The Tour de France might garner more glory in the public psyche, but the Giro d’Italia is often considered a greater test of a cyclist’s mettle. This grand tour – first staged in 1909 – sees international teams traverse Italy’s wildly undulating terrain over 21 stages, clocking up around 3,400km in the process. The prize for this feat of human endurance? A bubblegum-pink Lycra jersey. But it’s not just any jersey – it’s the “maglia rosa” (literally: pink jersey) – awarded to the winning race leader after each stage and one of the most coveted honours in pro cycling.

I’m an urban cyclist. Before a knee injury two years ago, I was clocking up around 30-90 miles a week in London. That’s pocket change for a pro, but not bad for a city slicker. Having ridden a stage of the Tour de France some years ago, which was hard enough (anyone that tells you that Brittany is flat, is lying), when I was invited with a group of fellow journalists to join the Tudor Pro Cycling Team for the 2024 Giro, I thought, it couldn’t be much tougher, surely?

I was given a choice of an e-bike or the same vehicle the Tudor Pro Team use – an ultra-light carbon BMC racer with electric-shift gears. During my bike fitting in Turin, the technicians told me there were only e-bikes left. ‘I can’t possibly do a stage of the Giro with a motor!’ I protested. I wanted to experience every thigh-burning, saddle-sore second the pros did. I mean, solidarity in such a situation is the point, right? One materialised. In hindsight, perhaps they were trying to do me a favour.

The angst I’d felt in the days running up to zero hour was still simmering as we made our way to the starting line for the 33km stage (the pros do it twice). Largely because when I’d asked the technicians about how difficult the route is, they looked at each other and said, ‘Well, err… it’s erm, not the easiest… you’ll be fine!’ I then found myself panic-analysing the relief maps of the course on my MacBook, which didn’t help matters.

As the klaxon sounded, we began to rattle over the cobbles and tramlines of old Torino, heading for the steep hills that encircle the city. Then came the first hurdle – a 6.5km uphill climb at a 7 per cent gradient. It was pure pain. Christophe and Cole from the Tudor marketing team, who were cycling alongside, had God Save the King blaring from an iPhone to spur me on. ‘Stop making me laugh! I need to preserve my oxygen!’ I yelled.

Around three quarters of the way up, where I’d slowed to walking pace on the softest gear, black spots began floating in front of my eyes. My limbs stopped working. Then the world went as white as snow. The last time I had a vision of snowflakes in late spring, was during a brutal HIIT class and I wound up with shingles. I knew I needed to stop before I blacked out on the worn asphalt. Then my hearing started to fade. I was helped to the side of the road to sit on a wall by Reuben from the technical team and Luca, the photographer, who had pulled up in the support car. I could barely discern their shapes and voices as they sat with me, before I summoned the fortitude to stagger to the support car (with help).

Panayotis, a journalist and keen cyclist from Athens who had broken a wrist bone shortly before travelling and was miffed to have to sit it out, offered to ride my bike to the summit of the hill. While I was languishing in the front seat of the support car, attempting to regain my senses, he rode alongside with a full arm cast, like some sort of Olympian god.

By the time we reached the top, I had my faculties back. I decided to soldier on, despite the objections of the support team. Mercifully, there was more flat and downhill terrain and I managed to get through the next 25km or so without incident. But then, when I knew the finish line was on the horizon, came the San Vito Hill or “The Wall” as the pros call it – a sharp, 1.4km uphill climb of 9.4 per cent gradient. At this point, there was the option to split off and take an alternative flat course to the finish line, but I felt I had to make up for my earlier hill-start fail.

I can still hear the crowds cheering as I crept upwards at a glacial pace, the chain moving sloth-like over the pedal cog, willing my body not to have another “episode”. Then it got too much. I stepped off the saddle in front of a small boy who was urging me on. The shame of it. I walked for about six minutes uphill, recouping my composure before getting back on.

By the time we reached the finish line, we were all done. Even the hardcore cyclists had a thousand-yard stare, which I’ll never forget. Some of the e-bikers on the other hand, had barely broken a sweat.

I celebrated my triumph over (near) death by quaffing several spritzers in rapid succession. Luca and Reuben – my saviours – said, ‘Your lips have colour now. You had no colour before. You were a warrior today.’ I credit the Aperol.

I was elated to have made it to the finish line without an electric motor – or being carted off in an ambulanza. Yes, I’m aware of the irony of being driven up the last quarter of that first killer hill. Judge me all you want, but all I’ll say is get on your bike and give it a go yourself. See how far you get.

The new Tudor Pelagos FXD Chrono “Cycling Edition”, made from lightweight carbon composite, has been engineered specially for riders of the Tudor Pro Cycling Team, £4,560; tudorwatch.com