalist, marathon runner for Italy’s national team, and On athlete—that inner metronome counts more than miles and minutes.

Coming up through the middle distances and now tried and tested by the unforgiving rhythm of the marathon, Crippa’s relationship with running has become something deeper than performance or podium. It’s personal. Human. A daily ritual of struggle and self-discovery—where answers come not from control but from surrendering to the work.

Let’s follow “God’s Right Hand”—that’s what “Yeman” means in Aramaic—into one of his typical mental journeys across 42 kilometers (or even better, during the long hours of solo training). His words read like pages from a journal, grounded in Ethiopian roots, shaped by the calm of northern Italy, and sharpened by the discipline of elite athletics. A man shaped by running—and a runner whose identity is inseparable from the man he’s become.

“Running is my job—but it’s also my passion. It wasn’t always like that. At first, I saw it as an opportunity to earn a living, an alternative path to soccer, which I was completely in love with. In the beginning, the sacrifices felt heavy, really heavy… But slowly, they became part of my well-being. Running stopped being just a job. Now it’s something that helps me feel good about myself. The real turning point came when I started running more, especially as I began preparing for the marathon, gradually increasing my distance. The training sessions became long—sometimes incredibly long. You find yourself alone for hours on end… and in that effort, thoughts start to flow. Through that reflection, I realized that athletics isn’t just about running and pushing your body. It’s about passion. It’s about that well-being I mentioned before. Running is part of who I am now. 

Running long distances has also helped me grow. I’ve become more thoughtful and patient. After all, the marathon is the epitome of distance—it demands mental strength. During a race or a long workout, there are always moments when you feel like giving up. But you have to stay present, focused, and determined. That mental side of the marathon inevitably shapes who you are. It matures you. It forces you to get your head on straight. Right now, both in life and in my career, I have pretty clear goals. I’ve already reached some important milestones—but I believe the best is in front of me. These past few years have especially taught me to stay grounded. I’ve learned that, even if you’ve had some success,  someone can come along the next day who’s in better shape than you. 

The biggest inspiration for me comes from watching elite athletes—the ones who dominate their disciplines year after year. When you look closely at their daily work, you realize that even in the final stages of their careers, they’re still making sacrifices. Always. Even after achieving almost everything. I look up to them. I haven’t won Olympic or World Championship medals yet, and I haven’t run a marathon under 2:03, but there’s nothing stopping me. It’s all up to me. And at the same time, I know that if I do reach those goals, it won’t change who I am deep down. I’ll stay humble. I’m totally aware of the effort I’ve put into all of this, the time spent away from my family just to improve. When I think about all of that, I don’t feel like showing off. I just feel grateful, proud that I’ve made it this far—and hopeful that I can go even further.

I feel like I’ve grown a lot in how I handle difficulties, too. A few years ago, if something didn’t go according to plan, I would stop. I would spiral out, get lost in my head, obsessed with the time I wanted to run or what position I expected to get. As soon as I realized I wouldn’t reach the goal I had imagined, I’d mentally shut down. Looking back, I was just running away from the hard part, from adversity. I didn’t know that at the time. But now I do. Now I understand that every time you stop, you’re training your mind to quit. That’s why I try to face every situation now. I’ve stopped running from my problems. On tough days, even when things don’t go as I hoped… I try to stay in the present. I try to fight. That might be the most valuable lesson the marathon has given me: you can’t run away. If I think about other recent ways that running has helped me grow, focus is definitely one of them. Over time, I’ve gained experience, spoken with so many athletes, and competed all over the world. I’ve learned how to prepare for a race, how to handle the day before, what to focus on and what to ignore. It’s an ongoing process of learning and maturing. Every marathon teaches you something. Those 42 kilometers aren’t just a physical journey—you go on a mental and personal one, too.

Sport has made me a symbol for a lot of people—I’m aware of that, especially in my country and my hometown. In Trento, people stop me on the street. They ask questions. They want photos. And this happens across Italy. It feels good because I realize that I represent something to them—and that I’m able to send a message without even speaking, just through my dedication and sense of purpose. On social media, I get so many messages, especially from young people who look up to me and see me as a role model. I often wonder how they can tell what kind of person I am… I guess they see that I’m putting my whole self into what I do—that I really believe in it. And maybe that’s worth more than a thousand words. Their support motivates me. Sometimes it works in reverse—they give me the strength to keep going. There are times when I think about taking a year off, just disconnecting and doing something completely different. But then I remember that everything I am today is thanks to running. Every now and then, I get curious about other worlds—like fashion, for example. I wonder what it would be like to explore some other creative or athletic path. But in the end, this is my life. I started running when I was 16. I haven’t stopped since. And running has always helped me grow, evolve, and define who Yeman is.

Yeman the person and Yeman the athlete are different—but also deeply connected. As an athlete, I’m calm and collected. As a person, I’m just a regular guy; I’ve got flaws, and I try not to take myself too seriously. When I can, I go out with friends, have fun, and try to enjoy some sense of normalcy. But running always stays at the center. The motivation doesn’t fade—it actually increases. I want to experience new emotions, and situations I’ve never been in before. There’s still so much to build. And even though I tend to put pressure on myself, I’m learning how to manage that relationship with myself. I need to focus only on what’s good for me, not get overwhelmed by my own expectations—or by what I imagine my family might expect. Take the Barcelona Half Marathon, for example. I hit a rough patch during the race because I felt guilty. I’d promised my dad I’d run a certain time, and I realized I wasn’t going to hit it. The truth is, you can’t control everything. All you can do is give your best, be present, face every obstacle—and never give up. Only with that mindset can you become a better runner. And a better person.”