"Ah yes, Giancarlo Agostini. Do not touch me not even make the effort to remove the ID card from his wallet: now I have to be so notorious that here and there, my name appears. The lady who sells me over the race number bib 201 and puts me in a pen and a scroll to be signed: the discharge of responsibility, or something like that. It seems that my medical certificate is not delivered upon registration, and yet I am sure to have it sent via e-mail, and anyway I have it guaranteed that I have, and are then enrolled for a two federations and Running cycling, more than that ... And most importantly, I think I've already had fully demonstrated the strength of my heart. "I sign everything want, even a blank check, money order ... Just make me go! ".
At the start of the race there are still nearly two hours, there is plenty of time to wander around Morgex, get a coffee, chat, add a second cup of coffee. It is now difficult to walk ten meters without attacking button: it is true, the category of fools who engage in these adventures is larger every year, but there are famous faces, the regulars, those who are always everywhere, like parsley. Just like me. L 'only trouble is that to remember a face and maybe even attach a name and a story, I should meet him at least three or four times, it happens so that the festive greeting of some runners, I respond with equal emphasis, only to brood for a while ': "But who will he ever? Where I've already met?".
Accompanied by George, I make two or three times back and forth between the car park, sports hall and the departure area, there is always some dare you forgot, you left something in the car but maybe you would agree to take you behind, something that you put in your backpack, but think about it, you feel useless. In my own is the essential fabric thermal, waterproof jacket, a change of shirt and shorts, because thunderstorms are expected in the afternoon, again, the front light, spare batteries, glass, water and the pappatoria. I scan the sky without much confidence, true, for now the blue is the master, but in the afternoon we'll have to suffer and stay moist. Weather forecasts are now no more mistakes, useless illusion. I am comforted by the fact that a weather report posted to a bulletin board in the announced departure of freezing at 4,400 m altitude, if nothing else, you will suffer from the cold. The departure from
Morgex, instead of Courmayeur, new this year for the Great Trail Valdigne, it gives me the impression of being a little 'subdued: there are participants, neither the stage nor the music, but the feeling is an event not heard of a way less intense and engaging. Better so, mind you, for my taste. Besides, I do not feel the same frenzy, the anxiety I felt during the first trail. Not that I have confidence in my pocket to finish the race, of course, are still less than 90 km to 5,400 m climb, a night for a walk on trails. But now I can afford to lie down on the grass of the playground, eat what is left of cake and a good dose of comfort, as far as possible, Paturnie good George, who joined the "short" version of the race - short so to speak, are just under 50 km - but would love to be able to change your mind ... I tried, I ask him to move his name to the list of members long path, but the response has been beaten, who knows why, since the cost of the two tests is identical, and had been paid, however, for a while '. Maybe the boss does not want to be having to deal with a carousel of changes because of the eternal undecided. Poor guy, you have my understanding: rather than take part in the short course of a race that also includes a longer route, closed on me at home to sprinkle ashes on their heads, would be a pain too deep. But anyhow ... Let's enjoy the last moments of rest, with his back against the soft, head lolling on the backpack, spend hours and hours of horde before they can again enjoy a moment like this.
Yet another coffee before getting on the grid: the route to the bar, I run into Teomat, alias Matthew Ghezzi, the winner of the 2009 Great Trail Valdigne and obviously in the spotlight again this year. I really hope she can do it again ... Coffee with sugar: it is a concession that only offer myself before a race or a workout, in contravention of the rule that a good coffee should be sipped bitter. It 's a weakness, I know, but I have an alibi, I can always put the blame on George, who, in terms of caffeine, is a consumer employee most hardened me. Then, the way to the barriers, the first control chip, then there is a corner sheltered and is based the sweet ass on the ground. At the start there is still more than half an hour, that George and I are dedicated to wild gossip. A tattoo on her ankle with the crest of the Marathon des Sables, a girl who runs with the white wedding veil on the head, the clock tower that seems to have stopped, the blue sky crossed by some passing cloud, backpack small, the enormous backpack, the shoes look strange, the same as my other ones ... Menara language is one of the most effective ways to ease the tension, with an eye fixed to the hands of the tower. Yes, because as usual I do not have with me any instrument that measures the passage of time - there's the phone, but that is hermetically sealed in the pocket, invisible - and my pops has a complicated contraption wrist, with twelve hundred functions, including the styling, the car wash and cook toast ... But with the battery almost completely drained. Very useful, I think.
now in danger, so lying on the ground with legs stretched out, let us walk on tumbling from the crowd. Better get up, although still lacking a few minutes. The loudspeaker barks recommendations that, amid the buzz of the crowd, arriving in bits and pieces for timpani. Pricked up his ears when I hear about "time also strong, at around 17" Who has the rods in carbon is asked to take care ... I look at mine: I have not the faintest idea of \u200b\u200bthe material they are made, but certainly I have no intention of abandoning the street: first, because repugnant to me losing material in good condition, and secondly, because, without sticks, are a trip over, me I can forget the trail!
The sun illuminates only the central street, sheltered by buildings. A few passing clouds, from time to time, and goes. Finally, to put an end to the eternal wait, get off, almost by surprise. You start, stop, it starts to pace, trot. The two golf courses, long and short, are divided just beyond the bridge, about a mile after the start: Greetings George, I shall see the arrival, perhaps. If I get it. In some ways, running the race together might be nice, but now I realized, from experience, that to me the company does more harm than good. Through no fault of the travel companion of the moment, but just know myself because I am not fit, even when the other does his best to fit me. To find the right pace, to curb the euphoria, to overcome the moments of discouragement or physical distress, to overcome fear, I must be alone, there is nothing to be done. Otherwise, risk of damaging the liver and destroy a friendship, because only me and the fellas who had the misfortune to experience, we know what levels of hatred and aberration I manage to get off when they are in crisis. And to think that in everyday life, I will recognize the merit of being a living, let live and focuses on his fixations without tormenting his neighbor.
Vai, Gian. The first hour will be pure suffering, now you know, will not save you from this torture anyone. Lightweight race on the upper stretches of gravel road, which, in previous years, was placed more or less half of the race. Yes, the ring route remained unchanged, but the road has been a shift of 50 km here, if I had been explained in these terms, at school, traveling, maybe I learned something. I leave the torpedoes to run to catch up and I just do not mention the road to climb. Road which soon becomes the path in many places corribile; a climb, a short winding down, then still up and down, until the junction manned by volunteers. E 'fears of a swing: I want to run more, not to slow down those who follow me, but I'm afraid to strain the muscles too early, with the risk of paying the bill well before the end. Descent winding up Pré St Didier: in the opposite direction, rose the fastest runners, who have already completed the ride in the center of the country. Beyond the bridge over the rushing waters of Baltea through the square and reach the point of comfort: even if we just left, a glass of Coke I do not handle anyone. Allotment in a gallop, determined to tackle head on this first stretch of the climb to the refuge of Arpy: who knows why ... Crossing my turn runners still down. Uphill I just can not help myself, if there is any enemy in the neighborhood, I know, it's a little satisfaction, but this is the only ground on which I can afford to say, sometimes, my. I realize that the pace is too much that I took to be the beginning of the adventure: danger of very serious blow. Yet it is equally exciting to see people who dodge to let me pass. You know, we schappe we need our little reason to feel great, even for a moment ... Fortunately, the sometimes narrow path slows the pace of the line and allows me to breathe a bit 'breath, looking much further down, a hairpin, the case piccine piccine di Pré St Didier.
Il sentiero ripido confluisce in una strada sterrata, dove chi può si mette le gambe in spalla e schizza via. Io no: su questa pendenza, ben più blanda della precedente, sono impotente, per quanto paradossale possa sembrare. Percorro un tratto al passo veloce, in compagnia di Silver e di un paio di suoi compagni d'avventura, ma non riesco a tenere la loro andatura. Calma Gian, non consumarti inutilmente qui, non avrebbe alcun senso. Le gambe sono già inchiodate, il fiato corto, ma non è il caso di preoccuparsi; tutt'al più, di buttare giù un po' di zucchero, se non altro per sentirne il gusto. E' una cosa che ho notato da non molto: forse da quando ho aumentato le prove di lunga distanza a pochi giorni o settimane l'una dall'altra. Una gran voglia di zucchero, proprio le semplici zollette di zucchero, o le bustine da caffé, un desiderio che mi accompagna da cima a fondo della prova. Se poi lo zucchero bianco sia o meno l'alimento ideale, non lo so...
La strada sterrata offre un bel panorama sulle cime e passa accanto a bellissime case in pietra, con i vasi di gerani d'ordinanza ai balconi, ma non sale mai... Cammino ormai nel vuoto, ma solo fin quando si torna sul sentiero. Da qui, non mi è difficile mettere il sale sulla coda di chi mi precede. Un chilometro circa di sentiero ripido e sconnesso, che corre lungo un canale artificiale, colmo d'acqua, e lo interseca più volte. Tocca fare ben attenzione not to stumble into the tube that follows the same direction. I climb with almost frantic pace, not slow down even for those who follow me and does not intend to pass is not always act as the locomotive is so easy ... The vegetation is dense and moist, great games, the reflections of the sun on the drops that wet the leaves. And then the buzz of power lines, to remind us that we are just playing the wild life: the amenities are not far off.
This path leads to a meadow at the foot of the town of Arpy. Inhabited so to speak, the houses, beautiful and well restored, with stone roofs, seem deserted, but for a white curtain and a pair of slippers on the threshold of a door. First real restaurant, with pappatoria, al rifugio. Come sempre, tracanno Coca Cola a volontà. e mangiucchio un po' di tutto, dalla frutta secca al cioccolato, ai cubetti di zucchero che ingoio a manate. E mi porto via un po' di formaggio, da sbafare nel successivo tratto quasi in piano. Via, di corsa, fuori, anzi no, si torna dentro: con le mani piene di cibarie, ho scordato i bastoncini. Lungo tratto al passo veloce in mezzo al pianoro: sfiliamo di fronte all'ultima baita, sotto gli occhi dei commensali di una ricca tavola imbandita in giardino. Qualche famigliola si gode il picnic sulle sponde del torrente; il sole è ancora limpido e caldo. Oltre il ponte, svolta a sinistra e poi subito a destra: si torna, finalmente, a salire, lungo una strada sterrata e fangosa che presto again crosses the stream and returns to the path. It dates back in part precisely the flow of water, blessed GoreTex shoes I avoid the concern to control where you go. Hairpin bends up towards what looks like the edge of a step in the mountain, not too cautious or reasonable pursuit of those ahead of me, blowing like a bellows, with the little heart that begs for mercy. I feel a crushing fatigue, leg pain, back, but I know that everything passes, with distance, and today will not be an exception, I hope. In addition
yet another turning point, I find myself facing the lake Arpy crowded with tourists. A moment of hesitation which direction to take, then, two spectators mi indicano il sentiero che corre lungo il lago. Infatti, scorgo più avanti altri compagni di sventura. Da lì, ancora salita, fino a lasciarsi la vegetazione sotto i piedi: con il naso all'insù, affretto il passo, raccatto qualche avversario, per conquistare una soddisfazione temporanea, che sarà smontata, pezzo per pezzo, non appena la pendenza s'invertirà. Non vedo altro che la punta delle mie scarpe, il prato ed il traverso finale, su al colle. Ci arrivo e trovo, lì appostate per il passaggio della corsa, coppie e famigliole accompagnate dagli amici a quattro zampe: non posso trattenermi dal dispensare due coccole ad uno splendido labrador dallo sguardo dolcissimo; "Mi porterai fortuna fino alla fine!". Quota 2.400, about: to be here in La Thuile, single, very long descent. With one eye on the path to another, worried that the storm clouds gather precisely in the direction of the race: gray, swollen, threatening. Moreover, Gian, you knew that already. Today, the storm did not escape: and we hope it is just that, in fact, only one time, and in the evening and night are, as promised, clear and dry. E 'is essential because I can think of to finish the race.
The descent is endless and dramatic, especially in the first part. As I try not to think about, arms and legs feel numb, even my lips tingle. The view becomes blurred a bit 'and the head starts to make a great evil, as if the heart is were transferred to fly in the skull. It 'also possible that it went like this: the empty space on that side, do not miss ... I am beset by a sense of exhaustion, a tired that I can not contain. Also this is a situation that already know, and I often occurs when the descent is very steep and fast, will be the fault of the pressure, who knows. Maybe I should do as the sub; gradually acclimated before going down ... Meanwhile, halfway around the world surpasses me, like a script. Jump like deer and spin away, while I am forced to conduct a feasibility study on each foot support. And to fight the head turning. The fainting is so intense that, when they are almost at the Thiule, I have to pause for a moment on the wooden bridge and rearrange ideas, it turns out that collapse like a ripe pear ...
Slowly, I went toward the house and take the first dirt road, follow the channel, leading to the country. On the banner at the entrance to a resting spot, I read a comforting news: we are at km 23. But then ... It 's true, I suffered a lot so far, but I've already milled 23 km! Not that there's really that surprising, given that the race is composed of four climbs and one is already behind us, but in any case, it is a wonderful surprise. "Congratulations - exclaimed a lady at the entrance of the structure - unless the weather goes bad." And here, if I had the raw material, would take instinctively place their hands in unmentionable: statements like this bring a scab incalculable ... At the table of refreshment, Coca Cola and alternate stock, faithful to my recommendation to stop a bit 'and we then add a few bites of everything from chocolate to dried fruit. A quick look at the chairs tells me that many tend to take it easy, intent to eat, talk or care blisters to the feet, the better, it means that, for a while ', will not stay alone. But it's stronger than me, I can not do it to be quiet and calm. Do I have thrown back out of the jaws still work out to the next climb. I only distracts the views of a great big dog, a cross with a Holstein, I think: sleeping appearance and color similar to the Bernese Mountain Dog, but this is even bigger than a Saint Bernard. The point, I would snatch a caress, but I see him come into a courtyard, followed by the two-legged companions, two people together, to me, not heavy as the beast. Brings me back to reality a thud, gloomy, unmistakable: the first thunder. I leave the life of the Thiule, tables and shops, to rise to a leaden sky that no longer can. "Thank God that the time goes ... Yeah, damn misery. Take the path through the lawn, which rises gently, all well and good for the tummy still engaged in the first act of digestion. The temperature fell sharply. A flood of anxious thoughts: The storm began just now, I'm going up to a pace that exceeds 2,500 m in altitude. Certainly not arrive there before Jupiter Pluvio is unleashed, and indeed so much so that I know I will find myself in the worst place and at the worst moment, will not be long. So? So, no, no point brooding, so there is no alternative. And even if there were, I do not want to know. Next, at all costs, as long as you can.
Several times, the drops begin to fall, forced to wear a jacket, then subside. Slips, slips, again without stopping, with developments worthy of a contortionist to keep everything in hand, jacket, backpack, hoses, sticks. I watch the runners next to me: someone cover, others proceed undeterred in T-shirt. Brrr ... Would hate to walk up here with only the shirt, too wet. It 's true, with the jacket you sweat a lot and we get wet the same, though, if nothing else, it preserves the feeling of warmth.
Above our heads, the clouds pass by a dark gray color to an ugly rat: I feel really bad that marks ... But if nothing else, it seems to me to be a little 'better. I recovered a number of fugitives, while others will recover in the short stretch of steep short cut that cuts the bend in the middle of a few houses. Then again dirt road, which shows some evidence of a remote presence of asphalt. What Pluvio Jupiter intends to reserve you can not understand, from time to time, a ray of sunshine even manages to make his way through the clouds. A bend to the right brings us to the feast of refreshments: Coca, needless to say, and hot tea. Before getting his arm outstretched and the cup in his hand, as a kind of beggar, and today the rule is "Ask and you shall receive". The climb from here is long and mild, at least initially. The plateau still bears traces of snow, in the process of dissolution, and pools that seem to say that it has already rained. Were true ... But the clouds suggest anything but, in truth, and the jagged peaks of the mountains seem even more menacing black with metallic light of these moments. Go Gian, notice the delay line. Perhaps the shrimp ... If I could at least over the pass up there. I can already see the transition, well above, the shapes of people still on the hill. It really is not that much change, to be under the storm just before or just beyond the hill, but it is the psychological aspect that counts. The wind is cold and strengthens, step by step, the first bells rumbles of thunder soon become dark and disturbing. I look down to make like ostriches, burying our heads, but the light of sudden and violent lightning you see it. Lightning strikes and closer and closer together, one would like to cover their ears with their hands while standing on the path reel, faster, even faster, up towards the hill. It 's weird: I know that I'm running a big risk, and indeed we are running all of us in the neighborhood at this time, however, does not feel fear, indeed. It 's a strange feeling, almost euphoric. I would be terrified if someone was with me that I care, but no, at this very moment and I'm there under the arrows. At worst, the feathers back to him there's just me ... Maybe not, with a cool head, a point of view as acceptable, since, at home, someone who is not exactly happy event, however, thoughts and feelings during a race, when the rest of the world is so far that seems not to exist, are very basic, instinctive. Step
the hill and then speed torpedo down a steep and slippery path but it seems to me a highway. It always seems darker, as if about to fall at night, but I'm sure, despite not having a watch with me, that we are only in the afternoon. Drops down more and more determined, more lightning and thunder and the little that I can see the sky in front of me with glasses wet, is anything but encouraging. Okay, Jean, come on, this is no time for despair. A priority at a time: now, the main thing is spinning out of here. Further down, you can meditate on what to do. At worst, if you really want to know Jupiter Pluvio not put your head in place, you can always stop in Courmayeur.
However, forecasts Weather spoke of storms and the night sky. Deep in my heart unconscious and confident, I believe. I have the confidence that maybe I'll take the rain to the valley floor, but then I can go, too dry. Meanwhile, however, the drops have given way to something more solid: they hail ... And not so small! Damn, I just do not use the helmet on a bike, I want it now ... Legs over his shoulder to escape the arrows and the bumps, I almost wonder of my unexpected gifts of downhill in the wet. I have to also take a detour to go and retrieve the bottle that jumped out of the pocket, has seen fit to roll ten feet down, to the river ... Annoys me, but the recovery, not for its value, but because I hate the idea of \u200b\u200bgiving a refusal.
From the woods trail and dirt road: it continues to rain, but now you are traveling more serene. The peaks in front of me are partly hidden by clouds still stubbornly black, but that is the direction we should take now? Boh. I wonder how they perform their competitors of the short course. At this time, George should already be safe, as well as several others, hopefully good. Shortly before
Courmayeur, the rain stopped completely. I get to the asphalt and do the slalom between pools and few tourists hastily equipped with umbrellas and golf: it's the only time cui posso permettermi una telefonata e turbare l'operosa quiete del buon Matteo in negozio. Vedo così che sono circa le 18. Mi viene spontaneo abbozzare due calcoli: a Courmayeur siamo più o meno a metà e ci sono arrivata in otto ore... Già, però la prossima metà è più dura, infligge due salite toste alle gambe già stanche. Riuscirò a rosicchiare qualche minuto rispetto alle diciannove ore e venti dello scorso anno? Boh, in fondo chissenefrega...
Il punto di ristoro non è, come pensavo, al palazzetto dello sport di Dolonne. Tocca attraversare Courmayeur, il centro; è anche piacevole, visto il tifo sfegatato dei turisti del sabato pomeriggio. Poi si raggiunge un parco, un paio di gazebo: eccolo Here, the table of supplies. Even before arriving at pappatoria, I run into Teomat: "And what are you doing here?" He exclaimed. "Well you know, I've gone around once, now allotment ...". Offhand, I can not stands no doubt about the reliability of his words would be quite capable of doing so in earnest. But no, he tells me that he retired to digestive problems. Too bad ... A moment later, I'll throw the bread on the momentum of un'idrovora. Gulp a plate of hot pasta as a kind of python, almost without chewing, hunting mouth dried fruit, chocolate, cheese, spread in strict order. Again, all I want is to leave, leave immediately. And so do I, in the grip of a rage I know that not even explain: fury, enthusiasm, desire to succeed. I start over again without even changing his shirt to the skin, wet: and yes you go to the evening ... My full-scale aggression has to climb the Colle Liconi, in defiance of every rule of common sense and caution, if only to save a little 'legs. With fury in the woods, so that all of a sudden I can even take a wrong turn. But almost immediately I notice the lack of balises and go back on my feet, earning a couple of expletives from the runner who followed me trusting me. Even track down the right path, and here I meet a runner, joined the long path, the wrong way early in the race for an hour and followed the route short, before you know it, and retrace his steps ... The wretch is sprinkled ashes on their heads and gives dell'idiota, but I admire him very much, for the iron will that drove him to groped however, to jump into a race-tracking, where many others would have thrown in the towel demoralized. Instead, this phenomenon has ground a lot 'of miles more than me ... It is here, now!
steep climb through the woods, with the scent of the pines and the light turns to night. We arrive at a shelter that I remember: Paul, who follows closely, hollowed out a mint tea and a shepherd's hut from Morocco ... The mint tea is in effect, but in the face of the Moroccan minister, that I see is a nice blonde woman with blue eyes and a wonderful smile! And I can not even think of having a hallucination, in my moments of madness, I usually see George Clooney ... Another long stretch in the forest, before exiting through sull'interminabile rising, sometimes even steeper, more or less straight, and at each side of the mountain reveals another long stretch, and more. Flashes of light blue sky, the legs hold up, but I do not take advantage. A bit 'of sugar from time to time, you never know. Through a couple of snowfields with bated breath: a few meters, with the passage already well marked by the footsteps of those who preceded me, but a quick glance to my left and move forward enough for me understand that if I slip, I would not stop much, much deeper. The light air I stick the shirt still wet to the skin, but does not make sense that I change here: there is little between the steep slope, the jump that will make me spit blood and tears, as well as more sweat. Proceed with caution and slow down a bit ', as the path becomes narrow and slippery. I look forward to the ramp ... For out of here.
arrives, the ramp, and how if he comes, here she is. The trajectory of a vertical climb becomes. And is more bitter than I thought: I had not calculated the mud ... Already it is difficult to climb with the nose almost glued to the trail, planting sticks as a kind of picks ice, let alone if the shoes do not always grip on slippery ground and on wet rocks. Calm and cool: I'm afraid of slipping, but also inadvertently hurl a stone on the head of those who follow me ... I would not really be in the shoes of those who pass here at night. I put the soul in this part, to bridge the gap compared to those before me the strength, the third climb is almost done. Between a slip and the other, fear makes me almost levitate to the top of the hill. But at the top, a glass of hot tea I did not handle anyone. And even some last minute break to change my shorts and shirt: now you go and it will be cold. Just a quick glance at the panorama from the hill, then down toward the plateau: the lake is still largely frozen, a rainbow of colors from blue to pink to white ice of the sunset ... I mention a few running steps, but you better not pull too far. I never dared hope that we can still count in the most difficult stretch of the descent, the light of day.
Over the plateau, the trail drops down through a series of hairpins, next to the rushing waterfall of the river, almost deafening. Farther down, towards the second plateau, I see some competitors skiing on the snowfield without skis: the panic comes over me ... Fortunately, I notice a couple of dots instead took the path of scree. Luckily, the snow is no alternative: When we arrive, I have no doubt and I throw myself on the rocks. Awkward, disjointed, a torture for my feet, but always better than skating. There, among the few huts on the plateau, is already in the spotlight of refreshment. Unbelievable, because the distances are reduced when it was already sent to the memory location. And now I know what and how much there is to here to here to there ... Fill the bottle and allotment, Planaval destination, a long soft descent. Six, seven miles, approximately, a runner next to me, judging from the Tuscan dialect, promises to who knows who, over the phone, reaching Planaval quarter of an hour. Boggle: yes, a quarter of an hour, not even by helicopter!
The long descent over a stream: passage in which I take the providential help of a competitor that makes me way. Then off in the woods, without end. Now it's dark on the right, downhill, lights and buildings; around me, leaves, branches and roots that gives the front view of life, left a ghostly form of motion imagery. I remember that shortly before the rest, the path gets wider and starts to climb slightly, because, passing by the silhouette of a building, perhaps a barn, and give ear to the sound of cowbells from the darkness, I seem to see a small light that proceeds Leste, a little 'higher. And soon, much sooner than I expected, right here on my lights Planaval. The lights, voices, the hum of the generators. Perfect, Gian: now, quiet. You'll still twenty miles, a little more or less: stop, eat, take back a moment. Yeah, one word ... I drink Coca Cola at will, even if it is at room temperature, which means cold up here, I drink tea and chewed something, but not as much as would like my tummy. I'm hungry, but does not want to go down pappatoria: tantovale then fill the bag that I attached to the shoulder and try to throw something on the way down. So, from here onwards, there is a good stretch in the plan.
Recovery sticks and run away, munching on dried fruits and chocolate. The light of the rest fades slowly, but now the way I mark the two competitors un po' più avanti di me. Va tutto bene, finché posso approfittare della traccia, sia pure lontana, delle loro frontali. Il guaio è che, all'improvviso, li raggiungo e, complice una loro sosta, li sorpasso. Sono dolori... Non che manchino le bandierine di segnalazione, tutt'altro; è solo che, con l'aggravante delle mie difficoltà di vista, mi tocca zampettare su sassi e sfasciumi, là dove non si può più parlare di un vero e proprio sentiero. La vedo, la bandierina successiva; il problema è arrivarci senza capitomboli... Ripenso a quella splendida notte di agosto del 2008, quando ho percorso l'itinerario di questa gara con la guida di Matteo. Siamo passati di qui nella notte, anche quella volta, ed abbiamo tribolato l'indicibile per poi scovare la traccia quasi per caso: adesso capisco... Non è facile nemmeno stanotte, con le balise a guidare la rotta! Incespico un'infinità di volte e perdo il senso della distanza; so che, tra poco, mi toccherà affrontare l'ultima rampa... Ma non riesco a valutarne la distanza. E più inciampo, più sento salire il nervoso. Per fortuna, il cielo è meravigliosamente limpido, anche se la luna questa notte non ci fa compagnia.
Il rumore della cascata è fragoroso, assordante; dà alla testa, soprattutto nell'ultimo ripidissimo tratto. Per quel che posso, alzo l'occhio verso le lucine che salgono lente sulla verticale della mia capoccia, ma al buio non riesco a farmi un'idea distance. Gian walk, climb as fast as you can, and think of something else, not the noise that you're battered eardrums ... Or crazy! Here, as on Liconi, you are walking and slipping in the mud, that anguish, made a hand resting on a foot that you do not know if it takes ... Fatigue, breathlessness, heart bursting, who hear me to get you by, take advantage of a break. Woe to stop rising, wo .. What is almost over, I can not see it, but I feel it when your knees begin to do some 'less effort to lift the bulky rear. I feel an intense smell of grilled meat, but maybe it's my imagination ... The volunteers of the control point are improvising a barbecue at night? I do not know, I do not approach even for a glass of water and greeting step further surprised to find already on the long stretch of dirt road, almost level, leading to the pasture. Walking fast, with lights Planaval on the right, but much lower ... And the sleep that I suddenly falls on him. No, kale, is not the time ... Yet, it is fatal to happen in this trait: it is easy to travel here, there are no dangers or surprises, unless you stumble on their own feet. Slalom between the wells should be traces of the storm last week. I admire the stars and yawn, I get lost behind thoughts stray so far from the dreams, and maybe this is not a middle way between waking e sonno. Non è il momento di cedere; manca davvero poco, ormai.
L'alpeggio è deserto; ne sono sorpresa, mi aspettavo di trovarci il bestiame ed i cani da guardia. Nulla, questi muri hanno quasi l'aspetto di ruderi, sporchi e riparati da coperte stracciate a mò di tenda. Ma forse è il buio che rende l'immagine più cupa di quel che è. O il sonno.
Il corridore che ha scollinato poco prima di me è già sparito, arzillo ed agile. Io ho un sonno tale che vorrei davvero sedermi a dormire... Solo qualche minuto... Ma è meglio di no, quassù ci si raffredda in un attimo. Forza, Gian, vedrai che tra non molto raggiungerai il punto di ristoro. La strada diventa sentiero, sono confusa, non ricordo bene where, how, for how long. Climb, descend, climb again, a curve, another curve and behind the dark, nothing, no one besides me. Yet it is the right way, there are the tapes ... A grassy slope with no end, his eyelids growing heavy. The dark noise of the generator is a real breath of life for me: light, voices, here is the refuge. I throw it with enthusiasm: it is not hunger that drives me, but the desperate attempt to wake up. Coca Cola, the, for the umpteenth time, then division, with the promise to come back in September, with a cargo of the famous peppers Carmagnola, straight from the festival.
Now is really the last climb. During the day, almost a joke, but in the darkness ... The path mows the lawn, going to turns, and then it becomes a beam in a slope, with the gap on the right. I see nothing but the narrow strip of land, a little wider than my foot, and the slope that dissolves into thin air, where my front light can not help me. And here my legs tremble: proceed very slowly, one step after another thought, even with the knowledge that, so take me an eternity. Pendo left for fear of tumbling down on the right: I have nerves like violin strings, because I know what awaits me ... At the end of the beam, as expected, the pan into the fire. At the head Fetita you get back a piece of rock on which, alas, are your hands; but to date would still be tolerable ... The trouble is that I can not find the path line between balise and the other, will also be primary, of course, but I can not, really are helpless. Overcome difficulties with the first delicate step, his feet unsteady on the bit of damp soil, and to cope I cling to everything, including shrubs. I try with the second, successful, point your foot, I do the momentum ... The support and I find myself slipping in an instant, without even realize, his hands clinging to the rocks, sticks dangling from the straps at the wrists and feet that are no longer taken. E 'panic. I can turn myself back, I lean to the stone in the attraction produced by trusting my voluminous ass and realize that in a moment, from here, I do not unnail more ... With my heart went crazy and sobs that push to go out, I try to rearrange ideas. The rock next to me gives me the same confidence of a mirror too steep, if I try again, I get straight and spun in the arms of Beelzebub. I cry, yes, at least to me vent, but I know that is not the most useful solutions ... I just have to wait, to hope that there is still a competitor behind me. I sit in the bushes, her face to nowhere. A few minutes, have the chills I bite back, and here is a small light, or rather two. More or less I feel like I've seen get a whole team of Relief Alpine, complete with a Saint Bernard and flask. As if someone had just said "Lazarus, rise and walk." Trample no mercy what little is left of my dignity and with her voice still shaky, I ask for help at the first of the two lights. Moved with pity, the holy man takes to heart my case and I almost back to my weight, not only makes me way, but now it gives me a great sense of security. I entrust us with such momentum that, if at this moment I would say "Take a leap and plunge below", I think it would obey without question ... It 'a reader of my stories, the Samaritan: damn what a fine figure remedy ... I can not even hide, this kind of cold and shivering bundle has a name and a family name now. Patience, the important thing is that we are now at the top, out of the nightmare. There is a control point at the top, but the most dangerous section is completely unprotected ...
Tribolo a little 'to go down to the Pietroni, even here, the technique on all fours with reinforcement of buttock is the one that saves me. Then surely lose the trail of my guardian angel, is too strong, he ... I do not just have an endless descent into La Salle, fighting against sleep singing everything that comes to mind me, stuff the melody of colorful expletives. The right calf is contracted, is bad enough, by downloading the weight go down as far as possible, on poles and on the other leg: thus, a good number of twisted left ankle to balance at least provide the sensation of pain on both sides.
The lights of the valley, you saw up there, they disappear quite soon, when the vegetation returns to swallow up the path. One thought I rumbles between the temples never ends, never ends ... More really does not end this nightmare down with his back that cry out for revenge s'inciampano legs, sleep that demands its toll.
The small cluster of houses, the last resting spot, arrives unexpectedly, as a true liberation. The volunteers, despite the late hour, are more hard and jovial as ever ... And there is even the cake! Step out like a meteor I grabbed two nice pieces and forth, still downhill, dirt road and then footpath and road yet. Finally, the town. You could run, here, wanting to, but I see that nobody wants ... Nor me. There are three or four souls in torment, to dangle between the silent houses, the fountains and cascades of flowers in the breeze stirred vessels. And find a familiar face, good Silvio totally different pace, in the end we arrive at the same port, more or less the same time. There remains only the last restaurant, then off, a few miles of dirt road along the river, I remembered downhill ... Yeah, so it seemed. A run can not do it, the calf is nailed, the right foot rests only with a ninety-degree angle. All that remains brisk by the target: a chat to digest the latest effort to update each other on the latest adventures. When the road comes out of the first houses Morgex, I look up and see that already stand out in the mountains a bit 'more in the sky ... The first, very first light of dawn. The clock tower indicating the four and a half passed by little, you see that stay below the nineteen hours ... Silvio is sure, but I hardly believe it, accept it only when I realize that the finish is not as I feared, as well Morgex, but it is in the center.
recognize the shape of George: the madman brutally interrupted sleep in the comfortable hotel to come to expect ... Take photos, join the race, shoot again, and say that in the 47 km leg of the short course, which are still far from a picnic, trails in less than ten hours ... The last pain, subway, then the middle path, the arc arrival ... It 's done. Over, once again, failed to perfection: 18h 48 ', half an hour less than last year. And I just have to celebrate in a more sinister, out of respect for corpaccione tired and flushed: a solemn cold beer ... For the series, if not kill, in this case for congestion, then strengthens!
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