The changing room and shower of the Nautical Club of Cap d'Ail is no different for some comfort and cleanliness, but the water temperature to burn, take away dust and sweat from the skin and dissolves slowly that lump of I despair that still weighs on the heart, even if the goal is to have shoulders. If there were, out on the beach, friends waiting, I'd stay to enjoy the hot jet for hours ...
I've always said, I soften that comforts the body and spirit. My fault that I let myself be led astray by the temptations of the devil tempting. "We booked the hotel in Limone for four people, but one of us will not," said some time ago the good George. "If you want to aggregate ...". A Lemon touches necessarily occur within the 19 Friday evening to pick up their race number, and my battle plan provided, as always, to sleep in the Opel, with a sleeping bag. Maybe because I'm getting old, but the unexpected proposal does not leave me indifferent, so, silenced the conscience bubbling and complains, I find myself in the evening before the race, to sleep on a comfortable mattress, what have been allocated to one of the friends of George, unfortunately for him injured. Too bad that the comfort has the effect of the neuron stunned even more than it already is by nature so, ten minutes from the start, George and I are wandering souls as punishment for lemon, looking for the starting line . It saves us a call Aldo, one of the other two friends with whom we shared the hotel and frugal breakfast outside the hotel just before us and already deployed on. 'E' in the same place where yesterday the numbers were distributed for tender. " Legs on his shoulder, the two of us fellas dissipate half delle nostre riserve di energia solo per raggiungere la partenza, dalla parte opposta del paese, e meno male che Limone è piccola. Passiamo al controllo del chip di cronometraggio e raggiungiamo, affannati, Aldo e Filippo in griglia: ansia inutile, visto che il via non viene dato alle cinque, né alle cinque e dieci, né ancora alle cinque e un quarto. Ritardi nel controllo a sorteggio del materiale obbligatorio, o forse nella punzonatura, le voci si rincorrono. Intanto si chiacchiera, ci si guarda intorno: cielo limpidissimo, le stelle si spengono una dopo l'altra e cedono il posto alla luce del sole. La pila frontale non sarà già più necessaria.
Tra i circa quattrocento podisti al via, tanti visi noti: Alessandro, in his distinctive green uniform, which screens as always by the praise, but it will come very, very high in the standings, Isaac, this despite the knee for such a long time ago and it does suffer the tantrums, the stainless Mario, aka Scion, present, and in better shape than ever. Besides the starting line, the legendary Marco Olmo, dressed for the race: not SYRUP, it seems, the entire race, but will be the runners up to the hare Casterino, at km 34. A thermometer near
marks 11 degrees temperature adorable for a little after five in the morning, at an altitude of one thousand meters. Last night it rained and it was much colder. The backpack is too heavy on my back. I continue to grumble, as I already by day, against the injustice of mandatory equipment: I understand the need for security, the conditions imposed by insurance companies of the demonstrations and so on and so forth, but ... Two lights with extra batteries: and thanks at least the battery? The elastic bandage: I do not know even how to use it. Idem part: apart from the fact that a compass without a map, is of little use, I would not be in any case be able to get my bearings. And again, one and a half of water, when, en route, there is water at every turn. Warm clothing and a waterproof jacket: the forecast for today and tomorrow, more or less unanimous in announcing the weather is fine and warm, with some time limit pomeridiano, io la felpa l'avrei lasciata a casa. Non è il peso di tutta questa mercanzia, a preoccuparmi; è il fatto che, per scarrozzarmi dietro tutto, non posso usare lo zainetto più piccolino, che è tanto comodo per correre. Più lo zaino è ingombrante, più è fastidioso e difficile correre, almeno per me, per quanto il sacco possa essere comodo, anatomico e ben aderente alla schiena. E' pur vero che, in questo tipo di competizioni, io corro ben poco; però, in quei pochi tratti, non mi dispiacerebbe poter trottare risparmiando disagio e fastidio. Doppia seccatura, poi, se butto l'occhio sugli zaini di tanti altri concorrenti, la maggioranza direi: hanno sulla schiena zainetti che sono poco più that pockets ... I eat a dog, just that I am vegetarian and I love dogs, if those micro packs contain all the material required by regulation, in the first liter of water, which occupies the space and its good you can not compress or hide. As expected, I belong to the elite of fools, that honor. They are also in pole position or nearly so, just behind the eligible candidates for the win, but that is not wanted at the forefront ... I was convinced that it proceeded in the opposite direction!
the street, suddenly takes everyone by surprise around five twenty. Chatter and laughter are a clean break: starting, running, uphill, through the center of the country along the few beautiful homes stone and stone roofs, to disturb the sleep of residents and breathe the exhaust of Vespa that make us up to the beginning of the path, a trailblazer. Aldo Filippo and splashing away in a gallop, and George on the wheel. As for me, from the first km I make the silly mistake that you can imagine: I try to follow him. The trouble is that, for some days, George makes me a good head way with his determination to finish the race in 22 hours, ambition itself, for its unilateral decision, even myself. Typical attitude of those who want their cake and eat it too: I am sure that the target is realistic and sensible for him, however, are less certain that it is completely out of my scope. I just think the race Courmayeur - Champex - Chamonix two years ago for comparable distance (about 100 km) and altitude (about 6000, if I remember correctly), I had done the hair of the twenty five hours. It 's true, I certainly less training and less experience in this sport, but today I could perhaps aspire to twenty-four hours, not less. And the paths of Valle d'Aosta are almost always better, as a fund, compared with jumps from goats than from the Cuneo valleys. Or, I think all'Abbots Way that George and I being together last May: 125 km and 5,500 m in altitude, but on easy paths and roads of the Via Francigena, the maximum height of 1300 m; already there, pur correndo molto, abbiamo impiegato circa 22 ore e mezza. Tutto ciò è la voce della ragione, la quale però dovrebbe dotarsi di un megafono, perché io non riesco a sentirla... Da perfetta imbecille, corro i primi due km di asfalto, con uno spreco sciagurato di energie, vuoi perché la corsa, nei tratti ripidi, non dà quasi alcun vantaggio rispetto alla camminata, vuoi perché dovrei ormai sapere che il mio motore ha bisogno di un lungo riscaldamento, prima di tentare numeri del genere. D'altro canto, mi dispiace deludere le aspettative del mio compagno di corsa, senza almeno provarci.
La salita non tarda a presentarmi il conto. Con il cuore impazzito che rimbomba in mezzo alle orecchie, la testa dolente e le gambe nailed, I must resign myself to slow down the pace. Giorgio gaining ground, leaves, I follow with the eye patch on the red of his backpack, until I lose sight of the crowd. Runners surpass me in droves, but it does not bother me, now I know that, at the start of the races, this is the rule, as is obvious, as the miles run, collecting the bodies. Eye however, Jean, now part of the class of risks, too, if you continue like that.
The sun always illuminates the most beautiful valley, although it will take some more 'because you get to kiss the runners. Two words with one, a greeting to another, trying to hide the pain, more a me stessa che agli altri. Sbuffo come un mantice; vorrei buttare più aria nei polmoni, ma non ci sta; la gola brucia, i piedi pesano come macigni. Uso i bastoncini a mò di artigli, per spostare più peso possibile sulle braccia e dare alle gambe un po' di requie. Di lì a poco, trovo Giorgio che si è fermato in mia attesa; riparte accanto a me, ma torna quasi subito a prendere vantaggio. Finché mi può sentire, lo esorto ad andarsene per la sua strada, perché io proprio non ce la faccio a partire a questo ritmo, ma quello niente, cocciuto più di un mulo; continua a voltarsi indietro e, poco oltre, si ferma ancora ad aspettarmi. La prima salita è aspra, impegnativa, ma non sarebbe nulla di tremendo, se io non fossi così nervosa. Detesto che un altro corridore rallenti per aspettarmi; è qualcosa che non solo non mi è di alcun aiuto, ma mi getta addosso un nervoso tale da complicarmi a dismisura la vita, già di per sé molto complicata quando la strada pende a doppia cifra. "Vai avanti, fai la tua strada, magari poi ci vedremo più avanti", continuo a ripetere, per il suo bene, ma anche e soprattutto per il mio. Ma non c'è nulla da fare. Il breve tratto di discesa e pianura, che ci porta a correre in un bellissimo pianoro erboso ricco d'acqua, mi basta appena per tirare un po' il fiato; altro che correre... Una valanga umana mi piomba addosso e mi sorpassa; schizzano tutti come saette. Cammino affannata, a testa bassa; è vero, mi perdo il panorama delle alte vette, ma non i colori accesi dei primi fiori estivi, lilla, blu intenso, giallo vivo, il bianco polveroso del sentiero. Stento a smaltire la botta iniziale; le gambe non rispondono, il cuore è impazzito. Dietro una curva, ancora Giorgio in attesa, lo imploro per l'ennesima volta di lasciarmi perdere... Ormai un po' quest'omino lo conosco; il suo viso ha già cambiato espressione; si vede lontano un miglio che il nervoso già rode il suo fegato. Chiunque altro, a questo punto, verrebbe inesorabilmente invitato a recarsi ad espletare le funzioni corporali, ma non ho la confidenza necessaria per farlo, o forse non sono ancora abbastanza arrabbiata. Lo vedo ripartire e rimango con un senso di smarrimento: but why the heck does this? A few laps we've done together, should know that I am no lightning, and that, however, before reaching the limit of decency pace, I need many miles of heating. And I did not ask me to wait, in fact, I do not know what language to urge him to run his race according to his ability ...
So brooding, the climb. Colle della Boaria, altitude 2,200, if I remember correctly. As always, the route I have not even looked at, I have a vague idea of \u200b\u200bthe elevation profile, but for the rest, are resigned to the idea that, whatever the route, supposed from march ... Needless to force the neuron to a labor mnemonic useless. Up there, the first glimpse that hill, the sun illuminates the path already and the long multi-colored snake of runners. Water everywhere, streams and rivulets and pools. I wonder if I have someone behind? I dare not turn around. The first descent
serious is that, from the Hill of the Pearl, the gateway to Central Fort, at km 15, where there is the first restaurant. I'm off for a while 'dinner perhaps too modest life last night and breakfast this morning, seemed tragically than my habits. The trouble with being in a group: in front of others, I do not feel comfortable, this morning, or rather tonight, instead of the still considerable dose of bread and chocolate sauce, if I had been sola, avrei fatto il pieno di focaccia, di pasta, di caffé con un quintale di miele, e adesso non mi troverei con lo stomaco vuoto ed ululante. Fatica, nausea, fame, le ho proprio tutte. Del resto, mi capita raramente di ridere tanto quanto ho riso ieri sera e stamattina in compagnia: è valsa la pena del quasi digiuno. Confido nel ristoro.
Camminando di buon passo lungo un'ampia strada sterrata, mi consolo osservando che non sono l'unica ad evitare di correre. C'è una mandria di mucche, che i pastori stanno faticosamente tentando di concentrare in un fazzoletto di pascolo; spuntano, tra un corno e l'altro, due motociclisti: e non ci sarebbe nulla di strano, se i loro mezzi non fossero luccicanti, ingombranti BMW da strada... How much more inappropriate, I see that I do not understand one iota of movement on this road all potholes and puddles. George is there, few meters ahead, even if you do not see him in the face, feel the tension from a distance.
The path through the group of stone buildings of the Central Fort, some companion is enjoying the morning sun, applauds, encourages. Here the road is flat, I could run, but I can not, they are as empty as an abandoned lot on the ground, empty, tired and worried. And this is only the fifteenth km. Around the corner of a building, here is the rest of the banquet, but, just looking at it, I fall for the sticks and, in turn, arms ... What to eat there solo una crostata alla marmellata; da bere, acqua o sali. La Coca Cola è già finita. Ma, quel che è peggio, il mio compagno di viaggio è seduto sul mucicciolo in pietra, braccia conserte, una maschera nera come la pece sul viso che, già di suo, ha lineamenti duri e severi. In altra circostanza, l'avrei preso in giro; in questo istante, invece, sento la rabbia ribollire dai bassifondi e risalire su. Morditi la lingua, Gian... Ingollo due bicchieri di sali e due quadratini di focaccia, mentre il kapò mi intima, secco: "Mangia adesso, perché poi per quattro ore non ne troverai più". Ecco, perfetto, grazie per l'incoraggiamento. "Abbiamo venticinque minuti di ritardo", ringhia. Lì per lì, mi have to ask: but twenty-five minutes late compared to what? We have a roadmap? We need to stamp the postcard, or perhaps the mother made the dumplings for lunch and waiting for us? Then I realize, maybe it's later than the time it took him when he walked this stretch last year, when the race was stopped right here, due to snow. And that clock that continues to stir me under his arm, I would eat him whole and entire, including the strap. Once again I am silent, but the young Adolf he never gave up as we start over again, I rebuke because "everyone I know have already moved forward" ... Usque tandem abut? To everything there is a limit, let alone my patience. Is it possible that a person whose intelligence I admire the most complete, come and get me such a speech? The fear of being teased by friends I can admit up to the age of ten, but then just ... If you care to do a good time, I've already said a thousand times in fifteen miles, and get going, you do yourself a favor and also to me, and then, we're running a race on foot, we are here to fun, even in our own way a bit 'masochist, not a mission of war in Afghanistan, you think the case of angry and behave in this way? All these thoughts crowd roaring in my skull already overheated, so that the neuron is at serious risk of short circuit. Some concept reaches the vocal cords, albeit in watered-down version: I guess I made the idea because, after having given voice to my outrage, I do not feel a fly flying behind me. And what the heck, are seriously hurt and sorry: I'm putting it all, but you can not transform a pack mule to a thoroughbred, and then, porcaccia peripatetic, we still ninety-five km ahead!
falsopiano A long stretch in which drain into a vigorous step to my sharpshooter killing spree, mitigated only by the four words exchanged greetings and gradually with Tom and Dick and a greeting from the fans in mind: "After the Turin Saint Vincent, this is how you cool down? ". I scan the walls for research the passage from which we will go: As we move upward, I see a snake hanging from the mountain, on a path that gives the impression of being almost vertical ... Urca! We are approaching at a brisk pace impressive jump, you do not see the end, and maybe it's better this way: when the good George, after a long silence, regaining the speech, the torpedo immediately: "Ah, but then you talk. .. I thought you were mad. " "I'm not angry - reply resigned - I'm nervous ...". Bitter observation: two characters are too similar to accompany us difficulties in a race like this without destroying each other.
The slope comes to make a clean sweep of our grievances. A climb deadly, that the Fort de Giaure: from below, you see the runners pace almost in slow motion, faces drawn with fatigue, backs bent, hands on knees, heavy steps. Here, I admit my vanity only here can I find my moment of glory. In spite of my rear bulky and heavy, a friend of gravity than its owner, in this part I get along better than average, so much so that, one after the other, overcome the runners ahead of me and climb the Row over footpath. With anger and fatigue, and a good dose of fear, because we need is a foot wrong, then why should someone burdened with the task of going to collect what's left of me with the coffee spoon. Giorgio non cede, resta incollato, fa lo splendido: "Sarei contento se le salite fossero tutte così... Almeno il dislivello andrebbe via in fretta", e ancora, "Guarda giù che bel panorama", con l'aria svagata ed allegra del turista della domenica al picnic. E' fortissima la tentazione di infilzarlo a mò di spiedo, con un bastoncino... Ma quel che conta, adesso, è arrivare in cima, più in fretta possibile, prima che i polmoni o il cuore scoppino. Devo incutere un certo timore: molti, a sentirmi arrivare, si fanno da parte... In ogni caso, arrivare al colle non mi dispiace, tutt'altro. Fort de Giaure: un gruppo di assistenti della corsa prende nota dei numeri. Segue un breve tratto di discesa e falsopiano, su sentiero easy: almost everyone runs, I refuse, stubbornly, partly because continuous, despite the exploits of the tough uphill stretch, hear me on the weak, his legs and arms soft. The kapo not give up, you wonder why I do not want to run, if then, he said, when the trail rears, he finds it hard to follow. The reason is one, before us there are still ninety kilometers and I try to limit the efforts that cost me more trouble, both physical and psychological. I really like running on asphalt, on the contrary, the race on dirt, was also a nice dirt road, I is indigestible.
abandon the road and take a path that climbs up steep, for a hundred meters of altitude, maybe less., at an altitude of around 2,100. The sun is getting warmer, promises to be a beautiful day, though some fringe of clouds here and there gives me the idea that perhaps some time ago in store for us.
The descent is long and very demanding. Needless to say, now I lose ground in short time, I riagguantano all the runners that I left back uphill. E 'mathematical ... Now we do not even notice it anymore. I work with pointed sticks and feet, pace of the big toe. Fortunately, the shoes I wear - brand new, so I lifted the label last night - have excellent grip on slippery ground and, apparently, even on rock wet and I are a great help. Will I have to thank Matthew for advice. Even for the backpack, which always left me in Matthew trial two nights ago: very roomy, comfortable, with two side pockets perfect for water bottles and two other pockets on the belt, perfect for bars and various trinkets.
Ten km downhill, alas, a real massacre. The difficulty of the gravel path at high altitude are added those of the moist soil in the forest, but above all be back to feel hungry, angry, more than ever. La Sportiva mixer that fit by the name of Matthew, at this hour, is already dying, and its dependence on manic food is the only thing funny in the vortex of anxiety when I am reeling. George has gone downhill, I see no more waiting, perhaps hath been finally put his mind at rest, resigned to run his race. Perfect, not a cause for concern. It never ends, the descent, I have a headache that crushes me, I feel empty legs, continuing to remedy a wrong after another: the right ankle is already on fire ... Nth shot is a sharp pain, we hope not to have done serious damage ... Apparently not, however, proceed with caution. The anxiety stealing upon me by surprise, as the descent great difficulty difficulties. Every time I stumble, I cry, in the woods, I think I see a thousand paths and not be able to find my own way, the strips that mark the path is there, but very distant from each other so much that I find peace only when I hear voices come from behind me. And I vent blow off my scapegoat, who, luckily for him, is long gone: it is he, George, the cause of all my woes, he who has dared to intimate, annoyed, to put more effort when I was already at the barrel of the gas. I do not join you, but woe to him if I had to catch it. I swear, I suppress it, drove the sticks between the shoulder blades!
The path emerges into a broad plateau, in a dirt road that runs alongside the river, impetuous and clear. The day was wonderful, although the peaks glimpsed the first signs of from storm clouds, my morals, however, is on the ground. Pull ahead because there's something else to do between now and Casterino, three or four kilometers of travel along the road. A little 'asphalt I do not mind at all, I try, so here, run, or rather corricchiare with caution, in the company of a Venetian runner and Alexander, alias Cesar, who spins away at a good pace, focused more than ever enterprise. However, even the chatter can distract me from fear for my physical condition so sad, and still brooding on the discussion, for me, very heavy, with Giorgio. I can not do with a reason, indeed, the more I think the more I get angry, but maybe it is not even anger, disappointment is: but what is the point that he has behaved like this?
km of asphalt I never go, and after a curve there un'alra, and another. The sun beats down and the forces are going away, as if I were a wash tank. What remains of my hope for this race is all stored in the rest of Casterino. We arrive at last death throes of the forces. Gulp I do not know how many glasses of sparkling water and Coca Cola, eat a piece of plum cake, soaked in water, and then eat a handful of sugar cubes, chewing with relish. Finally, I throw three cubes of sugar in each bottle and fill both with water: thus, a bit 'put at ease, greeting and I boot up, cautiously, but not before have filled with pieces of banana on the shoulder bag that I have. The uphill direction Refuge des Merveilles, begins at the banquet of relief to 34 km, with a steep concrete ramp. Then take a nice, easy dirt road, not too steep and the ideal step to take a regular, quick, and go on. I feel much better now. I hope this is not just a placebo effect ... I walk a good stretch in the company of a runner of Legnano, appreciating my regular pace, I can not deny it, these are the compliments that make me more pleasure ... Together we go back in the woods, beside a beautiful lake at the beginning of a deep green, still along the dirt road, passing other competitors here and there, and we chat. Suddenly, we find figures in the estate of runners coming down in the opposite direction to travel. Among them is Philip, a friend of George: I ask what happens to him, shakes his head, exclaims, "Enough, enough!". But how ... Enough? I ask him to flight, George, met him ... So maybe it's not too far away! Accelero instinctively step, I do not even know if the desire to find a company or family for the hope of seeing him brought back to milder counsels runners. That means then, out of the teeth, to see him crawling on his elbows pleading for mercy. I know, however, hope that the latter has no reason to exist, it is very difficult for him to go into crisis and, if happen, of course he would not see. The walk from the locomotive, however, I find it well: bend after bend, reach for a group in which I recognize some familiar face. Shortly thereafter, a crossroads: take a small path on the left. The runner who accompanied me on this section announces: "Now, 1.2 km to 33%." Ah ... I take note, another blow. Pas de Colle Rousse. As soon as the vegetation thins out, not long to understand what they alluded to: the snake is colored again stuck on a slope almost vertical and very high. Notice some hesitation, legs shoulder, even here, at the cost of spitting into the lungs. I put on the heels of a runner who decided on salt, a step congenial to me, and did not give up more; connected as two wagons, go up the line, fast and unforgiving, under the eyes of those who remain staring back. Often do not receive the reply where I thank those who move to let me pass, but it sure is a mixture of surprise and exhaustion. Never mind if the top of the hill top, they all pass me down over his ears. Knees and sticks are urged to the utmost, I go on without looking around, alone, from time to time, nose in the air to guess what is missing. On the latest cuts, my hare turns and asks me, in French, if I want to go next: "No - I say confident - quiet." He pulled up here: it would be unfair and cowardly steal the passage of the hill in front of me. Although there is no goal and no premium, a runner knows how much they can make the transition to a hill.
The clouds are gathering, and sometimes come to cover the sun. The hill, elevation 2,250, is almost cool. All ringalluzzita the climb, catch my breath following the path in the meadow next to a lake. Decision to initiate proceedings, when suddenly I hear you calling: toh look ... The kapo! Check the side of a rock, where he had stopped for a pit stop ... But the grim expression kapo there is nothing in its place a genuine excitement for the new meeting. In a split second, I realize that I can not stick to the sticks between the shoulder blades, if you're in front of me, but then I'm happy too, so that, for a moment, I am sorry to have spent so much time to develop the most gruesome forms of torture to be implemented over him! Buried, at least for the moment, the hatchet, we proceed together through the wide plain, summarizing each of the ups and downs the last few miles lone. Philip threw in the towel, and I already knew, Aldo, however, continues and will probably arrive in Cap d'Ail long, long before us.
We enjoy the long, beautiful trail halfway up in the Valley of Wonders, chatting and laughing like dell'Abbots the time, which I hope are the past, present and even future. Brisk walking, sometimes we run, but only from time to time. We are passing a rider dressed in black, which catches me by surprise with a loud "Thank you for the climb, which is followed by an" impressive "and yet" I was double the other "... George, who now knows how much I Gongoli at this time, a bolus dose, "She is really strong uphill." It omits, for pity's sake, to clarify that, in return, on any other ground that is flat or down, I cried like a redwood tree taken down and nobody more.
runs along a beautiful trail at times almost flat, in front of us, two colleagues traveling together, just a little 'spaced. We overcome the first, looking forward Giorgio away and exclaims: "How can you be chased by a beautiful woman and run away like that. "To which, my comrade in adventure, ready, gives voice to what for me was just an unspoken thought:" Oh, but I have other tastes ...". At only hear those words, the second runner, still ahead of us, we immediately pour on the one hand, "Then I let you go ... You never know. "Doubled over with laughter, I lose more ground ...
The hunger has returned to be felt, from time to time, the cushion with a few bites of dried fruit and, otherwise, I get distracted in look at the landscape of pastures, mountains and beautiful lilac-colored rocks underfoot. At some point, happen to walk on snow, despite the shock of my traveling companion, I like to grab a handful e masticarla lentamente, a mo' di granita senza gusto. Ok, non sarà certo sterile, ma in fondo nemmeno radioattiva... A cosa serve, se no, il sistema immunitario?
Il cielo s'è ormai quasi coperto; di tanto in tanto, scende qualche goccia di pioggia. Tutt'intorno, pascoli e cime tondeggianti. In vista dell'Authion, percorriamo un'ampia curva seguendo il profilo della montagna: un'immagine che ho ben impressa nella memoria, per averla già vissuta a settembre dell'anno scorso, durante la bellissima traversata da San Giacomo di Entracque ad Airole con Isacco. In particolare, l'incontro ravvicinato con i maremmani, appena prima dell'Authion... Da qui si vedono già il bunker e la capannetta diroccata lì accanto. We go down a path just mentioned in the midst of dense broad-leaved plants, and then to big clumps of grass, with the musical accompaniment of a large flock of sheep scattered below us, on a slope. I imagine the shepherds, and even the poor dogs, they have lost hearing for a while ': the noise is despicable!
The path goes down, sweet sweet, up to a saddle, then back in a couple of turns until the dry hut, and from there, slowly, towards the Authion. Leaden sky and a sudden rain drops to convince us to wear waterproof jackets for the second time, ironically, the rain stopped as soon as we closed the hinges. And check back to the sun. We go up chatting all'Authion and laughing: I have the impression that some of the other runners who travel more or less at our own pace, and are often in our neighborhood, are contemplating a double murder ... Today maremmani nothing to block the road, as that splendid evening. It proceeds at a good pace, up all'Authion. The road is dotted with puddles, and I know that the storm shortly before our passage, to the detriment of those who ran stronger and moved here before us. My only and constant torment and hunger, really bad this time. I need to eat something substantial and salty ...
dall'Authion The descent is long and painful, the pangs of hunger I miss the fans cheer, despite the good efforts of George, where appropriate, also lends itself to play the fool just to keep me awake. But the tooth in slope, apparently added to avoid reaching the haven of Camp d'Argent, and to the point of comfort for road asphalt, I rushed into turmoil. But why ... Tap back, through a pine forest until the facility that, I believe, is a ski lift, my traveling companion do the utmost to cheer, but I'm grounded. How many mood swings I have suffered today ... It will be the menopause? We go down for some distance along a hateful ski run, in the midst of the rubble of stones, where you slide with every step, George shoots forward, but I can barely even walk, they are empty and numb. One ad makes me happy: "It 's over there," the gossip shows me the refuge. From here started half an hour ago, the short version of this race, the Neander Trail. Now they are about four and a half. A slight mist rises from the woods, frayed.
Km 54, we are in the middle. I gather what's left of my energy to break for refreshment, with the ardor of those who are ready to eat the dishes, plates, dishes, table and even servers. It 's my salvation: here's all cheese, pasta, soups, sugar, coffee, bread, salami and fruit. Gulp something like eight slices of a good Camembert type cheese, plus a plate of pasta, a lot 'of cubes sugar, chocolate, fruit, all washed down with a deluge of Coca Cola, George, as more and more sober than me, is satisfied with some portion of canary. Together with glucose, also dates back mood: euphoric allotment, power of pappatoria, I put the bag on the shoulder and two snacks like a banana plum. The next resting spot will be at 78 km, Sospel, and between 24 km. George suggests to start with caution, because it feels a bit 'heavy, for my part, I am full to the limit of the explosion.
The crisp air that remains after rain and the mist rising from the vegetation accompany us along the first stretch of trail in the woods and then on a road dirt, comfortable, slightly uphill, the ideal for me to get some 'of breath and immediately spend it in chat. Traveling with George is better than having the radio ... And you never lose the signal! A wall, the only surviving trace of a building, offers the ideal refuge for a pit stop a pity that after I hit run like un'indemoniata to reach my pops, who by then was in turn caught by the implacable Scion . We must go back a couple of times, and once at an altitude of almost 2000, before we start to glide in the endless Sospel: twelve km that will take us from the high peaks to the slum area, at an altitude of 300 m. The face, at least initially, with the mood at the stars, do not we stop a moment to laugh, cackle like kids, pace of the group that we overcome and that we take the lead: none FIATA, George and I just plant the mayhem, with the cooperation of Mauritius, a runner who, apparently, is congenial to our pace. Drop-down real alternate stretches of plains and gentle slope, George often gets a run, part, vanish, then from time to time waiting. You can see a mile away, which is dying to make haste: but, mindful of the serious risk of cruel death that ran in the first half of the race, well regarded by uttering a word. Mauritius proposes, he too, to bring it down using the stick as a kind of spear ... Singing loudly and fade as we realize How long still far Sospel; rise chorus of insults, including grievances, agonizing groans. Knees, calves, feet wondering pity, I continue to twist ankles to the side, and each time is a knife, until then the ankle will not stop aching and throbbing. Maybe it's better when you run through the plant, if nothing else, we do not realize How much is still a long descent. And then, when the road is more convenient to run, I do not have more, between the legs ache and the hunger is back to attack me. The only positive side of the whole thing is that the more we lose altitude, the more the temperature rises, and with it humidity, tropical climate that I like a lot, even if the good George, a lover of cold weather, dull and gloomy, it has something to say.
houses Sospel come as a real liberation. One hundred feet below a beautiful stone arcade, and here are the rest of the banquet, with the usual onslaught of runners spilled more or less, slumped in chairs, on the ground, wherever it happens. Cheese, bread, chocolate, noodles in broth, Coca Cola, pistachio, tomato fruit, all in strict order and making a few scattered recall of either dish: my traveling companion, a man who is educated and stylish , sits at the table and eat with grace, while I jump from table to table and I filled the mouth until her cheeks turn in two huge bags, a mo 'hamster. And yet I eat and George, now sated, presented to a competitor some details of the itinerary.
It starts with the dim light of sunset, the team is now down to three elements: Maurizio hath been rightly placed, with its sharp irony: few words, but good. Ascent Col de Castillon: beautiful, steep, all hairpins in rapid sequence. Ideally, in fact. Riacchiappo Scion: "So, the end is down, you win ...". "I just - it replicates the steel - it ends." Reaches Luciano, a bit 'stumbles but certainly not spring, and does not react to my good-natured teasing, but I lascia passare. Sono sicura che arriverà alla fine: è implacabile, si sciroppa gare da fachiri tutte le settimane; in confronto, i miei sono carichi da pivelli!
Mi diverto, ancora per una volta, a giocare alla locomotiva, o meglio, al trenino a cremagliera, vista la pendenza, ed a riacchiappare un buon numero di avversari che poi, puntualmente, mi surclasseranno in discesa. E' ora di accendere la pila frontale; d'ora in poi, si viaggerà fissando il cono di luce davanti agli occhi, in attesa della luna, stanotte piena, che non tarderà a farci grazia della sua presenza. Dal Col de Castillon, una ripida discesa sconnessa ci massacra, se ce ne fosse bisogno, i garretti. Il povero Giorgio è già da un po' tormentato from blistered feet, his pain tolerance is impressive. It makes a turn, continued to laugh and joke ... There is no shadow of weariness on his face, either in the past, only determination and unshakable certainty to make ends meet. Lucky him. He repeats several times: "If it were not for the wounds, I would be fine, I have no problem." I, however, the problems I have, and how, even on the long road that is almost flat, dirt-ending, which brings us to the rest of the Col des banquettes, km 90. Exchange of messages on the phone with Matthew, who anxiously at home and at km 85, encourages me, "Someone like you, 25 km not even see them." Yeah, right ... I do not see why defungo first!
A beautiful full moon lights our path of a cold blue, from a village in the valley came the music of a festival, complete with DJ beats and '70s. Before us, the lights of a village which I guess is Sainte Agnes. I guess, to be passed several times by bike.
My joy slowly shuts down, with the rhythm of my footsteps. This time it is not even hungry anymore, but a weakness of infinite seizes every muscle in my body. And with that, the terror of not making it anymore, and the desperate desire to reach the point of comfort, at least for a moment of respite. Walk, walk and even walking on a path that would smooth the ride, if only I had the energy. And the eye fixed on the snake of light that climbs up the mountain just above our heads: the Cime du Baudon, the last terrible bugbear. Or at least, what we believe to be the last ... A climb that I've heard mention several times today, with awe, in fact, seen from here, has all the air, the black shape, imposing, threatening, of a wall, crossed by a line of slow candles. But the rest, when the devil comes the rest? We will then really? When I have lost strength and hope, is the light that sticks around a bend. Eating, as I can: still the hot broth, chocolate, sugar. No coffee, does not want to go down, it is foul, undrinkable. A great bonfire illuminates and warms the circle of runners sitting beside him, pointing out, in the play of flames and shadows, the exhaustion of faces drawn and looks a bit 'absent. I wonder how many of them out again.
Maurizio stop here, have long been plagued by a sharp pain in his ankle, which can no longer bend. He says he will rest a bit 'and then evaluate the possibility to continue: we salute you. George and I are reaching the steep climb, followed closely by a small group, this time, he rises on his head. I follow, dying, with soft legs in heels and morale. It 's a vicious circle, the weariness that breeds anxiety blizzard muscles ... Now I'm hoping that my pops do not be mad, luckily, proceed with caution. Gian courage, lacking twenty kilometers. The first flights are ruthless; group hangs on a dead silence, only the sighs and the tapping of sticks on the stones, the rustle of leaves, the incessant singing of blackbirds and who knows what other birds. A slow procession, each closed to fight his own battle with some kind of challenge. George suddenly hesitates, stops: for too long no longer sees ribbons signaling. What to do? Continue like that or go back? Do not remember seeing junctions, but in fact this lack of information has long suspected. It 's always him, my pops, fresh as a rose field, which throws down, in exploring a path that branches off from ours and that in fact no one had noticed. No trace of balises, not even there. Retrace our steps we should go along the path we were following. Before me, the two competitors that rise with a good pace: the soul so as not to spit me off: it is not the ranking that matters, but the effect is devastating, my morale, they would escape.
The rise at the beginning really ruthless, becomes gradually less severe. I scan the sky, trying to distinguish the line of a hypothetical hill in the dark of night, until finally the vegetation thins out, I feel to say "We're almost there." I say, in fact, a few minutes later. In the terrifying descent that follows the runners behind me that I had put everything on the ears, except George. Just as I had described, this path: steep, all unstable stones, jumps, steps unreliable, a real ordeal for me that I have little balance, but especially for poor George, his feet blistered and massacred by the blood already emerged on the surface of the shoe. And do not bat an eyelid, except to observe from time to time, casually, that give a little 'annoying feet. Take forever to cover this stretch of the path so steep and bad. With us now travels another aggregate, Paul, if not I misread the name on the chest. The light from the front, even at full power, I do not help to feel safe and decent place standing and walking sticks; my teammates, however, does not seem to me much more comfortable. E 'mood, which does not want to recover. I wish the end of the race, but I still see as a distant goal, unreachable, almost as if there were, and I can not find the determination needed to say "Come on, come on, now there are less than twenty kilometers. I can not, there's no way. George has understood what my state and I keep an eye, make every effort to get them going. After agonizing descent from Col de la Madone, yet a slope, towards the red lights some antennas, and in view of the sea, with the silvery reflection of the moon on the water, and the countless lights of the coast. Lifts very sweet, mild, in which I try to move the legs at a rate at least decent, occasionally looking up with terror. The antennas are closer and closer, finally we pass by, but the climb seems never to have no end. You climb a little, 'and then a little' ...
weak and the hungry are still the masters. We take, down a long dirt road that passes through the golf courses, complete with a free shower, and very unpleasant for me, under the jets of the sprinklers. A handful of mixed Italian and French. Here George feels Aldo on the phone: it is already arrived a bit, 'he! Little more than twenty hours of his time, and only because, in the first 40 km, has slowed to wait for his friend ... then withdrawn I'm so glad for him, is a gold person and he deserves it!
My mood is dark and grumbling now festering, but still under rational control. At least until it reveals itself in front of me the horrible truth: there is still a rose ... Still a damned hill, at least one hundred meters in altitude. And here I lose all composure: You can not, will never end, we'll never get to Cap d'Ail, after this there will be another and yet another ... And I almost surprised myself with the unassailable conviction that I think this nonsense. Tears are out there pushing for the lump in my throat does not dissolve more, the breath is broke ... I continue only because I have no choice, because if you quit the race, I still drag myself with my feet elsewhere. And it's almost over ... George never fails to make me courage, in the ascent and then finally on the way down, but now I do not feel it. Desperate is the word most appropriate to describe me now. Weak, worried, powerless to advance their feet, no longer will cover those still missing a few km to the finish. I still feel like I have in front of one hundred kilometers.
From the darkness of the woods, coming finally to the last resting spot, La Turbie, km 104: I can not even pretend to smile. I must have completely changed the air, shining eyes. I drink a bit 'of Coke, eat sugar and pistachios, sweet and salty, and then again sugar at nearly empty water bottles do not even think about it anymore. Allocation of inertia, with George and Paul will follow in the stretch through the village, a beautiful rose in long, low steps of pebbles, illuminated by the yellow light of street lamps. It would be great if I only knew to appreciate. George turns around all the time, but I avoid his gaze, because right now my impatience embraces everything and everyone. I would disappear ... "Do not cry, not now ... later!" He ordered, and so do even more difficult to retain the drops. The last, very last drop, the last stab, path once impractical, all unstable stones, gravel, slippery steps to overcome with hands and sticks, now closed in the woods, now open to the views of the Riviera. Above our heads, a huge vertical rock Paretone. But why, I wonder, now that we are, these sadists of the Cross do not make us do a couple of shots of climbing up there? I know, maybe a via ferrata? Cap d'Ail is still far, but the descent, even destructive, slowly reduces anxiety. It goes a bit 'better, maybe, just a bit' better, but this nightmare never ends, the trail rises gently at times, and then drops with a slope of goats.
Asphalt Cap d'Ail is not yet the last act. We touch the whip of a steep ramp down, on concrete, I dare not think about the pain of the feet of poor George, who also is more lively than ever. Junction with the road, leaning against a railing, we find Ilaria, Luciano's girlfriend, already pretty fresh and rested after the Neander Trail course in less than eight hours, fantastic! Shows us the right direction at the next intersection, if it were not for her, we would have lost for sure!
cross the main road at the traffic lights just above Cap d'Ail, under the astonished eyes of the early morning motorists. The sky is clearing up just as soon as it is dawn. There it was still a mile of gyrations in the city when it finally dawned on the promenade along the sea, it seems to me that by the end there is still an eternity. You hear the peaceful sound of the sea, you see off the lights of the boats. All beautiful, just look towards the water and not to the mainland, because Cap d'Ail, like any country that respects the Côte d'Azur, is a hideous soup of ugliness and vulgarity building. I am racing to give the ultimate sop to George, Paul could escape, but is waiting for us. Do not come to an end, the promenade. I keep our eyes fixed on the semaphore that George has referred to as reference: "The goal is there ... I do not feel joy or relief, almost nothing. Trample la sabbia della spiaggia, raggiungere il palco, è qualcosa che dovrebbe farmi scoppiare dalla gioia; sorrido, sì, faccio il possibile per dissimulare l'imminente crollo psicofisico, ma sono stupita io stesso, non mi ero mai sentita così. Triste, delusa e rassegnata. Ci accoglie Aldo, anche lui già fresco, riposato, in tenuta casual da spiaggia. Giorgio ed io siamo, letteralmente, radioattivi...
Molte sdraio, sulla spiaggia, sono occupate da fagotti informi, imbozzolati nei sacchi a pelo. Corridori sopraffatti dal sonno e dalla stanchezza. Ecco, il sonno, se non altro, è stato l'unico problema che non ho dovuto affrontare. Giorgio fa il possibile per risvegliarmi dal torpore, cerca di spiegarmi che non ho motivo di essere immusonita, anzi, dovrei gongolare. 110 km, 5.400 m di dislivello, 23h 58' di marcia ed un percorso molto più duro del previsto. Lo so, in effetti ha ragione, solo che non ci riesco... Saranno una bella doccia bollente ed una puntatina al ristoro finale, gli elementi chiave per la resurrezione del mio buon umore. Come al solito, dal tavolo delle vettovaglie dovranno strapparmi a forza...
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