Travel to seventy per hour for the twelve-km Frejus tunnel is really a constraint that can barely stand: I already touched slip inside the mountain, I'd like lifting myself from here as soon as possible ... I do not think they suffer from claustrophobia, but awareness of who knows how many tons of rock have suspended a few feet above my bigwigs does not inspire me a great sense of tranquility. But no, woe, the electronic Big Brother watching me: If only I venture to drop a bit 'more of the foot on the accelerator, a zealous representative of the Gendarmerie will find waiting for me, with open arms and flashing lights on, the output of gut. It will then be true, or is terrorism? Judging by the car following me at a distance of hyper strict security, might be true. Moreover, this evening there was no alternative. Matthew We have already syrupy journey from Genoa to Carmagnola, after work, when it arrived, at around eight mezza, è stato catapultato all'istante sul sedile passeggero della mia fida Corsa, insieme al bagaglio: altra partenza, destinazione Queige, pochi chilometri oltre Albertville lungo la strada che sale al Cormet de Roselend e, poi, al Piccolo San Bernardo. Vittima quasi inconsapevole, Matteo, della mia furia podistica: l'ho iscritto, suo malgrado, all'Ultra Trail du Beaufortain, 103 km per 5.800 m dichiarati di dislivello in salita. Tre ore di viaggio, mal contate, da casa, interrotte solo da una breve sosta per visita turistica al bagno pubblico del parcheggio: ho sonno, eccome se ho sonno, ma voglio a tutti i costi arrivare a destinazione, prima di nanna, in modo da essere già, domani, sul luogo del delitto. Concetti vaghi, "oggi" and "tomorrow" is already midnight when one of the few houses c'inerpichiamo Queige, subjecting the poor clutch the Opel to the most horrific abuse. And the start is set for four in the morning, which means that we have two and a half hours of sleep a comfortable provision, and indeed up, we are generous: two hours and forty.
We wander for a while 'aimlessly through the dark and desolate streets of the country, however, after a disastrous attempt at second base on a stretch of steep slope, to which the engine of the Opel reacts with a heartrending cry, I decide that it is the case for going to sleep. Tomorrow morning, that soon, we will hunt the exact point of the race. Said and done: system the car more or less flat, down with the seat m'imbozzolo in my sleeping bag, the noises of the endless preparations of Matthew - but what the heck will need to rummage for some sleep '? - Go off into oblivion.
the trill of the alarm, open my eyes to the darkness, the same that I had left earlier. Sleep short but deep, restorative, at least for me. A grunt in unison brings us back to reality: we're here, now, let us arm ourselves and go. I move cautiously before an arm, then another, then the neck, back. Finally, the legs, even the leg, the offending and tortured. I fight for a week with a tremendous contraction in the right calf: I bombarded with all sorts of chemical weapon, by Muscoril the anti-inflammatory tablets and cream, but again the other day I had a hard time walking in a decent home. The movement of the foot is very limited, I can not do much more than the heel resting on the floor: lengthen the tip is utopia.
The temperature is just above ten degrees, a Siberia, for my taste, a long process of self-persuasion to make me change my clothes and try on the race, while Matt has already put into action jaws, the more unstoppable than those of a crocodile. Breakfast, if you can define, but is rather a night snack, cake, yogurt, fruit juice, all that che ieri ho buttato un po' alla rinfusa nello scatolone della pappatoria. Il neurone è ancora ottenebrato dal sonno; rinuncio a controllare lo zaino, tanto, in questa condizione, è inutile. Metto in moto la Opel e trattengo il respiro, memore dell'ultima offesa che le ho inflitto: parte... Col favore del buio, individuiamo già dall'alto un'area illuminata, giù a fondovalle, accanto alla strada principale; senz'altro è quella la nostra meta. Infatti, c'infiliamo con altre auto in una stradina sterrata e poi in un prato, in mezzo ai tralicci dell'alta tensione, destinato a parcheggio. Tutto buio: ci si arrangia con la pila frontale. Accanto a noi, qualcuno ha addirittura imbandito il tavolino per la colazione. La consegna dei numeri di gara, veloce e spartana, si svolge sotto un gazebo: il pacco gara contiene una bella canotta con il profilo altimetrico della corsa. Controllo del materiale obbligatorio e via, siamo liberi di tornare all'auto e strappare qualche minuto di sonno, come Matteo, o di andare a caccia di un bagno, come immancabilmente faccio io. Camminare su e giù per il prato mi rosicchia via quel poco di speranza che nutro per questa gara: il polpaccio fa malissimo... Non riesco nemmeno a mascherare un po' l'andatura zoppa.
Mi imbatto nell'unico altro concorrente italiano, oltre a noi, Maurizio. Non è un appuntamento noto, questo, dalle nostre parti; del resto, si tratta di fatto di una prima edizione, visto che, l'anno scorso, la gara, the real first date was interrupted by bad weather. Expected departure for the four and a half, slowly, from the four cardinal points, the lights converge around the gazebo and the small wooden structure that doubles as a bar. I can not tell if this is a sports field, or something like that. Even Matt wakes up from slumber: Just tell him you need to eat ... There is also coffee, disgusting, but still hot.
Among the buzz of the crowd, I sense a few words of the brief introductory speech, strictly in French. Quaff coffee, overcome the ritual of the first check. A few minutes later, with a little 'late, off, off we go. At the trot, unfortunately, with great anguish for my disabled leg. Thank goodness that the slope almost immediately rears up on a dirt road, muddy in the middle of dense forest. The stars disappear, while trampling on our way loam and sticky in the light of the front. Fight, as always, with the anguish of departure, his heart seems about to burst, and also, this time with the leg to keep as much as possible away from the efforts, making even more weight than usual on the stick. Unfortunately, uphill, I can not help but support the toe, then "pull" the calf, I can only hope that the situation does not crash.
One after another, the lights of the companions of the race, two hundred people or so, move away. The glimpses of a wavy line, in the rare flashes of view free from the forest. We go up in the middle of the pastures, beautiful homes of wood and stone. Behind me, in addition to trust Matthew, soon remain only two people with the radio: they are the "scope". Accompanying a beautiful dog black and white, slender, a puppy full of enthusiasm that, according to his human friends, should act as a spur for runners recalcitrant, with bites. "Stimulateur" But I emphasize that pet seems, except a threatening animal.
What catches your eye, immediately, is to follow the right path will not be so easy. Signage is poor at least, a couple of times already in the first few miles, we lack the crucial crossroads. Nothing irreparable, but it is not encouraging thing. Okay I can count on Matthew, who is a hound and find the right way even in the most intricate labyrinths, and should be who is a good idea if you stop for a few hundred meters are no longer visible signs, but ...
Finally, the first light of day, the first trail of blue. I note with regret that the days have already shortened significantly. It 'time more cold air stings the skin. Some yawn too, to remind us, if any were needed, that two and a half hours of sleep are not the ideal preparation for a trail by a hundred-odd miles. The climb is steep, difficult at times; di tanto in tanto, poi, spiana, attraversa un prato, si rituffa nel bosco. Ricordo poco del profilo altimetrico: somiglia all'elettrocardiogramma di un paziente molto agitato.
L'ambiente si fa sempre più selvaggio e pelato, nella prima luce di una splendida alba. Il polpaccio duole, ma, per il momento, sembra sopportare lo sforzo: il mio terrore è che, prima o poi, ceda... Sono costretta a camminare in modo innaturale, asimmetrico, caricando il peso, per quanto possibile, sulla gamba sana. Matteo, paziente, segue e non fiata. Ci lasciamo alle spalle definitivamente il bosco, per inoltrarci lungo un sentiero stretto, di terra secca e polverosa e pietre. Si vede già la nostra meta, il primo colle; c'è gente appollaiata lassù. Ad onor del vero, c'è gente dappertutto: il controllo dei passaggi è manuale, ma capillare; ogni pochi km si incontra un omino che segna su un foglio il nostro numero di pettorale, e non lesina mai un complimento ed un incoraggiamento. La Roche Pourrie, quota 2000 m circa: sembra un colle, in verità, nel senso che, effettivamente, qualche metro di dislivello lo si perde, dopo. Ma la salita ben presto riprende, blanda, a mezza costa, lungo uno splendido pendio di erba verdissima alternata a pietre, un sentiero così stretto che sembra quasi insufficiente al passaggio. Non posso dire di star bene; non capisco se questa strana sensazione sia dettata solo dal disagio di avere al seguito Matteo, che sta certo mordendo disperatamente the brake, or if your leg is missing a gear today. Climb a good step towards the next step in altitude, the Col des Lacs, altitude 2,200, also well guarded: and some already have reached the fugitive, but the little heart and hard work is terribly short of breath. By Gian, do not worry, it can only get better. Hopefully. Grumpy silently, to myself, poor Matthew, at least once in a while, I have to force myself not to treat it as a lightning rod. The descent that follows is long and difficult for my poor calf stiff, and even chopsticks to touch overtime. It falls between plants and flowering rhododendron majestic of all colors, it seems that these paths are often little more than traces exist only for us runners.
The race track intercepts a dirt road, slightly uphill, which also invited to run, but today, for me, running is really unthinkable. The right leg is in a precarious condition, the left ankle does what it can, but suffers from overwork. We face then a beam in a slight slope, across the meadow and next to a hut, is surrounding pasture, cowbells and the barking of dogs. It would be heavenly if it were not for the weak that torments me. Proceed, but with little confidence in my ability. The restaurant, which already had Matthew I said before, offers a little 'comfort, we added almost breathless and out of energy. Sugar, the only thing I want and sugar from afar, in the meadow and the fetishes of winter sports, the monstrous lifts, I point the bottle of Coca Cola, even were a sniper. At the table, bathed in sunshine, I arrive with a sense of joy and liberation: five minutes of rest, let me look ... Quaff gallons of soft drinks from Coca Cola to the water in which they are diluted juices that are used for the ice cubes I eat something, but without conviction, more than anything else, awareness of the need to store calories. Ecubetti dried fruit sugar, in addition to a few segments of orange, that's all that I can throw down. Behind us, the refreshment, the two scopes come with the dog, if we are not the latest, little we're missing.
With little conviction, sticks recovery and resume the journey, Matthew will soon join me. A short descent and then a nice path between white stones and flowers of every color, the rhythm of a runner ahead of me a little. Below is a quick and steep, uphill hairpins, I know I should put a little 'common sense, but the climb is the only track where I really feel alive ... On fast as possible, in pursuit of the few fugitives still within my reach, bend after bend, eyes on the ground. I'd like to, yes, admire the view: the trouble is that, just look away from the goal of my step, m'inciampo. It is not necessary to add to ailments ailments, just no.
The climb culminated just over two thousand meters of altitude, the next long downhill gradient and makes me lose courage. This is not the tiredness of today, is weak that I carry around for some time, which affects the body but also the spirit, apparently. And there's the nightmare of the barrier time ... At the barrage, which is to barrage the lake for the laggards of the trail. Why he told me, Matthew, why? It should by now know, with the clock that I do not want to have to do in these situations. I do not need anything, know when the gate is closed and someone will stop my race, so I can not help it, I can not go any faster, today less than ever. More stumble downhill, the more my mood rolls down towards the valley floor, in the company of stones or who inadvertently stirs football. Gian, you can not ... You are here because you asked for it, did not see the time, and now ... Why this long face? These gloomy thoughts, almost of anger, you can not turn to anyone but yourself? I do not spend anything, that gate. Matthew does not speak, does not comment, but you see, who is skeptical. And if he is skeptical, usually more inclined to believe that even the impossible possible ... Under a sun now up and decided, from the path we go down on a nice dirt road, in light uphill along an artificial lake. Beautiful ... It seems to me that he had understood from conversations of the two brooms, which we'll make the rounds almost complete mirror of water. Matthew would like to run, invites me to do so at your own risk, because right now my nerves on edge, a thousand thoughts that crowded blacks, the regret of not having any hope, the terror of the leg that any moment could nail. Other than running. Never before at this time I want to be alone, to decide for myself without causing damage or nuisance to others. And because these two continue to stay in it attached to the ribs? Okay, their task is to monitor the latest repentant souls of the race and make sure that nobody is dispersed ... But they have just always have to stay stuck, like vultures hovering over our heads? They can not leave ten meters of peace? And that radio continues obsessively to croak ... I would swallow it to him! So
broods and walking briskly along the lake, barely rippled by the wind, sparkling with sunlight. The two that are the purpose seems not to understand, remain for a while 'in step with us, and then lengthen the strides away, go away. "We stop, I keep repeating," I think they stop us, you'll see. They went on, perhaps even to the point of control and we expect there just to announce that we are kaput. " I'm more than convinced, and already the sadness surrounding the joints, slow down the pace. We pass the dam to our destra il lago, alla sinistra un salto di cemento impressionante, due scalinate che sembrano scendere dritte all'inferno. Ed una strada asfaltata che risale, lì accanto, a tornanti. Lungo il lago, camper parcheggiati, famigliole in trasferta, a passeggio o a prendere il sole; voci e frastuono di tifo: non è per noi, ma chissà per chi. Ho visto un paio di ciclisti sui tornanti della salita: forse l'applauso è per loro. Del resto, proprio oggi si corre una gara ciclistica sul giro del Monte Bianco, che passa proprio da queste parti. "E' inutile – insisto – tanto ci fermano", ormai sono rassegnata. Scorgo da lontano la sagoma delle due scope, con il cagnetto al guinzaglio, che confabulano con altre persone: "Ecco - I think with the heart that goes berserk and tears in my eyes - it's over ...". I walk holding my breath, one of them looks at me, came towards me ... It marks my bib number. Come, on, is made, we can go again. ... I hardly believe this is, in my faithful traveling companion, a long climb. Well, we hope that the long climb is beneficial to my hocks, my neurons in my heart. We need to regain almost a thousand meters in a single blow, destination Col du Coin: by Gian, it's as if your race was born again now. Slowly, step by step. Still a lot of water and woods, streams a short distance the 'from each other, often filled the bottle, including reprimands di Matteo che è, in queste cose, molto più attento e salutista di me. Io resto dell'idea che l'acqua che bevo qui non possa far più danno di quella che raccolgo nel bicchiere dal rubinetto di casa, e se anche ci sono in giro le mucche, beh... A qualcosa dovrà pur servire, il sistema immunitario. Povero Matteo, fa di tutto per essermi gregario ideale: e lo è... Il problema non è lui; sono io, capricciosa, preda degli eventi e delle emozioni. E' sempre la solita storia: quando corro da sola, soffro per forza in silenzio, anche perché ben presto cado vittima di una sorta di dissociazione per cui io stessa non sopporto più le mie lamentele, la mia debolezza, e finisco, come si suol dire dalle mie parti, per "darmi un andi". Se però accanto a me c'è qualcuno e, peggio ancora, qualcuno che si affanna in mio aiuto, allora, chissà perché, in questi frangenti estraggo il peggio del peggio del mio sadismo, quasi mi compiacessi della mia cattiveria, un po' come la strega di Biancaneve. Sono un mostro...
La lunga salita mi rimette in pace con il mondo, anche perché so che, tra non molto, arriveremo nei paraggi di un ristoro. Non posso dire di aver fame, ma farei volentieri il pieno di zollette di zucchero. E Coca Cola, naturalmente. Quando la fatica tormenta il corpaccione, i desideri diventano davvero elementari; basta poco, per dare un po' di conforto. Un passo dopo l'altro, sempre con l'aiuto dei bastoncini, sempre con Matteo fedele al seguito. Compaiono all'orizzonte alcuni compagni di corsa, alla spicciolata: anche questa volta, la salita non mi tradisce. Vero, son partiti tutti come pazzi, ma sapevo che avrei raccattato qualche vittima della propria eccessiva fiducia, prima o poi. Il sentiero ci riporta ben oltre quota duemila, in un teatro fantastico di guglie bianche, illuminate dal sole, quasi spettrali nella loro severità. Sembra di essere sull'asteroide immaginato nel film "Armageddon". Seguo la traccia con gli occhi, finché m'imbatto in una piccola costruzione: piccola, vista di qua... Un rifugio, possibile, lassù, dove osano le aquile ed i masochisti come noi? Eppure sì, pare proprio un rifugio, l'unico baluardo di presenza umana da queste parti. Quindi, sarà lì, il punto di ristoro. Matteo sogna la pasta, ma io la vedo dura: secondo me, sarà un ristoro spartano, perché le vettovaglie, quassù, credo possano arrivare solo in elicottero... O a spalle!
Ancora una sequenza di tornantini sassosi, alla testa di questa vallata aspra ed inondata di sole, ancora un po' di tempo per ammirare le guglie aguzze, se potessi farlo; peccato che le uniche punte che io posso permettermi di tenere d'occhio siano quelle dei miei piedi. Altrimenti, non appena distolgo lo sguardo, m'inciampo.
Sono ben lieta di raggiungere il rifugio: ho fame, sì, ma in particolare ho una gran voglia di zucchero, oltre che, come sempre, di bibite dolci. Ed ho bisogno a few minute break. We recently passed the fortieth km: it seems impossible that, in all these hours of walking, so we walked a little way ... It 's true, I am a bit' sluggish and have a walk uncertain today because of the calf rebel, the fact is, however, that the path is rugged uphill and downhill far from easy. In short, do not worry for what seems a delay, at least, I hope. Of course, once again, the estimates of Matthew about the time of arrival can be seen to unpack everything, always makes the calculations himself, he insists, but not to take account of the albatross.
At the refreshment table, a little delay 'between glasses of Coca Cola, cheese, nuts, pistachios, and I do most times around, even if it is not able to swallow that much. A slight cold wind blows, which protects me from the small crowd of runners stranded up here, many seated, his face drawn with fatigue. Luckily, I'm not the only hard to find the path. Pots of hot tea come and go from inside the small wooden building, transported from volunteers hardworking and cheerful. Here there is no trace of the extreme environmentalist delusions that are rampant, unfortunately, in Italian trail: a plastic cup is not rifìiuta anyone. While we are, I make a brief visit to the bathroom of the refuge: it is a separate building, also in light wood, which is worth a mention, and the "discharge" to call it that, is not in a normal water, but directly on the ground, on straw. And there is no flush: Please take down a sign, once the session, a handful of straw, or sawdust, in short, what is in the box next to the "throne", depending on the season, there available. I do not know what everything is hygienic, I have the impression that in Italy such a system would put the operator of the shelter to a crossfire of allegations by ASL, the NAS Carabinieri, forest rangers and even the Navy . But I like it: yes, it seems ecological.
Matthew is waiting with his jacket wear. The air is freezing up here, despite the sunshine. We share the stony ground: a joy for my precarious balance, especially when the stones, add the snow. Soft snow, fortunately, and flat. He stumbled to regain the path leading up with a nice slope to the Col du Grand Fond. Here too, the inevitable, the men of the organization, with their good notebook to record numbers. Obviously there's more: If there's one thing I understand, this trail is a climb that is not a descent. Never. The trail continues as a trail between the rocks, alongside a steep slope that does not give discounts to the victim who decides to want to slip. And, for seasoning il tutto, non ci facciamo mancare un po' di passaggi che Matteo supera con passo da Nureyev, mentre io preferisco la tecnica dell'Uomo Ragno: mi aggrappo, con ogni appendice più o meno prensile, ad ogni possibile appiglio, mi spalmo sulle rocce, sperando che quella storia dell'attrito, che il docente di fisica a suo tempo ha inutilmente cercato di inculcare nel mio neurone, sia proprio vera. Inutile dire che, dietro di me, si forma un incolonnamento pari solo a quelli di Torino, davanti alla Stazione di Porta Nuova nell'ora di punta e con i lavori del metrò in corso.
Incespico e mi lamento, e dire che ancora non so quel che tra poco mi attenderà. Passaggio alla Breche de Parozan: ha un aspetto inquietante già in salita, un sentierino cattivo e ripido, aereo su un panorama tanto bello quanto minaccioso di lame e guglie di roccia, e nuvole in arrivo. Non parliamo poi di quel che tocca subire in discesa... Più che scendere, qui al povero corridore è richiesto di rovinare a valle attraversando una ripidissima pietraia. Marca malissimo, e Matteo lo intuisce un attimo prima di me. Mi fa strada e si pone tra me ed il baratro: ma non è che la cosa mi tranquillizzi, affatto; anzi, aggiunge al mio terrore anche la paura di scivolare e trascinare di sotto anche lui. Ha un bel dirmi che, se si scivola sulla pietraia, prima o poi ci si ferma: è quel che accade prima, appunto, che mi terrorizza... Scendo alla cieca, tutta piegata con il fianco verso la montagna, cercando putting the legs cut, but it is panic every time he slides down the support, carrying a pile of stones with a sound that is almost festive. You do not see anything or almost panoramic view from the fog slowly enveloped the top of the valley. More and more terrified, I try to follow the advice of Matthew and, in my confused mind, the curse, as if it were his fault that I am in this complicated situation: in reality, both in my presence that I alone am responsible for its . But I need a scapegoat, and for his misfortune, he is the only one available. Scroll down, sobbing, unable to see the end of the nightmare, because the stone fades into the fog, I see multicolored figures that I pass on, fast and secure where I would not be able to move half a step without the help of Matthew. And, when the slope slowly seems to fade, and I recover a minimum of standing, I put in motion the neuron self-defense that was the straw that broke the camel's back ... We have not even fifty km path, we are traveling as snails, and if the kilometers ahead of us are like those we have overcome, to me it takes two weeks to complete the tour ... My faithful follower does her best to console me: "No come on, from here on should be better." But the opposite effect, to revive the fire of my anger: "How the hell do you know how it will be the path da qui in poi! Smettila di prendermi in giro", sono di questo tenore i pensieri che agitano il vuoto della mia scatola cranica, ed ogni tanto, sfuggendo al controllo, arrivano anche alle corde vocali. "No, basta, se è così, io al prossimo ristoro mi fermo, lascio perdere". Lo dico, e ne sono convintissima. Matteo, stoicamente e saggiamente, tace; tanto, qualsiasi cosa dicesse, non farebbe che fomentare la mia stizza. Mi conosco, sono così; a mente fredda, poi, ci ripenso e concludo d'essermi comportata da ragazzina capricciosa, senza una punta di razionalità... Ma in questi momenti vorrei tutto ed il contrario di tutto, vorrei un fantoccio su cui scaricare tutte le colpe dei miei guai.
La lunga discesa su Plan Mya has the effect of cool off a bit 'and to mitigate the anger, barely, the memory of terror on stony ground. The clouds have now covered the sky, the fog enveloping the peaks and narrows his eyes. As soon as I stop to eat, the cold comes over me, and say that we are under two thousand meters. Here, a small crowd welcomes runners volunteers, relatives, especially beautiful dogs, what I am more than happy to meet. Pampering Two are better than any anti-anxiety medication. It starts, of course: that Matthew is more determined and I are very hesitant, staring at the paths that disappear into the mist. I do not know what time it is, but it is late afternoon, will not be long before it is buio. E se la nebbia dovesse rimanere? Con la segnalazione del percorso così scarna e precaria, sarebbe un incubo.
Attraversiamo una strada asfaltata, in mezzo ad un parcheggio ed alcuni bar, con un certo traffico di turisti, poi ci ributtiamo nel prato e via, ancora in salita. Destinazione, la Crete des Gittes, un bel passaggio appunto in cresta: dal sentiero, prima ripido e poi più dolce, si vede un colletto e sembra di dover scendere, dopo; invece, il colletto non è affatto un colle e nasconde, con un roccione, il proseguimento della traccia, con tanto di targa che indica il sentiero militare. La nebbia sembra essersi un po' diradata, quel tanto che basta per lasciarci camminare senza rischio. Ne approfitto per mangiare un po' dried fruit and gobble half a bag of Nimesulide, for pity of my battered leg, we are more or less half way, although the difference, at least on paper, should be mostly behind us. Yeah, should ...
The illusion does not last long. Soon, on the next ascent, plunged back into the mist. And this time it looks really thick. Accomplice in the sunlight, which now tends to decline, we see very little; Locate marks trail becomes a problem. I follow Matthew, but with more heart pounding, and not for the effort. Weather forecasts have excluded, for now, the likelihood of rain, but in the mountains you can never rely on any certainty. This evening and, even so, you do not see anything, if it ever were to start raining ...
From nothing, check in front of our nose a building is the Refuge de la Croix du Bonhomme. Comes out, numb, a volunteer who asks us if everything is ok. Answer yes at all convinced. The path leads halfway up, I do not feel particular slope or uphill or downhill, because the legs are now the only form of perception that I have left. With the mist and foggy lenses, the eyes are useless. Fear makes its way without shame. A difficult passage for me, on stony ground, to overcome a torrent. And then ... Rain. Few, large drops, but enough to make me lose that glimmer of control I had so far preserved. I ask Matthew if it is not appropriate to give up and go back to the shelter: idle question, I already know your answer is no. I continue to run after him, is struggling to keep up with him, can barely see the path, a flurry of anguished thoughts in mind, and tears that never stop flowing. The paint marks that mark the trail are very few, sparse, nearly invisible, are never certain that we are on track. What will happen when night? If you happen to miss the road, who could end up? If you happen to put a foot wrong, with the darkness and the fog? I'm terrified of losing our bearings ... Then, come to think, perhaps not even be an event so tragic, to peggio, basterebbe fermarsi ed attendere l'arrivo del giorno. Cosa che però, al freddo della notte a duemila metri, sudati ed umidi, sarebbe tutt'altro che piacevole. La pioggia s'interrompe, non il nostro cammino lungo questo sentiero su e giù che sembra non avere mai fine. Salire, scendere, ancora salire, ma la fatica non si sente più, superata ormai da ben altre preoccupazioni. Ho un bel pulire gli occhiali, non c'è nulla da fare. Il Col du Bonhomme è un supplizio di freddo e nebbia; la discesa lunga, tormentosa, senza che si possa vedere nulla. Non ce la faccio più: la luce del sole sta ormai sfumando, quella poca che riesce ancora a penetrare la nebbia. Un gabbiotto, due assistenti della corsa, poi ancora discesa and stones. And rain: drops again, almost Jupiter Pluvio you were having fun to test my already fragile nerves. 'S with a mixture of terror and rage that I threw against Matthew makes no sense to continue it, is a foolish and unnecessary risk, you may not see it, he who accompanies people in the mountains? And 'my overwhelming despair, when it is rolled on itself and, if so far I gritted my teeth, just in the literal sense of the word, for fear that her sobs getting out with the words, at this point I do not care any more, the Figure Barbina I do. I implore Matteo to retire at the next restaurant: it will soon be dark ... My pops not listen to reason, the next package reach two thousand meters of altitude, not more, and then it's almost done, we can not give up. He holds a lot in this race, and I now curse myself for writing it, indeed, for having entered both. Incredible, as the perception of danger at times magnified in a completely abnormal situation. "You can stop, if you want, I continue, I feel good, I want to finish." And I still wonder, to ask him how he can not understand, I'm terrified to go, yes, but I fear a thousand times stronger than if it remained there, at rest, knowing that he is still on the trails, in the dark, in fog. Provided that in Matthew seems the most normal of the world to my objections merely say that "there is nothing strange, nothing dangerous." And I m'infurio: I challenge anyone to find a mountain, even expert, who considers normal to go hiking at night, with the thick fog, with no certainty about the evolution of weather, without a shred of the map, trusting only a route which should have been traced and it is not. But damn it ... Do you understand or not, if you run out of track, if something happens to you, you will not find it until who knows when? It 'just so absurd that I'm saying?
Nothing. How to Talk to a concrete pylon, indeed, the pylon would be more receptive. He has the courage to ask me, the damned, if the reason for my prayer to withdraw is both "why then do you mind if I end and you do not." And this is the straw that breaks the camel's back: but who the hell I had to do? Not only today, but during the past years? The impulse is to take a stone and smash on the head ... True, I have always supported the value of free will and the sacred right to do what each wants for himself and his life. So it is right to accuse me that Matthew, now, of all remain: why, if he continues, then I continued, I could never think to stop knowing that he goes to take a chance alone. No, nothing to do, if he really is crazy enough to want to continue, then I follow him. I could not forgive, never, if something happens. But you may not be able to understand, he, I fear, that I'm asking you to please stop? Possible that instead of quibbling in a thousand philosophical questions about my behavior in his view absurd, can not simply be content, lifting myself that pain, because ... For me?
There is nothing more to say, no, nothing. Just walk, take his feet, in silence, chewing anger and disappointment that this person in front of me probably is not what I think, is a kind of unbalanced agitated for a race that will end if the end up, or nearly last, perhaps out maximum time at any cost and at any risk. I myself, just me then who are possessed for excellence, I would send the devil running, without even thinking. He did not. Ah, but when we finish, if you end up ...
endless bitterness accompanies the ascent to the Col du Joly, dusk, and a deathly silence, lips almost to hurt, fog and fatigue. Around for hours now can not see anything. Only, sometimes, a little 'space in front of the foot path. There is no way to get distracted, and the fog closes a bell tight on me, so I can keep stirring in my dark thoughts.
the Col du Joly, on a dirt road, and place the point of comfort. I reluctantly went to the table without saying a word; I eat and drink with no desire or interest. One of the volunteers speak of "orages" temporal Matthew inquires: it seems that the fog is going to thin out and it is expected a clear night. Sure, but it not so?
now resigned, angry, tired, I start over again without batting an eyelid, even though the neuron, desperate m'implora to stay there. With Matthew, I followed a French rider. Attack button, them, joking: I would want to kill them ... Especially one of them. Echoes in his head the question, "Could not have understood anything at all?". No reason that prompted me to ask him to stop, nothing of my fear. Street, come on. A wall of nothing: they are completely blind. I see Matthew's feet only if the rest almost stuck. But stop, this is not, this is the wrong direction, we're good, we've just broken ... Way along a rough track, one foot in front of others without seeing anything other than the paint marks. I worry not to lose ground, squinting, but not enough sometimes, Matthew stops, waiting for me, it goes without saying a word. Even thirty kilometers ... Thirty, an abyss, in a race like this with this kind of difficulty, with night and fog. Two more climbs of three, four hundred feet each, in theory, but here you go up forever, and to heights that seem endless. I have now lost track of time, space, as though following the same a complete stranger, without even more idea why, from time to time the fog is torn, a glimpse of the stars, then closes again and again to swallow it all. You may go up again? The impression is very clear that the organization said the drop is well below the reality, probably, in the measure have been taken into account only the real ups and downs of the many not, but they count, they do count if: ask my hocks!
Only in the long descent to Les Saisies, it seems to me that the volunteer at the restaurant, talking about the weather, he was right. The stars we see now for real, so many, in a black sky and clear, star lights the valleys, mountains profiles blacks. Little by little, I remember that there is a world around us. And I start to think that perhaps maybe, it's done really ... With the fog, it melts even the long, heavy silence of lead. In Les Saisies, refreshment, we will find a little 'comfort to fatigue and tension. Must go up again at an altitude of two thousand, but for now, I enjoy the comfort of the forest and trees of low altitude. The path goes down, but then goes back before dropping it altogether. With the adrenaline, it also goes into force on the day, I'm struck an unstoppable sleep, so that I can hardly keep my eyes open. Shadows and the trees become human figures or animals, which seem to appear suddenly on the path, even the stones come alive and moving by themselves ... I ask a few minutes of rest and I was allowed so we sit on the ground, in the middle of the path, embraced and supported each other. A deep sleep that seems to me forever, but tough, I think, only a few moments, as long as the cold side street in the limbs numb and in wet clothes, and we are still running. The lights of the country are below us: the distance, neither Matthew nor I dare not evaluated. But it seems far away, like all the coveted destinations.
reach, finally, the village of Les Saisies, 88 km, illuminated by streetlights and signs, but of course the desert at this time of night. Last gift before del ristoro, una scalinata metallica da scendere veloci: un supplizio, per le gambe... Poi, dopo una breve ricerca, troviamo finalmente il tavolo del ristoro. Pensavamo fosse ormai tardi... Invece i volontari ci accolgono ancora sorridenti, entusiasti, con la tavola imbandita di ogni golosità. Formaggio, patatine fritte, frutta secca, trangugio tutto quel che mi capita a tiro: e zucchero, e Coca Cola, e the caldo. Da seduta, questa volta. Ci dicono che, alle nostre spalle, c'è ancora una trentina di persone, e che i ritiri sono stati tantissimi. Benzina sul fuoco dell'entusiasmo per entrambi, adesso, anche se a me rimane, in fondo in fondo, un senso di amarezza, per aver corso un rischio che non aveva senso e per, beh sì, anche for other reasons. Gian Okay, come on, mica can pretend that it is always the poor Matthew to understand you. Sometimes you should be to strive to understand him. But ...
refreshed and invigorated, we go back once again on the march in pursuit of two lights ahead of us and make us that way. The reach and exceed shortly after having left behind the houses in Les Saisies, just where the climb begins. A rebus, from here on: you get in the middle of a pasture, where the search of the notches of paint is most difficult for a treasure hunt. We interrupt the sleep of a herd of cattle so many pairs of yellow eyes watching us ... If we had stumbled through the fog here, we ran the risk of serious tripped over in the belly of a cow, or, worse, a bull! You can not say that I feel just at home, here in the middle, perhaps the only hiker on the planet who has suffered by trying to chase a cow, but I remember it well, that episode.
Our track cuts the steepest slope along the line as possible. Matthew seems sure what it does: I do not just have to follow him with renewed force in the legs. The idea of \u200b\u200bhaving little more than a dozen of miles before I get the feeling that now come to an end. Although, for the first time in my experience sports from a distance, past the fear he has not dissolved completely, now that the waters seem finally calm. It will be that this race has given so many and such surprises me that it seems impossible that there is still some touches from priest joke, say, a flight of two kilometers with altitude of six hundred yards, a pass with his eyes closed on a rope bridge, a ford the river with the crocodiles, the famous crocodile Beaufortain.
The climb brings us to come out on a dirt road, where we reach and pass a bunch of competitors who take it easy. Then on, down in the darkness of the forest: corricchio as I can, not to wake a sleeping dog, that the calf that perhaps the effort of all the troubles faced so far, has stopped to show signs of impatience. Will apply the theory that trauma can superare vivendone un altro peggiore? Sembra di sì... Il muscolo che, fino a ieri mattina, era duro come il guscio di una noce, ora è tornato a guizzare quasi normalmente, per quanto possano guizzare i miei muscoli perennemente stanchi ed ingolfati.
Un colpo al cuore: la strada inverte, ancora una volta, la pendenza. Si torna a salire, ripido, nel bosco. Un ululato di rabbia e sconforto, all'unisono, squarcia la quiete della notte: "Bastaaaaaaaaaaaa!". Poche decine di metri, per fortuna, solo per raggiungere il punto di controllo. Organizzazione impeccabile davvero: ci sono uomini dell'assistenza ovunque, spuntano dove meno te l'aspetti, in cima ai colli, come gli stambecchi, o nel fitto della vegetazione, come i funghi. Then the long, final descent to Queige infinite. The lights are seen, down below, but you can lose a thousand times the income of the necessary steps to get there. The country seems to see through the leaves, then disappears, goes away, and you chase it away again. Matthew keeps an eye on the time and constantly adjusts its forward prediction: I knew it, I ... Now I've learned to take note of your estimated time and moltoplicarla for one and a half, or two, to get closer to reality. Twenty-six hours of time, and now nearly twenty-five years have passed from the start. When we get to Queige?
The path cuts through the woods more intricate: there seems true, finally, to see the stone wall of a building. The first houses in the country; slalom in the narrow streets, campanile, church planters, a fountain. The sky clears up soon, Sunrise is the second in this race that we admire, but now there is no time or disposition for poetry. We follow the arrows drawn in paint on the ground, invading the private garden of a house, always down to the valley floor until you reach the very back on the main road. E mo? Common sense would
that turns left, percorressimo those five hundred meters of the main road that separates us from the place of departure and arrival ponessimo and an end to our agony. But there's no sign on the ground that confirms this theory: and, come to think, would be too easy, a thousand miles away from the spirit of this race. We turn in circles, like tops, looking at least a vague indication that suggests what to do with our bones: then, as now we have given up hope and we decided to follow the main road, with one eye and the front light I see a dot of paint. Elementary, Watson: If the arrival is on my left, I have to go right, it seems logical to me, as I did not intuit?
A moment later, we pass the camp, the last point of control: a cold sweat ... We might have finally jumped out of the race for the ultimate stalking organization of Cerberus! We were not just a hair. And it still runs, along the lake, with the first, timid light of day, they told us two hundred yards, so there will be at least another three kilometers ... No: incredible dictu, this time we really arrived. A bridge, meadow, two wooden houses, it is made. Matt and I crossed the finish line together. He asks me, my traveling companion, if I am not happy now, having completed the course. Actually, I'm glad, yes, but, in vivo, because this is the end of a nightmare ... And I'm sorry ruiuscire not share the enthusiasm of Matthew, visibly moved. Without his help and his constant prodding, I would not have ever made, but the conviction of having committed an unnecessary foolishness leaves me still. Tomorrow, maybe, when I rigirerò medal in my hands the beautiful wood, carved with the initials "UTB 2010. For now, it takes a quick passage to the restaurant, with hot tea and a shower. It's almost six in the morning twenty-five hours and eleven minutes for a journey all in all very slow and difficult: you can not even say it's a bad result. A trip to camp - strictly in the car, why not walk two hundred meters to regulate them more - hot shower and wins the first pitch available for a few hours of sleep. And then we'll go hunting for a boulangerie to drown our sorrows in a baguette!
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