The existence of professional bodies and a concept that I can not swallow, although myself, reluctantly neck, is enrolled in one of these institutions: not digested nor his alleged role in monitoring the professionalism of the members - will because I clearly recall the experience of examining the state - or in the guise of protecting his own body parts. Especially in the case of my profession, which, far from being an exclusive matter, is free of privilege "Accountants", "data centers" stunt praticoni and varied, without exercising any control, pace of chartered accountants who have syrup plus three years of apprenticeship exam each year and pay a large handout to the above Order. What's more, in addition to injury, insult, to DottComm also touches on the unpleasant obligation of what we pompously, with the usual ghastly neologism from a salesman in his career, was called "lifelong learning": it seems that who knows what, but more is not the constraint to follow a certain number of hours of meetings and training courses, which corresponds to a score. Fellas, we need to collect a minimum number of points per year and in the end, not even conquer a plush teddy. I will always detested with all my heart, that even vaguely resembles a lesson from school and university: how matter was interesting, I've never been able to pay attention for more than ten minutes without having to engage in a savage fight against sleep. Resulting, among other things, always unsuccessful. Now, I say: In a job like this, the update is vital, if you do not keep pace with the times and rules, you can just close up shop here and now. If I had to rely on courses and conferences to bring my skills, open up the sky. For this reason, I think the "training" the most useless and hateful in the obligations. I just spend some time ago, on the other hand, is happy with my gas station, since, as a minimum, to chase the points I have to move to Alba Bra or, when not in Cuneo.
But this time the attendant fall short. And I can alleviate at least some 'the nuisance. Alone in the desert, in front of the platform 2, waiting for the 14:05 train to Alba. Sweatshirt, jacket, bike, ¾ pants, sneakers, a backpack on his shoulders, perhaps too heavy. I do not travel by train from a half-eternity: it is very difficult to find a good enough reason to leave his beloved Opel garage. The meeting, fortunately for me the last of 2010, starts at 15, a short walk from the train station of Alba; get there ten minutes late with the academic, three hours, but I'm hoping for a bit 'off, of torture and then off gloves, hat, jacket and reflective bands, head torch. You return home, by the way of the hills, run, walk.
Through the window, I watch the campaign on a beautiful sunny day. Alas, today if I had not come up with my evil plan of action: I had a devil hair, to throw away a day so bright, not even able to take advantage of the lunch break for a race, and everything to andarmi holed up in the basement a hotel, staring with a blank stare that transmits a TV, plus a recorded movie to hear that voice, boring, monotonous, flat, which marks the words that soon you just can not distinguish. The worse the worse today, a conference on professional ethics ... True, the sun is not the green, however, will already be dark when it emerges from the abyss. But announcing a great star, I will be fitting reward.
change of trains in Bra for a while, do not get on the wrong train ... I am no longer accustomed to the life of commuting on public transport. Caught the tail for the connecting flight to Alba, I bowl in the small station invaded by a penetrating scent of chocolate. Ferrero blessed!
few minutes and here I am at the entrance of the Hotel Savona, which has provided room for torture. The puzzled look of elegant attendants tells me that, well tanned, faccio davvero la mia porca figura, tra giacche, cravatte, cappotti lunghi, tailleur, tacchi alti e nauseabonde scie di profumo. La casacca Windstopper da bici, azzurra con la fascia giallo canarino, spicca anche nella penombra del seminterrato. Per fortuna, la trasmissione è già iniziata e più d'uno, noto con la coda dell'occhio fingendo noncuranza, ha il capo appoggiato alla spalla, le mani incrociate sul ventre, le palpebre beatamente abbassate. Scommetto che, se mi avvicinassi, potrei percepire un sommesso "ron-ron", delicato come le fusa di un gatto. Anche se la maggior parte, fuori di qui, non l'ammetterebbe mai. Ma guarda un po' cosa ci tocca fare... La cosa mi consola e mi rafforza nella mia convinzione dell'inutilità absolute in this staging, not only my belief, which are basically the newbie craft and I only have to learn, but also more of a professional and highly capable undoubtedly became established. Mah
I wonder what I have done horrible in a previous life to deserve this cross. The gloom, the cold immobility in an unheated, the voice of the speaker is always the same dull, flat. I defy anyone not to fall into the arms of Morpheus. Now I have acquired a perfect balance: head bowed, chin resting on his chest, I can doze off without risking the collapse was sudden and embarrassing side. But the drama is to go all the time. As can be awfully long, the hours ... From time to time, picks up a few clips, but it's stronger than me, have never managed to follow a lesson. The mind is part and ...
Thanks conclusive, however, captured them on the fly. Quick look around me: I understand you correctly? It 'really over? Libera nos, Domine ... Picked up the backpack, affix the autograph on the Roster ... "And we went to see the stars." Breath ... There is a park next door, well, a bench is all that I need to settle down. A cluster of shady characters keeps an eye on me: I wear the jacket reflective systems, the refracting knees, a fruit juice drink, gulp a mouthful of chocolate and away we go. In the dark, but it is not dark at all, between the street lights and headlights of cars: the height of traffic returning from offices, factories and the like. It is six, in fact. The chaos makes me uneasy: once through the main street towards the station, and then off along the sidewalk toward the court, running with my backpack bulky, but well set, so it does not move and do not I bother to neck, shoulder and back. Far from the madding crowd. Horn, noises, lights that fade and widened through the exhaust fumes from other cars, probably, at least for the first few kilometers from Alba, agrees to walk far, compared to the car. I look with pity at the row of cars still. The faces of the driver I can not see them, but I imagine them anything but serene and smiling. I defy fate once again, crossing the street in front of the Court, thereby gaining the bridge over the Tanaro, offering the runner a comfortable sidewalk. It will be true that running is healthy, but here it seems to me to breathe in a gas chamber, three feet from cars in the queue. Gian courage, and almost ... In these cases, it is not clear whether it makes sense to accelerate and take off from the chaos, however, breathing deeply, or leave, gently and avoid inhaling too much junk food, if possible. At the roundabout, third and final crossing reckless, at least for now: take the direction to the Asti-Cuneo, then, the next round, which cut without shame, turn left along a road through the industrial area of \u200b\u200bfactories Miroglio. Desert, finally. Concrete cubes cold, empty and silent. Before me, the lights of the hill. It 'clear that the more a night you can not, the stars and the artificial lights stand out, almost trembling. Step behind the sheds, car parks next to the desert, then left in the direction of Castelrotto, among the rows of fruit trees, now bare. Silence and not a soul around, it seems the night, but I'm not sure yet seven in the evening. Castle Guarene is my first sprint, stands out there, slightly to the right, get going to cost me a nice effort. I wonder if I can run up there, too just a short little steps?
Cross a couple of cars that slow down dramatically. At the roundabout, the war begins, the form of a steep ramp. Childbirth confidence, little steps short of breath under control, but ... Who would have thought? I keep a good pace, unleashing the intolerance of many little dogs and Cagnoni to guard the gardens of the villas. Overcome the steepest point, the two curves, and then ramp back to the main road towards Guarene. For now, head torch is not needed, just the light and move forward generously lauded by the natives. A stretch of slope less inhuman, to the junction for the village Vaccheria. The night sky is a priceless performance, from up here the views over hill. The temperature must be very rigid ice glistens on the grass, but the effort of the climb well compensated. The pace is quick and difficult yet, although I will not give in to the lure of the walk. Three "steps" to reach the highest point of Guarene: the first here to get to the chapel, the second later in the country and the third, which begins next to the nursing home, where stands an ominous sign "18%". Slowly, I leave them behind. The focus, enough to distract her, meditating on the route to follow. Better go Castagnito, go down to low Vezza, then San Rocco and Montaldo, or better off at Piobesi? It 's true, the intent is to grind km, but I did not want too much to return home at midnight, I would like family, I have a big dog waiting for me!
The stretch of road between Guarene and the cemetery is a beautiful balcony on the hill slope cultivation, the lights, the castle now behind, square and imposing. You see Vezza, you can see the lights of who knows how many countries. I catch myself smiling alone, from ear to ear, happy to be here, as if there were nothing else in the world. More than ever blasphemous, I watch with interest the small cemetery, if I remember correctly, there is a path that passes behind the back wall. Reserved and welcoming place, ideal for a stopover "technical" only when they are there with the best part of me exposed helpless the cold, charged with the supreme effort, I realize no matter how bleak the situation, the dark, without a soul around - living soul, precise - and next to a cemetery. Woe if I was superstitious or suggestible.
I go away on the sly, without any evil spirit that has bothered me. Just in time, before passing a car that would brighten my temporary shelter, breaking poetry. Beyond the bend, you turn off the last faint yellowish glow of the streetlights Guarene, but light up, on the other hand, many other lights on the hill. Through a village, past a tavern and at the fork to the lake, between the houses, the paved road a bit ', then begin the climb down, to the junction with the road that goes to Alba. Even here, the dogs are unleashed: will not happen not so often to prove to his master, so strongly that you do not eat the soup with treason! I regret a little 'give and lose altitude, so at night landscape on the hill. The straight stretch of road from the crossing until Piobesi is not the most pleasant, most cars pass here without too many concerns. The sign indicating the junction for the village and Reala up there on top of a hill, the silhouette of a building and a light. A shiver of tension every time I see before me, the street light, are never really sure that the car behind me that I get shy. It 's true, the lighting and reflective bands, are brighter than a Christmas tree, but I have little confidence in another's concentration and attention to driving. Just
top area, a drinking fountain: I do not know, as always, the cartel threatening "Non-potable water" here, I can now say that, for some time, the guinea pig of myself. Bevo's throat: to save weight and discomfort, as always, I left the bottle at home.
Piobesi d'Alba, Cornelius Alba, two countries separated by something, because, in fact, continue into each other. The sidewalk will save me from assassination attempts on four wheels, on the other hand, undermines the integrity of my bones: the cracks, irregularities and my distraction, risk to hurt me. Not to mention the passage in square Cornelius: the convoluted walkway, and steps up and down, I prefer the road. Few souls stiff walk, silence, immobility. Only the neon signs give a hint of human existence. The legs are struggling a bit 'after the long descent to adjust to the plains, in the long straight road that passes in front of the police station. At the roundabout, the traffic along the road leading up to Sommariva Perno is intense: it is time to return from work, not to mention dinner. Turn towards Baldissero, looking for peace, just beyond the cemetery, there is darkness. Whenever possible, I avoid turning on the light, I like to let your eyes get used darkness and endeavored to distinguish the white line on the roadside. A slight breeze rustles the grasses and the little dry leaves that still resists, obstinate, on the branches. All around, steep, dark woods. Spend a few cars, very few, for all the same, the same amazement, the foot on the brake, the headlights turned frantically, a common thought: "What the hell ...".
The idea that we can move on foot or by bicycle, at night, is something that most can not even conceive. The road is and should be the monopoly of the car: if you claim to follow it on foot, the least that can happen is you being laughed at, and until then no problem. Gets worse with those elements that attach to the levers of hysterical lights or horns, like you, human-powered invalid, the same spot you the worst of crimes. Bah, that's their problem, do not know what forgiveness. Thus ruminating, I reach the junction for Baldo. One of the many intermediate destinations when I chopped my trip to see him better and to avoid running into a fit of despondency. Short slope, which heats the hocks, slightly downhill, in the deep silence of this stretch of desert road, then began a slight ascent to the first houses, which leads me to the curve in view of the country. A kilometer climb slightly, torn between the temptation to stay within the wide bend in order to save distance and risk that whoever comes in front of me can not see me if not the last. A concert of barking, lights on in the gardens and the breath that slowly adapts to fatigue at the junction towards the center of the small town is even closer. An eye to the sky, crystal clear: I wonder how it could have been lucky tonight ... If I survive all the way home, I can truly say that he lived a perfect day!
Just beyond the junction to the center of town, the road narrows and rears. The small cemetery, the bend, the bottom of porphyry between the houses. I climb a short little steps, but I keep running, despite everything. A little dog rushes against me: the mistress, who grieves charge of shopping bags and a pandoro attached to the wrist, called him back: "No problem, I do not manage to eat all ... Effort to gain the main church square, with muscles a bit 'up in flames, and now we can say that the worst is behind us. The worst in terms of hard uphill, of course. Trample porphyry exit of the vast square. The fountain, here is desolate closed: I will keep your thirst the way home, I know ... Missing about 20 km from here, but almost all road pericolosetta, I think. Sure, I could take cross roads, but the laziness is holding me back: even so, I will arrive home later than ten ... At this point, notice the fears and the way to live. Proceed in the direction of Ceresole: peace with me between the last houses of the country, in places Sigoli; lighted windows, chimneys that smoke, warm scent of wood, slightly downhill and restores resting leg.
the round, I get on the highway between Ceresole and Sommariva Perno, with only one goal: legs on his shoulders! It 's true, at this time there will be lots of traffic but it will be pitch black for miles. And most importantly, the drivers here have all the heavy foot. Gathers pace, skimming the grass at the roadside, keep my head torch in hand, to be able to make the best car that I come against the meeting, both to those that come behind. The clear impression is that I see very well and that, indeed, the element of surprise to my games please. Like a good runner, I run on the left side of the road, but I do not know why, I'm not going down. I have a feeling, perhaps unfounded, that motorists are more likely to overtake a vehicle, or something like that, that moves in their own direction, rather than an obstacle that is presented in front of them. And then, running right thumb, under a little 'less harmful effect of the headlights of cars that cross. It gives me much trouble, however, their light, as far as trying to avoid staring. It 's like to be dazzled by a violent flash and then a moment later, past the car, meet up for a split second totally blind. But in those few moments when there is no trace of engines, I enjoy the view of dark shapes, crystal clear blue air of this beautiful evening, the shapes of the rows of trees, poles and telephone wires, to furrows in the fields. The spark grass next to my feet, the air we inhale is cold. But I'm not quiet, I can be, with cars whizzing by my side as a ground to air missiles. I keep an eye on the mileage signs, which run too long, too slow, I try to stretch the pace, but on the other hand I can not even afford to go overboard at home I have to get my feet under with ...
The roundabout at the junction for Monteu, the 'Mill' of the pear, "the wonderful farm on the left, another stopover. The road descends slightly and widens, giving me a space to run with a minimum of relief in most, but always with ears pricked, ready to jump out of the grass. Still dark, dark shapes that occasionally seems to me to see move: a start ... I'm afraid of my own shadow, it must be said: the sequence of lamps is the effect of moving my shadow, so that each lamp that exceeds the gathering in front of me. Beside me, the new farm "of the Ca Mat", near Ceresole, an old farmhouse renovated with great taste. Too bad only for plain asphalt parking.
Supero also the junction for Sommariva Bosco; shooting straight with the desire to go into the town and stretch for at least a little tense nerves. Light I am a bit heartened up area ': the mechanical workshop, the first houses. Who knows what time is it? Trilla a mobile phone: it takes a lot of courage to raise his glove. E 'mom: wants to know where I am. "A Ceresole," I reply, "an hour and I'm home." "Ah well, then you're close." Now she has learned to measure distances with my meter jogging or cycling, will be here at home a dozen miles. Well, an hour is a bit 'optimistic, say an hour and a quarter away. With difficulty, the half-frozen hands, pick up the phone in his jacket pocket. In the village there is a soul, the newspaper posters hang heavy humidity, the bar is already closed. A group of middle-aged patrons comes from a nearby restaurant: I know I'm too full to notice me ... Gian
Ale, the latest effort, the last part insidious. I'm hungry and suffer a bit 'the effort of the ride which I have set to reduce the risks, but I can not think of surrender. An hour and I'll be at home, over a cup of hot milk with bread sticks. Beyond rotondina, the long straight, a slight ups and downs, the landscape is already over the hill countryside, the magnificent boulevard that leads to the farm on the left, a beautiful mansion, a few houses and warehouses, the calm before the rest of the night. Some cars still passes; account the wayside, I scan the horizon of a road that I know by heart, inch by inch. The hill of Turin seems to be a cushion brilliant; there Superga, the lighthouse of La Maddalena, even the outlines of the mountains, the nuances of the snow. It seems to touch them. I could not be happier ... Another trill, a message, this time it is his sister. He asks if I'm home. I almost, next time I get a GPS sensor: so anybody can check my position without causing a freeze to your hands. The fingers are too stiff to press the small buttons: tantovale that call ... With his mouth mixed with cold, I protest: "My name is mica Gebresilassie! I miss about seven kilometers ...". Meanwhile, I read the time on screen a quarter to ten. By Gian on, come on for charity. "The Little Farm" and also the farm is gone. I just have the last run, five hundred meters away, the road junction with the old Santa Rita. End of subtle anxiety, I can relax your muscles and mind. A few miles between the acacias and farms, to scare the natives the bark of dogs; hunger now yes, that makes itself felt. Still a bit 'of caution for the many craters that plague the asphalt of a small side street. The shapes of rectangular bricks, in the barracks when they arrive and from which cables I do not know, some light passing on the highway. Last effort to climb the bridge. I still have a few hundred meters to enjoy the dark and the stars, the hocks ben presto mi riportano tra le case e le luci, lungo la via di quel che resta del tiro a segno, ormai diroccato. Rotonda, sottopassaggio della ferrovia. In Carmagnola come sempre è il coprifuoco, peggio che in aperta campagna; tanto meglio... Poco più di quaranta km, un buon dislivello, in quattro ore e mezza, e null'altro al mondo che possa rendermi felice come una sera trascorsa così, in compagnia delle mie scarpe e della mia fatica. Sento nel cuore la soddisfazione dell'ennesima mattana ben riuscita. "Se puoi pensarlo, puoi farlo", recita una di quelle massime da cartellone pubblicitario; "Just do it". Infatti...
Mi servono due mani per infilare la chiave nella serratura, tanto il freddo mi ha irrigidito le dita. Mi precipito up the stairs, to produce a little more 'heat. Needless to expect, at this time, the joyous welcome of the hairy beast: down on the Latvian, his head on my pillow, in a state of suspended animation, the four-legged pirate wants me to understand, with his show of indifference, which is not this time coming under the home and disturb the sleep of the just. In fact, I can not give you wrong, my Tesorone, but know that soon I will come to claim my share of the doghouse!
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