There were so many people that day, about 120,000 on the circuit. You could hear all of them. We heard what was going on in the race over the speakers but I was distracted and nervous. I remember the listing of all the cyclists in the leading group. 'Cadel …' he was there. Then I remember 'Evans solo …'!

My family started screaming. He attacked! At that point, I wasn't sure what was going on, but I knew I needed to get away from there. The crowd was going mad; my family was going mad! Everyone started screaming. I moved from there and I went to sit by myself on the grass a couple of metres behind; I had to shut my ears to not hear.

All of a sudden, everyone went quiet. My family didn't speak for a couple of seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Why the silence? What has happened? Then I saw Cadel coming alone up the Torrazza, just a few metres away from where we were standing. Everyone exploded with noise as they went past. Then it went quiet again. The cheers turned to statements and questions – everyone was offering their version: 'He'll make it.' 'He's got more than 15 seconds.' 'Chiara, he'll make it!' 'No one follows him!' 'Only one kilometre to go!' 'He's still alone!'

I could only hear some pieces of sentences, but it all sounded good. It was happening. And then it did happen. He won! He did it! My dad was crying and hugging me tight, screaming: 'He made it!' I couldn't stand. I was falling. I lost control of movements and emotions. I ran to the road crying. I was stopped by people asking if I was okay.

My husband won!

All the Torrazza went mad too! But I had only one thing on my mind: getting to the finish. We were three kilometres away, and the road was full of people. I would have never made it on time for the podium ceremony. I was crying and asking policemen, but they didn't want to stop one of the cars to help me. The fans chimed in and told the story, so they told me, 'Just climb the fence and stand in the middle of the road; someone will have to stop.' So I did.

Eventually someone stopped. I remember the cheers from the Torrazza – everyone clapping and yelling, 'Bravo Cadel!' The car that stopped was one of a photographer; I jumped in and when we left I found my sister Ilaria by my side. My dad was worried that I might faint, so he sent her after me.

Still crying, we got to the finish. I wanted to get closer to the podium as much I could, so, with the help of an official and a photographer, I jumped the last fence and I found myself at the base of the podium. After a minute, I saw Cadel. I never thought it would be possible to cry so much. It came out and it was because of happiness, because winning the world championships is the perfect victory for a cyclist wanting to prove he is the best in the world. I cried for those who have always believed in Cadel, not just those who were interested when he was going well. I cried for our little kid in Kathmandu, who I'm sure now is the most envied at school. I cried for my grandma, who would have turned 100 that day. And I wasn't the only one feeling like that. I turned and I saw a lot of people crying. It was very emotional.

What happened later, was just the start of a long evening of celebrations. While the world around us was moving quickly, we were still sitting and staring at the rainbow jersey, hoping that it was the real one and not just a dream. We hung it on the wall before going to bed; if it was there the next morning, that means it must be true. But we didn't get to sleep that night …