"The first 50 miles, all downhill ... No, no, this path is not for me." The first edition of Morenic Trail was already in the air for several months: a test of a hundred km, in the autumn is an opportunity not to be discarded, for me who already suffer from the idea of \u200b\u200bthe long, agonizing abstinence from racing in cold weather. But the sight of the elevation profile, are puzzled. It 's true, it seems the path of the electrocardiogram of a poor man with a tremendous fibrillation, however, amongst countless ups and downs, the first half of the race tends to decrease, while the second, by contrast, tends to rise. Andrate It starts at an altitude of 800 m; descend to an altitude of 200 m, more or less in the middle of the journey, and back up to the altitude of 800 m, Bross, point of arrival. Scroll through the eyes along the line of the path elevation from left to right, then left again. No more hesitation: is useless for me the neuron uncomfortable and force him to some kind of ruminations. So, we would like to finish that I sign up there. So, without too many worries, I enrolled there. Is it a route for me or not, I'll find out when I have the soles on the path.
But there is a but. The Trail Morenic part Saturday morning at 7. On Sunday, at 10, there would be Ecomaratona of Cuneo, in which I participated last year: I have wonderful memories and I would like to replicate the experience. Will sin of presumption, but I do not think it is impossible to run 42 km run 110 having finished just hours before: long, of course, not to set their own goals of timing. But the rankings, to me, is an insignificant detail, even when at the start of a race I may be fresh and rested. The problem is another: The trail starts at a location and get to another place, the two ends are just a few km as the crow flies, perhaps, but well-paved road 30 times. There are some links by bus from Bross, point of arrival, Andrate starting point: a pity that the first is for 21 on Saturday, now that I'm still lost in the woods of chestnut trees, running after the flags, and the next is at 8 am on Sunday, too late to achieve Cuneo time. I Rack your brains in search of a solution. Of course, the ideal would be to leave the car on arrival and take advantage of a shuttle me to move at the start, but this service, despite rumors, is not expected. Alternatively, I could take advantage of the aid offered by a friend, Brosso to pick up where I could leave the car on Saturday, before dawn, and up to me scarrozza Andrate, however, the very idea that there is nothing to bother a person has to do with the race makes me roll guts, because I would give proof of sapermela not get alone. I hate to depend on my neighbor.
I scan the road map on Googlemaps, again and again. I could do this: from home after a few hours of sleep; Baio Dora reach about 3, 3 and a half at most, walk the ground with 17 km separating from Andrate Baio, with its ascent, by bringing up both the backpack to use in the race, both the bag with the spare, to be left to the leaders of the organization and then find it will go. On completion of the test, I assume within 20 hours, then within three on Sunday morning, I would have about 13 km march, this time downward, to return to Baio to retrieve the car. And I could reach Cuneo on time, except falling asleep on the highway. But yeah, why not, it seems a good strategy.
In this, alas, I have reckoned without his host, or better, without that heavy rain in the night between Friday and Saturday, accompanied by my journey on the highway. A fine mess: sure, no one prevents me from remaining faithful to my plan of action and abandon the Opel in Baio Dora. The problem is that 17 km on foot in this flood would make me get to the starting already soaked and half frozen: in such conditions, twenty hours of travel would be an arduous task. Risk, in short, to send the ball in my trail. Thus ruminating, while the Opel me away fast, over Torino in a northerly direction towards Valle d'Aosta, and the wipers at full speed fighting an uneven battle against splashing water. Excellent prospect for the race, no doubt about it. She blinked, a vain attempt to focus on at least the white lines that mark the lanes. By Gian maybe stops ... Maybe better ... Maybe arrivals area and not raining. Yeah, right. If possible, la situazione è ancor più compromessa, in quel di Borgofranco. Accosto l'auto lungo la strada principale del paese, illuminata da fioche luci giallognole e deserta. C'è vita solo nelle pozzanghere, crivellate di goccioloni. Bah... Gian, arrenditi all'evidenza. Qui, se mantieni fede al tuo piano e ti sciroppi la camminata a piedi, fai, come si suol dire con finissima locuzione di origine tardo bizantina, una colossale vaccata. Ci rimetti il trail e, se va bene, anche la maratona; in compenso, guadagni una polmonite gratis.
Rassegnata, riavvio il motore e parto in direzione di Andrate, su per la bella salita tutta curve. Al primo slargo, parcheggio: sono quasi le quattro del mattino; tantovale recuperare un paio d'ore of sleep. Down with the seat back, I rolled up in suits and rush into the arms of Morpheus.
I bet the alarm, but it wakes me coming and going of the car, suddenly more intense. Runners will be going up on ... But, above all, the hunters. A cluster of these despicable people even invades my clearing. Not bad, so it's time to go. Rearrange the seat, numb, and start the engine division, Andrate destination. In the country, it is not hard to find parking, well-marked during the race. It 's dark and raining, only a few drops now. The large square is teeming with life, you hear voices and squealing of car radios, even if you do not see anything between the black of night and eyeglass lenses, wet. The usual ritual of preparation: dough Fissan feet, the first pair of socks, the second pair of socks; Fissan on all issues that may suffer from chafing and rapid control of the pack: there is a change of clothing, c ' is the jacket, there is pappatoria, there is a papyrus scroll, there are wallet and phone. I close the Opel and head, such as mosquitoes, to the only bright spot, a small building attached to the sports facilities, already crowded with athletes, known and unknown faces. If nothing else, due to the stable, it warms up a bit '.
renounce my copy of the road book: I would be useless, I trust that the signs along the way, is proof di idiota: altrimenti. vorrà dire che scaverò una tana tra i castagni e mi ci nasconderò in attesa dei soccorsi. A maggior ragione, la sequela di raccomandazioni che dal palco piove sui corridori in trepida attesa mi annoia: non sarebbe forse più semplice sintetizzare con "Seguite le bandierine e in bocca al lupo?". Già, dal mio punto di vista di partecipante al trail lo sarebbe, senz'altro. Sentir puntualizzare l'ovvio è irritante. Peccato che ci siano sempre gli imbecilli che, al minimo disguido, sono prontissimi a saltar su: "Eh ma non avete detto... Non avete avvisato... Non avete precisato...". E, in caso di incidente, vagoni di grane travolgono gli organizzatori. Ecco, una delle faccende in cui mai e poi mai m'invischierò nella vita è proprio l'organizzazione di una gara. Tremerei alla sola idea delle responsabilità folli a cui si va incontro: e per cosa, poi? Non certo per arricchirsi... Per la soddisfazione personale, certo, ma con la soddisfazione personale non paghi la parcella dell'avvocato che dovrà tentare di cavarti dai guai. Per mia enorme fortuna, non tutti sono inguaribili pessimisti come me; altrimenti, non mi ritroverei qui a battere i denti, ancora al buio, sotto una leggera pioggerella, in mezzo ad una manica di invasati come me. Invece mi ci ritrovo e ne sono, tutto sommato, ben contenta.
Partenza con qualche minuto di ritardo sull'orario prefissato. Si parte sull'asfalto ed in salita. Oggi, caso più unico che raro, dopo long and painful meditation, I decided to leave the sticks at home. 110 km to just over 2000 m of altitude difference means that there will be run, and quite a bit, too. In the long run with sticks in hand is annoying.
The first meters are run on asphalt and uphill, a dim light, gray, can just imagine the contours of walls and trees. You breathe water. As always, I'm already in trouble and you can never overcome the trauma of departure? I get distracted with the little gossip to be exchanged with friends and now I see that ever again, at least until the finish line, no point in trying to aggregate to anyone: I have no chance of success, on the other hand I am sure that I cut off my legs.
Here begins the path and the landscape that will frame the entire race, or nearly so: path and thick forest, dense woodland and paths. They all run like mad, a bit 'because we are at the beginning of the test, a bit' to trust in the fact that the first half of the race will be to trend downward. I try too, but with little conviction. This race gives me the idea of \u200b\u200bbeing more similar to one hundred kilometers on asphalt, which is not a real race in the mountains, and if so, for me it would be a major advantage of the asphalt are friendly, much more than the earth and stones. But it is my assumption, nothing, for now, allows me to believe that will be the case. Better be careful. The
backpack seems well established, not dance. I wanted to bring my backpack little more: if only she was a beautiful day ... With a climate like this, best not to mess with, I have with me a sweatshirt and a thin windproof jacket, waterproof jacket in addition to that already wearing. After all, you will run into the night.
My race is stiff and awkward on the trail. A fury of grinding km, I've got some improvement, but they are light years away from colleagues - many, almost all - that I pass with the security of those who know they have a suction cup applied to the sole and infallible grip on any kind background, ground sand, pebbles moist. I'm terrified of slipping ... And then it's not that we see so well. This is nothing new, already in dry weather, let alone today, it rains ... I can not understand how rain and the drops that accumulate on the tip of the leaves and then, plink, reached the threshold level of aggregation, swoop down, exactly on the head of the victim. Or on the sleeve of his jacket, with a blow dry and sound. O eye, with targeted by sniper. The entire forest dropped, as if it had just been washed, no spin, soaked and stretched out to dry. The mist blurs the contours of the branches and trunks. My momentum carries me some time too many on the verge of slip: quiet, Gian ... There are still 110 km! True, a couple of weeks ago I paths three times as much, and with much greater difference, but this knowledge is dangerous, I would say almost lethal, never, never, never delude ourselves, never too confident in his ability, never assume anything. There is no guarantee that I, today, tomorrow, or rather, fails to reach Brosso. In fact, if I keep frolicking at this rate, arriving there for sure.
I spend more or less, except those who are already gone before. Being the last or almost has, if anything, an advantage: they suffer the shame of passing a few times. I console myself by looking around, admiring the wood really wonderful, even in this gray light, dim, even through the fog on the lenses of his glasses. Piove, poi sembra voler smettere, poi riprende; poche gocce, una secchiata, dinuovo poche gocce. Non ha l'aria di voler volgere al meglio, il tempo, almeno non oggi. E' vero, il percorso tende a scendere, ma è una discesa molto blanda, che alterna tratti di secca risalita. Non c'è mai respiro, mai possibilità di prendere un ritmo ed adagiarvisi per un po'. Neanche a parlarne.
Il paesaggio quasi mai permette di orientarsi e valutare la distanza percorsa. Meno male che ci sono i cartelli con l'indicazione dei km già superati: un'idea mutuata dalle corse su strada, che per me è gradevolissima. A proposito delle corse su strada: mi ritrovo a camminare in compagnia dell'organizzatore della Maratona di Reggio Emilia, a nice chatty from one hundred thousand interests, from millemila occupations. Yes, the Marathon Reggio: it is true, I was soon fed up marathon, but Reggio is a special case, a beautiful undulating, never dull. And then in December, time of year when the withdrawal from competition is getting louder its bite. This year I come back. In the company's boss reach a nice resting spot in a lake. Km 21, Lake Bertignano, I say. And still drizzling, and the gray surface of the water fades into the mist. We welcome volunteers very friendly and the photographer. As always, I do not stop more than a few seconds, even more so, with this cold, the risk that the legs and do not share s'inchiodino più. Ingoio qualche pezzo di cioccolato ed un po' di frutta secca.
Il collega emiliano mi raggiunge di lì a poco e mi accompagna ancora un po', litigando furiosamente con la sacca del camelbag. Bah, quella roba lì non mi ha mai convinta... Non puoi sapere quanta acqua hai ancora di scorta, né puoi riempire il contenitore, se non smontando mezzo zaino per estrarlo. Meglio la cara, vecchia borraccia. In un tratto di strada sterrata in piano, allungo un po' il passo e rimango sola: non posso farci nulla; mi sento di andar così, adesso, sperando di non scoppiare.
Un'infinità di salite e discese brevissime, in rapida successione, sguazzando spesso nel fango; si passa nei paraggi di una galleria ferroviaria. And always in the woods, the outside world does not see anything, if they only hear the noises from time to time. The roar of motor car along some way that I can only imagine, or motocross bike along the paths, the din of chainsaws, from time to time: if they can see the traces in the stacks of logs cut recently. Beech, birch, chestnut and whatnot, and brambles, weeds. And mushrooms, here and there. An insect on mottled blue stone, a lizard that runs off a thread of spider web stuck close to his face. A suspended world.
Suddenly, without warning, came out in the presence of civilization: I read the road sign; are Masino. I walk a few meters of asphalt road, a point of comfort, c'è Alice, sempre sorridente e gentile, come tutti gli altri angeli custodi, del resto. Cioccolato e frutta secca, anche qui: "A Vialfré c'è la pasta", mi incoraggia Alice. Benissimo! Riparto per un lungo tratto pianeggiante, di strada sterrata, finalmente un po' aperto alla vista sulle colline, tra i vigneti lindi ed ordinati. Provo a correre: ma l'impercettibile accenno di salita, che ad occhio nudo non si vede, impone ai garretti uno sforzo che, per prudenza, a questo punto preferisco ancora risparmiarmi. Ho una quarantina di km alle spalle... E quasi settanta davanti. Non è il caso di fare la furba. Da lontano, noto una sagoma dall'aspetto e dall'andatura familiare. Procede con evidente difficoltà. Mi avvicino di buon passo, aguzzo la vista: è proprio lui, Gabriele. Cavoli... Se è qui, adesso, significa che c'è qualcosa che non va. Lui di solito vola... Mi mangia per diritto e per traverso, altro che. Ma è chiaro, si vede lontano un miglio che ha male. Lo affianco, "Hai bisogno di qualcosa?". Saluta, conferma che sì, è in difficoltà, ha dolori alle anche. Mi spiace, ma non saprei come aiutarlo, se non offrendogli un contributo dalla mia farmacia, che però declina. In bocca al lupo allora! Proseguo al passo; corricchio quando posso, o meglio, quando me la sento, senza forzare. Ho commesso un errore marchiano: ho scelto questo zaino senza ricordarmi che lo spallaccio destro tende a spelare il collo... E dire che lo sapevo, avrei dovuto indossare il gilet con il collo alto. Invece, ora che ho levato la giacca impermeabile, perché finalmente la pioggia sembra aver dato tregua, mi ritrovo a dover convivere con questo piccolo ma fastidioso supplizio. Amen, ormai è fatta.
Il percorso mi porta tra le case di un paese che si distingue al primo sguardo per qualcosa di strano: improbabili sculture e dipinti adornano i muri esterni delle case. Sorprendente e, a tratti, inquietante; forme, figure, colori, immagini che spesso sconcertano la capacità di raziocinio del povero neurone, già messo a dura prova dalla carenza di ossigeno. Rappresentazioni dell'assurdo, direi. Curioso... Però preferisco di gran lunga l'acciottolato che ci porta via the country, among the vineyards and rolling hills of profiles and a beautiful lake and a beautiful park. The first autumn colors stand out even in the gray umidissima this day. Attack button, here and there, with very few colleagues who still meeting and we ask, we in the rear, behind us if there is still a living soul ... But not to worry. The road returns to rise, sooner or later, and will do justice. We pass a beautiful park, owned by a religious order or something. I can not resist a comment unedifying ...
Just beyond a stretch of the climb a bit 'more regular than the previous year, reaching a pair of six-legged walker and canine companion, a good boxer snello, muscoloso e di buon carattere. Li affianco, non senza fatica; la discesa non è il mio terreno di corsa preferito... Per non smentirmi, imbocco la via della chiacchiera, mentre la strada esce dal bosco e raggiunge un tratto pianeggiante, di campagna che mi riporta all'istante alla memoria i paesaggi della 50 km del Lamone, nei pressi di Ravenna. Si parla di gare passate, presenti e future: e come potrebbe essere diverso?
Percorriamo un breve tratto di strada bianca, in piano, lungo un canale, in mezzo ai campi; il cagnotto s'incuriosisce, si spinge fin sulla sponda, si sporge. Rabbrividisco, mi volto dall'altra parte per non guardare: se il padrone non si scompone, immagino sia una consuetudine... Ma io sono una mamma iperprotettiva; I think of my big dog that, at this time, it is on my Latvian magnificence, or walking in the garden, peaceful and blessed safe, and throw a big sigh of relief. A ray of sunlight seems to want to peep through the clouds, or maybe it's just an impression, the dim reflection of light on white clay. Past some farm buildings, beautifully restored, along the dirt road; corricchiamo next to the canal. With little conviction, for my part, the muscles of the legs are stiff, a little 'sore. Yet here the route is flat, walking is just a sign of laziness ... In this white ribbon of land do not see the end, the track is lost in the haze, confused by the bushes acacias. It does not rain more: this is already a great relief. We chat, the Cagnotto before us, sniffing every square inch of territory, unleashes the wrath of two or three hunting dogs, spirited behind the bars of a gate. A beautiful artificial waterfall, impetuous, and the outlet of the canal on our right. Proceed apace, until c'infiliamo again in the woods, to get out a little further, on a paved road. "No no no, you can not, disqualified" I raise my head, quizzically, toh, who it is ... Isaac Good! Recovering from an injury, does not know to stay away from the trail. I greet him just in passing, here asking the legs to run, even along the guard rail, with much attention to I get that car in front. I fear for the boxerino behind me and I hope that does not splash into the street ...
few hundred yards away, here's another point of comfort, two tables that display the usual provisions, however, besieged by wasps. With the terror I have of these insects, I would not be in the shoes of the volunteers who are here next! The conquest Cagnotto care of workers in the catering and bea, too, of delicacies. I share almost immediately street, past the bridge over the Dora, perhaps half a kilometer of asphalt and turn right, still on the trail. Shortly before me, two familiar faces, and Franco Morgana proceed apace, without exaggeration. The track runs along the shore of a lake; in alcuni punti, la superficie dell'acqua arriva a lambire il piano del sentiero: fa una certa impressione sinistra, come se dovesse straripare da un attimo all'altro. Raggiungo i miei due compagni di viaggio; scambio qualche parola, poi via, approfittando di un tratto in salita che mi fa riscaldare un po' le gambe. Il precedente punto di ristoro era al km 57: significa che ormai metà percorso è alle spalle. Ma il grosso del dislivello in salita è ancora tutto da affrontare. Con la luce calante del tardo pomeriggio, i colori del bosco s'incupiscono; tronchi e chiome, erba e terra si confondono. Giungiamo tra le case di un paese; quasi c'infiliamo nei cortili, turbando la quiete di mucchi di sabbia e giocattoli abbandonati forse dopo un pomeriggio of fervent activity. It comes natural to throw the prying eyes on the windows lit. Step on a bit 'of land and a little' asphalt. The road suddenly rears up: here there is no tripe, no runs, on the contrary, on a flight like that, you can only walk and reel. Here are three other companions of adventure, a little 'later. I must resist the temptation: slowly, as expected, I'm picking up some fugitive ... But I must not let the excitement take over. The race is long, very long. Yeah, but to explain the range of the feet, ears want to hear the voices nearer, the thin, naive pleasure of reading the wonder in the eyes of the fugitives, sheer weariness, surprised when they turn those footsteps behind them. Move on, displaying a smile and a freshness that are perhaps not entirely sincere, but they do blow. Hopefully this will pave the ramp soon, otherwise lineage that fool ... I am satisfied. With the pace forced the engine, arriving ahead of the cartel "Refreshment": the famous, indeed notorious 67 km. Colle delle Vigne, stopping point, complete with a pasta dish. I find a good number of runners stranded here, committed to lick their wounds and fill the stomach; someone lively and chatty, others slumped in chairs, with the air of someone who is not too convinced of wanting to leave. Calm and cool, Gian. Stay a few minutes. Not too much, because the wet clothes cling to the skin and the cold will soon take over, but at least some 'pasta, cheese, fruit, throw it down. I want to avoid sharing with the boulder on the stomach: easier said ... But exactly what happens. The chills inspire me to start earlier than I would, salute, turn on the light front: it is almost dark, in dense vegetation no longer visible. Down in the downhill at breakneck speed, not for reasons of timing, but to ensure that the blood returns to flow, even in the peripheral blood vessels. Always with an eye to the reflective strips: I must say, the signage is excellent and plentiful. I reach two other riders, I greet and pitch oltre: ormai, l'idea fissa è che ho davanti a me meno passi di quelli che ho già alle spalle, quindi, in parole povere, è quasi finita. Si fa per dire, manca più o meno una maratona... Comincia qui una galoppata nei boschi che sembra non aver più fine. Per km e km, procedo, di corsa e di passo, in un corridoio quasi continuo di vegetazione; sotto i miei piedi la terra, intorno rami e foglie a chiudere la vista ed il respiro. Chilometri lunghissimi di solitudine, di buio ancor più nero perché non si vede né il cielo, né il riverbero delle luci della pianura. Il fascio della frontale illumina un intrico di tentacoli, rami che si allungano come artigli sul viso, fruscìo sinistro di foglie al vento. Il verso ritmico of an animal, acute, almost a cry, at regular intervals, again and again, the silence broke suddenly from the chestnut that comes off, falls, hits a leaf falls still falls on the carpet of dead leaves, roll, "Tac , tac, tac tac tac ". Forest, wood and even wood, for minutes, hours, that seems to want to restrict forest, close in front of me, becoming increasingly dense and inextricable. "Uh, uh, uh", then silence, "Tac, tac, tac tac tac", and every time I hold my breath, pricked up his ears. And run as I can, I run as far as I allow my eyes in the dark, are really little, despite the light of the front. I know that in no danger, but I have to appeal a tutto il mio controllo per mantenere la calma, ora che mi sento quasi in trappola. Bosco, bosco, ancora bosco, è un incubo, non finirà mai più... Non raggiungo più nessuno, nessuno mi raggiunge. Ho perso la nozione del tempo; è buio, vero, ma potrebbero essere le nove di sera come le tre del mattino. Non c'è nulla, né luci, né rumori, nulla che permetta di orientarsi nel tempo e nello spazio. Solo le bandelle da seguire, solo farsi largo tra le fronde, scacciarle con le braccia quando si spingono troppo vicino.
Il punto di ristoro è un'oasi nel deserto. Non ho fame né sete, ma sono contenta di scoprire che, in fondo, non mi sono persa nel nulla. Sono sulla retta via, devo solo avere a little 'patience. Been superseded by two companions in misfortune. A few hundred meters through the houses of a country, albeit asleep, and desert, has the effect to calm down a bit 'nerves: too much, perhaps, so much so that, at a junction, rather than follow the straight shot to the right . Mea culpa: we shall perhaps two or three hundred meters along a dirt road that runs along some private gardens, deceived by the glitter of a piece of glossy paper hanging from a railing. Soon, though, I realize that something is wrong. Here, perfect for that already today there are few km, I think the best idea to stretch a bit 'path ... Meeting the right path, uphill, the entrance to the heat, even in the woods, but now I know there, beyond the leaves, there are the stars. Perhaps the rain has decided to grant a respite, at least for tonight.
At km 77, Vialfrè, I run into a Mr. refreshment table rich and a spread, even though the two kindest voluntary apologize because there is not much. More than enough for me, the food and especially the four words in the company. I'm fine now and I have not hurt, I have no cause for anxiety, breathing, full of stars do, because I already know that, soon, the wood m'inghiottirà again. Greetings, allotment at a good pace. A long stretch of flat, dirt road and I overtake a group of mountain bikers night bilk. There and then, they exchange assistants for the race: But no, night owls are just a tourist. The path runs uphill in the midst of the chestnut trees, the silence falls back on me, overbearing, remove even the rustling of dry leaves, by which my feet seem to swim. Ends, Gian, sooner or later. Calm. The legs marching away quickly, the thoughts run off on their own, light years from here. Voices nearer me back down to earth: four bright eyes I link. Here again, the riders gathered around a table, next to a small blunt somehow here in the thick of the trees. Pitch, greeting, but it is destiny that we are chasing, not spending too much time, I hear them behind me to get faster, with balance by acrobats, down through mud and stones. "Congratulations - I cry - I'm walking the floor finish and risk at every step ...". At the asphalt road, we separate, while those on the most discussed short to reach the pillow, I turn left and then right again, still unpaved, yet forest. With the unpleasant surprise later on, two off-road camping right of way, but is it possible that these stracciamaroni imperversino even in the night? Riacchiappo, right here, one of two fugitives who had passed a couple of refreshment ago but apparently I had reneged on edge while I wandered off the path. The wretch was looking a little 'crush; try some extension, then gives in, it breaks down on a stone: "How can you be back, if you were before?". Question from a million dollars ... "I was wrong road, down in the country," says as I walk away. I face the climb at a good pace, a little later, I reach for the lady who accompanied him. Here it is the imponderable ... My colleague, turns, accelerates the pace. I do the math: there are more or less than twenty kilometers, uphill, mostly. If I reached here, that means I've got more than her. And if I tried? So, to the satisfaction of trying. It makes little sense, I know, in front of me there are maybe ten other women, I have not the faintest idea. But who knows if I can force a bit ' l'andatura. Affianco la mia avversaria; lei accelera, corricchia in salita, poi rallenta. Gian, fatti furba. Che tu ti metta a correre, qui, sul ripido, non ha alcun senso. Prova a starle dietro. Pochi metri, ma sempre dietro. Alla peggio, schiatti e molli. Così faccio: la seguo, con un po' di distacco; mi avvicino, fin quasi ad affiancarla, poi resto ancora un po' indietro; mi avvicino un'altra volta. Sempre attenta al mio cuoricino: per ora, sembra reggere il gioco. Ho ancora margine, non dovrei scoppiare. Allunga ancora, la collega: provo ancora una volta a tenere il passo; ci riesco e forse sono più stupita io di lei. Non ricordo chi l'abbia detto, ma ho ben presente il concetto: chi insegue ha un vantaggio psicologico non negligible as to who is on the run. Even more so if the tracker has already closed the gap. I had never experienced, however, this feeling. The enemy finally slows down. He looked at her stealthily, without making me see, I guess that's the limit. Result, I follow a little ', hesitant. Then, a ramp: Gian, now or never. I try, part of the race where ever, ever, with my size, I should dare to be crazy like that. Then, when the trail flattens and the wood gives a little 'space to the vineyards and the sky, legs, shoulder, away a tear after another. If the opponent is in trouble, take a few minutes to recover, Gian, if you want it, you take advantage of it now. Otherwise you again, you're done. Street, with all the breath in my body, even uphill race. I reach two other figures, overtaking impetuously, I apologize: "I do not have it with you ... I'm just trying to pull my follower." They look at me crooked, do not respond, one of the two figures is another woman. Well what about ... Almost a comeback! Now they are in dance, dance ... tantovale It 's hard, though. I had never been in a situation like this. And to say that no one forced me, I might well give up, take my hand away and quiet. But the voices behind me make me feel more or less like a hunted wild boar, plus the climb is steep, most reels and I try to accelerate. Go Gian, if you have a small chance to disconnect the two, is right here on the steep slope. Do not give up now, go, come on. Slide, I cling to all that I can find, and when the trail opens, rather than take a breath, pull ahead in apnea. What the hell is happening to me, I can not explain it, maybe I inadvertently breathed the dust of some hallucinogenic mushrooms. But all in all, it's fun: and then, I have nothing to gain, nothing to lose.
Now, the items no longer feel. I will have reached a safe distance from pursuers? Point Blank. Proceed apace, but without exaggerating, listen to the heart to resume a reasonable pace, the steps become less hectic. Here's another colleague has more o meno la mia stessa andatura; l'affianco, attacco bottone, si chiacchiera un po', per esorcizzare i km, la fatica, la stanchezza. Insieme raggiungiamo il punto di ristoro sulla strada asfaltata: pausa brevissima, perché ormai sono in pieno fervore agonistico. Riparto, seguita a ruota dal buon Luciano, con cui ormai il chiacchiericcio è troppo fitto e piacevole per separarsi. Passiamo accanto ad un'area recintata, in cui è in corso una rumorosa festa danzante: musica commerciale, luci, gente sparsa per il parcheggio, qualche schiamazzo e qualche bottiglia di troppo. Due mondi agli antipodi che si incontrano per un momento, senza che ci sia alcuna possibilità di comunicazione. "Una domanda mi sorge spontanea – rifletto – sono loro, i pirla, o siamo noi?". Bah... Qualunque sia la risposta, non farei cambio, per nulla al mondo. Si torna a salire, lungo la strada asfaltata, ma con pendenza da rampichino ed una bella vista, finalmente, sulle luci della vallata. Al ristoro, mancavano sei km. Qui ne mancheranno quattro, forse cinque, ma è arcinoto che gli ultimi km subiscono un fenomeno di dilatazione, con andamento crescente. Si sale sull'asfalto, ma non è finita; un sentiero, una rampa che taglia le gambe in mezzo al bosco; l'affronto con rabbia, con la foga e la paura di essere raggiunta; ormai quel poco di senno che m'era rimasto è svanito del tutto. Non mi devono prendere, non qui, eppure sento avvicinarsi le voci... Spuntiamo in una radura, next to a restaurant, a volunteer shows us another path, through the plant, yet, but soon. The big guns, Gian, it's time to give all that you have left. Accelero, Luciano is a little 'back, but you will understand, I hope, that he is the victim of my escape. Still green, but already you can see the lights of the town. Way, sent Walk, rotting on the ground, the grass and then asphalt. The voices behind me approaching and I can not tell if there is, there in the middle, a woman's voice. I will not turn around, and then it would not help; glare from the lights, without being able to tell who is underneath the front. Ticking of sticks, the voice is coming, yes, it is a woman, is certainly the last girl that I passed. I look forward, what will? Gian No, if you get a run here, you can not do, Schiatti, safe ... Remedies from a figure chocolatier, here. Yes, but ... We've put so much effort, now what? What do you do, throw in the towel a few steps from the finish? Up, up, the lights of the town. The finish line is uphill. Come on, groped an opportunity to go for broke. A deep breath and go, travel, even if the road is steep, even if the lungs are likely to burst. Of course, with the ear of anxious waiting voice that comes behind me, I pass by, I will overtake. Gian run, you can not do anything else, is the only hope. The throat burns, the muscles seem made of stone. I reach the country, accelerated again, or at least I try, the first case, the right turn. Step next to two gentlemen, I feel almost embarrassed, I apologize: "I can not get back a few meters from the finish line ...". Few meters, it is my hope, in fact, have no idea of \u200b\u200bwhat is remaining. What is certain is that I still have very little autonomy. Head down, belly to the ground like a horse galloping. Up front there is a light, there is a church, there may be a square, perhaps the arrival: I walk, heart pounding with the effort and anxiety that my hope has been disproved ... Almost can not believe it when I see the arc of arrival. Four balzi ed è fatta: la medaglia, i complimenti dei volontari che assistono all'arrivo. Sono sorpresa e soddisfatta: prendo fiato, assisto all'arrivo dei due concorrenti che ho appena sorpassato e della fanciulla che stava per mettermi il sale sulla coda. Un cenno di saluto, ma lei ed il compagno mi ignorano: va bé, contenti voi... Se io mai dovessi mettere su il muso verso tutti i corridori che mi lasciano indietro, potrei smettere di rivolgere la parola a chicchessia!
Sono terza in classifica femminile, o forse seconda, chissà. Il volontario che mi consegna la medaglia non è ben sicuro. Potrei avvicinarmi al tavolo del computer a controllare: ma in fondo non è che la cosa abbia poi quella grande importanza... Ho concluso the race, above all, I added yet another notch to the long list of evidence collected long distance this year. E 'quantity, personal goal that I pursue, not the placement ... If I were really on the podium today is only because of the athletes did not take part in the survey to Morenic Trail. That's it. At the next race, with the ongoing participation of women, and roll dinuovo bottom of the table, as befits a milestone of my caliber. Amen. I walk hesitantly in the direction of refreshment, following the two competitors that I passed just before arrival. Not seem to have ideas that much clearer than mine. Hesitant walk between the houses of the village silent and motionless, a dim yellow light to illuminate the deserted square. We find a place for rest and shelter to sleep here, a car, no less, takes us to the showers at the pool. Surprise: unisex shower ... "There are naked men?" He asked. A colleague just puts his head out through the door and says yes; mentions by name a competitor that already has the dress for her beautiful, let alone naked ... Ohibò. It would not be the first time about showers indistinct, but I confess that I feel embarrassed. Not for me, of course: the sense of shame for me has always been a concept unknown ... And then, after slimming treatment at the Clinic des GEANTS Tor, I must say that I could do my slut figura. Mi imbarazza l'imbarazzo altrui: i compagni di spogliatoio che si sentono in dovere di coprirsi come esquimesi... Tra frizzi e lazzi di chi è già lavato e rivestito, entro comunque, perché più del dolor, secondo l'Alighieri, o più dell'onor, secondo De Andrè, potè il gelo siberiano. Aspettare fuori, sudatissima, al freddo, non mi pare un'idea da premio Nobel. Lo stanzino è minuscolo e non esattamente lindo; uscire di qui senza un'infezione tripla carpiata con avvitamento all'indietro sarà dura! Attendo il mio turno alla doccia, al seguito di due concorrenti francesi che, almeno loro, nudi come mamma li ha fatti, non si pongono il problema della mia presenza. Tra me e me li ringrazio: sono a loro comfortable and make me too comfortable. Just a shame that the mother in question has not been committed then so much ... The Italian colleagues present are far from the show, or rather, would be, if only they had not rolled from head to toenails in long, chaste, tell bathrobes! Damn, but what happened to the male and swaggering conqueror? Gian Well, now do not you pull. You're not the Schiffer, nor Bellucci, maybe these guys a bedside seduction draws more than you. C'est la vie, you know how to accept defeat. Slipped in the shower at the earliest opportunity: rather than a real wash, let's say I do, to use the language of Turin, "'na b'rlicà" This place is so filthy that the risk to come out dirtier than when I entered ... Okay, never mind. Let's cast-off clothes in a plastic bag - are far-sighted, I bring a bit '- and not think about it more, then wash them at home, turpentine, after having subjected myself to the same treatment. 'm Not a picky type, but when enough is enough ....
more or less returned to the honor of the world, I reboot to the local restaurants. Too hot and crowded for my taste. At the table with some fellow sufferers, gulp the most welcome meal brought by the volunteers of the organization: hot vegetable soup, bread, cheese, fruit. Delay a bit ', in Until you pass me the feeling of dizziness that often comes over me after a race, a place too heated, and when your legs feel more or less firm, greeting and go back to retrieve my bags: a backpack that I used in the race and the 'Another backpack, one containing dirty clothes and, now, even the goody bag that was handed to me on arrival. Biscuits, flyers and a bottle of wine. I can barely keep us all ... It provides a shield against the cold, rain jacket, gloves, bandana. And then vest and reflective bands. Finally, front head light. A backpack, the other on his stomach. I walk under the gaze of perplexity of the ambulance nurses. "I walk, I did not want to wait."
back on the road, towards the valley floor, and Borgofranco Baio Dora. Now I no longer have any hope of recovering the car in time to get to the Marathon route at Cuneo. I finished the race just before 3, the 4 will be passed now. From here the car, 30 km, with two backpacks and already 110 km on the soles ... Patience, Gian. It will be a long, beautiful walk, enjoy it, calmly.
The reflection of lights in the country, behind me, it is increasingly dim. Go back over a stretch of the race, arriving just in time to see Franco and Morgana, smiling and happy in front of the beam. Then continuing in the company of a wandering star and a few cars that overtake me or m'incrocia. E think that would be enough to try to stretch your thumb and hitch a ride. For each engine roar behind me, I try to convince me to try, and yet there's nothing to do, I can not. Do not be afraid: I doubt that clubs up here that plenty of bad guys ... E 'own shame, discomfort of having to ask. By Gian, arranged and walking. Feel, do not expect to sleep, do not let go.
car that passed me, a little further, it stops. A nice group, runners and assistants offer me a ride ... How to say no? The Marathon suddenly is not so far away ... This good Samaritan motor saves me at least ten miles, until scarrozzandomi Lessolo, in the valley. From there, I resume my march: Baio Dora, Borgofranco, dark streets, dark, without a soul. Houses and sheds, warehouses and homes, a car occasionally. The sky should be clear, sooner or later. Yeah, should ... The trouble is that few stars have already been swallowed by the clouds and, well before the sun, I reach large drops of water. Above me, there are no trees ... So the truth is a bitter one: it's raining. Fantastic. 17 km and a lot of altitude, in the rain. Take heart: you've been through worse. After all, does not even cold. Thus, meter by meter, hole after hole, gate after gate, overpasses, sidewalks, street lights, I reach Borgofranco, already soaked. From there, the traffic light, turn right onto the uphill road. With the water leaking from the lenses, on the sleeves of his jacket, the pants, which slips into the shoes, my old running shoes on asphalt, I recycled as walking shoes. Rotten to the core, but serene and happy, I walk as much as possible according to the roadside, staring down, the outlines of the valley just mentioned this dawn of nell'uggia rainy. Farewell Marathon Cuneo, but it is also so beautiful, effortlessly, without leg pain, without cold, because heating up the limbs and heart. I lose consciousness of time passing, perhaps also because of sleep. From time to time, the eyelids close for a while longer. I wish I could read in the skull of one who sees me on the street right now ... It would be funny!
Andrate I reach around eight and a half, dripping like a colander. Fortunately, I left a car in second gear and mesh jacket: far-sighted, for once. I settle, I recomposed, but the division only after opening the package of butter cookies that I received in the goody bag: the system in a strategic position on the seat beside him. Before the cock crows, I will have brushed three times already.
In the narrow edge of the town, crossing a coach, not just the first coat, I would say antique look. Want to see that this is the shuttle back to car racers taken arrival? Moreover, the transport was set for 8 ... And a half hour trip is a reasonable time. If I had to wait Bross, I would be back here in the bus, at about the same time when I arrived there on foot. But certainly I would not enjoyed so much, in fact, I would have stayed down there to turn around the thumbs and bask in the sorrow of having deserted Cuneo. Now I just have to avoid squash with the car fell asleep, and then go to Cuneo in any case: not to run, but to watch the arrivals of Matthew and some friends. With the secret, unspeakable hope for a hot chocolate Arione ...
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