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8 agosto 2010 - Courchevel X Trail

My day was long and intense: Wake Up alle quattro e mezza, pedalata in MTB nel Roero a caccia di sentieri, camminata con mammà, ancora bici, poi una doccia veloce, un bagaglio raffazzonato e via, partenza in auto, destinazione Courchevel; tutto ciò che è finito nel mio pancino, oltre la colazione, è stato un po' di frullato di yogurt, pesche e miele. Credo sia quindi comprensibile il mio sgomento, quando la cameriera dell'albergo, una simpatica fanciulla che mastica un po' di italiano perché, confida, ha il fidanzato a Genova, ci scodella sotto il naso due piatti contenenti ciascuno due foglie d'insalata. Scondite. Si leva immediato, altissimo, l'ululato di protesta del mio stomaco vuoto; alzo lo sguardo e leggo negli occhi di Giorgio la mia stessa perplessità: What does this mean?
By nature a bit 'shy and unwilling to debate, agree, not to mention that it is appropriate to eat and be quiet, determined that the expected oil and vinegar in vain, not anything will come of all this: only a bit 'of bread, because it required. The hearty appetizer is followed by an equally gargantuan first: a portion of mashed potatoes, not really tasty, accompanied by a piece of cod, for George, and a handful of boiled green beans and tomato half for me, which I declined and meat fish. Swallowed that, too, increasingly appalled: trouble, you never know, to protest, we Levin even the little we have in the pot ... Finally, a small bowl with a peach full and just soaked by a sweet syrup. And that's all ... I regret, once again, to myself, my old habit of traveling with camper as Opel and dinner remedied at the supermarket, bread and soft cheese and pork food will, for awe, is a solution to my partner Travel now I dare not even suggest, knowing a bit now '. But is not this, my true nature: hotels and restaurants, I bring him a sense of uneasiness that I can not overcome. Today, then, we just happened to be in the middle of the representation of some of the absurd comedy!

fights with knives and forks, damned for trying to cut fishing without projecting diritto sulla camicia del povero Giorgio: poi ci rinuncio, alla faccia del bon ton, ed afferro la maledettissima con le dita. Si vede lontano un miglio, che il mio dirimpettaio è persona di ben altro lignaggio ed abitudini; in poche mosse precise, ha affrontato e sconfitto il nemico, lasciando il nocciolo pelato e pulito. O sarà perché è veterinario, quindi pratico di chirurgia? Mentre traffico e smadonno in silenzio, lancio occhiate oblique per la sala. I due tavoli accanto sono occupati da due madame di stazza pari, oserei dire, ad una nave superlusso della Costa Crociere; due masse immense di lardo che quasi avvolgono ed inghiottono le sedie. Temo e tremo per la portata di quei poveri intrecci di legno... Più avanti, un'altra tavolata heavyweight, four this time. Yet, I do not understand.

Before bedtime, we grant a digestive walk, if it was that there is something in our stomachs to digest, along the park Brides Les Bains and from the main street of the village. We pass in front of the spa: coming and going there and, again, a surprising concentration of men and women to say the least deformed quintals street: for heaven's sake, I have little to say, I am not an anchovy, but here in I feel half anorexic last stage, not to mention the good George, with its fifty-seven pounds of skin and bones, spread on my own height, and the holes that continually adds to his belt. But where the hell are they?

still do not understand. A showcase of women's clothing: is my duty to let me see the size of the clothes, and even those on the contract. From extra-large size up. And on the glass, a slogan: "Brides Les Bains: the pour maigrir pais." A flash of lightning strikes and incinerates the neuron: at last ... Now and only now I see! The dinner, the average tonnage of these, the baths, now so that explains everything! We ended up in a country theme entirely dedicated to diet. And we have to run tomorrow's the beauty of 53 km and over 4000 m of altitude difference! Burst out laughing to keep from crying, and not to hear the harrowing cries of empty bellies ... George does not dare insistere sull'argomento, lui che è paladino del mangiare sempre e comunque il meno possibile, ma sono certa che, in questo momento, un bel panino con il gorgonzola se lo scofanerebbe pure lui.
Sono allibita al pensiero di tutta questa gente che si concentra qui da ogni parte di Francia per comprare, chissà a che prezzo, l'illusione di poter dimagrire: una, due, tre settimane a stecchetto, per poi tornare a casa con una fame atavica e strafogarsi di tutto quel che si trova, commestibile o no, nel raggio di un chilometro. E recuperare i chili persi, ed aggiungerne altri, probabilmente. Il mio compagno d'avventura è molto duro su questo punto, ma non posso che ammettere che ha ragione: non servono terme, viaggi, massaggi e costrizioni from the outside, the only ingredient needed to lose weight is the force of will. It seems easy for him to have self-discipline has to sell, but I know that it is not easy at all: I myself would not be able to maintain a minimum level of decency, balance, if not commanding hours of sport and effort, as indeed I do. If I ever stop moving, the way I eat, rise like a sponge ... And, by the way, stay on the edge of the sixty pounds is titanic undertaking.

The alarm sounds, merciless, at ten to three. Before you even realize where, how and why, I cast with the ardor of a piranha on the bag lunch, even on bags: one, the one that has left yesterday evening, the waitress, the other, what we get, in extremis, the numbers picked up immediately after the race at Courchevel and just before closing time at the supermarket. The first contains a few slices of bread, jam impulse without sugar, honey-dose, two slices of cheese, a bit 'of fruit and two bottles of water and the other, a box of soft Camembert grassissimo, a large portion of soft cake dusting of icing sugar and a brick of sweet bread, "While Beurre", the name is just a program. If nothing else, I can say I corrected the famine of last night. George points out in disgust: I do not think I've ever seen anyone get out in one meal, in pochi istanti, i tre quarti di una confezione di Camembert da tre etti... E l'ultimo quarto non l'ho mangiato solo perché, nella mia somma magnanimità, l'ho ceduto a lui! Che goduria...

La giornata sembra promettere bene. Aria frizzante ed una meravigliosa, perfetta stellata. Abbandoniamo l'albergo immerso nel silenzio: pochi chilometri e siamo a Courchevel 1300. Alle tre e mezza della notte, il buio nasconde i trampolini del salto con gli sci, che ieri mi hanno fatto profonda impressione: se penso che ho paura a sporgermi dal balcone del secondo piano... L'idea di buttarsi giù lungo una pista di cui non si vede nemmeno la sommità, e volare con gli sci, senz'altra difesa che la tuta e la propria pelle, mi pare la peggiore of suicidal madness. But who knows, perhaps such treatment would make me spend the fear of emptiness!

First point for the organization of this race: the parking lot. Large and opposite to the starting point. And the reception with hot tea and coffee in French, but still coffee. I never imagined there were so many Italians, too familiar faces: reach this place is anything but simple, the journey is long and excruciating, at this time of year when just about everyone they travel. It is rumored that the trail will soon: after all, just look at the numbers, a good dose of altitude in just over fifty miles, do not need a PhD to understand the Normale di Pisa that the climb will be challenging and, alas, the descent as well. I look sideways at George

; is tense, as always. It is certainly not the fault of the race, is his natural condition. To me, now, the start of a race is no longer any effect, at least until I know that, unless unforeseen events, the company is pretty much within my reach. Fifty km: I can do it. My only doubt is the gate to the third time dining, seven hours to just over thirty miles in which, however, has focused much of the difference. According to Matthew, my oracle consulted in recent days, is a pretty tight bond, which, translated from its language always face the encouragement, it means assolutamente impossibile. Giorgio, però, non ne sa nulla, ed io mi guardo bene dal renderlo edotto. Già così, so che quest'uomo mi darà il tormento per correre, correre, correre; figuriamoci se poi andassi a dirgli che c'è un limite orario oltre il quale si finisce fuori gara...

La partenza è semplice, senza tanti fronzoli: tutti riuniti nel prato, davanti all'arco gonfiabile. Il pendio davanti a noi non si vede, ma è ben evidenziato da una fila di torce parallele: è lì che ci buttiamo al segnale del via. Una rampa micidiale in mezzo all'erba, tanto per gradire, lungo la linea di salita più ripida possibile. Il mio compare, pur con le sue primavere in più, trotta che è una meraviglia; io invece, come sempre, annaspo in piena carenza di ossigeno. Le partenze sono sempre un momento critico; così, poi, sono una coltellata in mezzo alle scapole! Giorgio scappa avanti, si volta, aspetta, chiacchiera con molta leggerezza; vorrei rispondere a tono, ma tutto quel che esce dalla mia gola è un rantolo strozzato. Per fortuna, mi sembra di capire che il resto del mondo, qui intorno, non sia molto più pimpante di me.
Dalla traccia in mezzo al prato, si converge, con pendenza un po' più umana, su un sentiero. D'un tratto, il gruppo in cui procedo s'imbatte in un vero e proprio fiume di luci che salgono verso di noi: un attimo di smarrimento... Che succede? Da dove arrivano, questi? E' vero, there is also a short course of 30 km, but they start at eight ... I know much that happened here is a mess and someone in the wrong way, I wonder if us or them. To me it seemed obvious to take the marked up by the torches; more evident than that ... The fact is that, now, we trooped to the bottom of an endless column of riders and, of course, on a path that makes it almost impossible to overtake. What nerve ... From the valley floor, still rings the rhythmic music that accompanied our departure, and the voice into the microphone to comment on the early stages of the race. Calm and cool: there will be plenty of time to run after. For now, best to take advantage of the slowdown forced and save energy.

Alla luce della lampada frontale, intuisco pochi metri del sentiero, pochi tratti per volta; il buio ci accompagnerà almeno per un'ora di salita, forse più. Tornanti su tornanti in mezzo alla vegetazione: la prima ascesa è lunga, circa milleduecento metri in un colpo solo, salvo saliscendi non previsti, e si annuncia impegnativa. Poco male. Mi sembra d'aver preso un buon passo. Il sentiero è asciutto, roccioso; si sente solo il tonfo dei piedi, il respiro ritmico. Dietro a noi, la scopa a chiudere la fila. Siamo già ultimi: mica male! Non ha importanza: sono pronta a scommettere che, prima della vetta, avremo già messo il sale sulla coda a più di un avversario.

Una striscia appena percettibile di blu più chiaro annuncia l'arrivo del giorno, finalmente, e scioglie la sottile tensione che sempre mi accompagna al buio. Chissà come vive la notte su sentiero una qualsiasi persona con vista in buona efficienza. Per me, è una gran fatica, una tensione continua che si trasmette alle gambe, ogni passo da misurare con cautela, senza mai riuscire a mettere a fuoco l'ostacolo. La prima luce dell'alba ci rivela uno spettacolo mozzafiato sull'intera corona di cime, nette nei loro contorni scuri; i lumini giù nella valle sfumano pian piano, insieme all'eco della musica che ancora risuona.

Raggiungo la prima avversaria nel tratto di bosco, ripido, appena prima di uscire allo scoperto in mezzo a cespugli di mirtilli e rododendri. If nothing else, the torment of her discharge broom at his heels. I climb at a good pace up the hairpin bends, I must not exaggerate, but I seem to feel good. Want to see that this is finally a day? It would be tragic to discover that it is on the dinner last night ... The few times I can look up, admire the scenery is wonderful. Peaks in the eye, in a blue sky that no longer can. Although, for my taste, there's some cloud whisker too: those high clouds, thin and ragged that make me fear the worst.

fact, the clouds spread with amazing speed; are already a gray sheet, compact, that comes close to us, even prima che si arrivi nei paraggi del primo ristoro. Siamo ormai oltre quota duemila metri e non c'è più traccia di alberi intorno a noi; siamo esposti al soffio di un vento ancora leggero, ma gelido. Raggiungiamo, uno dopo l'altro, alcuni avversari un po' lessati dalla salita; il sentiero intanto aggira un primo accenno di cima, passa accanto ad una tavola con l'indicazione dei punti cardinali. Intorno a noi, le strutture degli impianti da sci; di fronte, un rifugio dall'aspetto ultramoderno: nemmeno brutto, a parere di Giorgio... Semplicemente orribile, secondo me.
Ci imbattiamo nel tavolino del primo ristoro: sorpresa, c'è anche un bel cagnone che già ieri abbiamo incontrato in giro per Courchevel e poi spaparanzato sulla front door of the supermarket. A dog of unknown breed to me, the appearance of the bulldog, but less massive, and the indifferent nature: it seems a bit 'fed up with being here. And how he's wrong? I bet they would prefer a bed and hot strip the flesh off a bone in the valley ...

Coca Cola at will, even if it is cold, and then pieces of cheese, dried fruit, and sugar cubes. Again almost immediately, the wet shirt stuck to the skin from freezing. Hanging over our heads a rocky peak, with a cross on top, judging by the swarm of human figures up there, I just know that we have to climb. Cross the saddle with the jaws in motion, accompanied by an ascetic George does not eat mai, e mi ritrovo ancora in salita: un sentierino stretto, molto ripido, a tratti un po' esposto, di quelli da cui è meglio che io non guardi giù. Anche perché il ristoro è già un puntino minuscolo... La pendenza è tale che i piedi, di quando in quando, scivolano indietro. Ma vedere gente che si sposta dal sentiero per lasciarmi passare è cosa che mi galvanizza: la salita è l'unico terreno in cui posso dare un po' di sfogo al mio spirito agonistico. Il compare, dietro, mi tallona da vicino. Il passaggio in cima, Rocher de la Loze, è un attimo, poi giù, lungo un sentiero che sembra da subito troppo bello per essere vero. Stetto, ma dal fondo morbido, terra, senza asperità, pietre aguzze, fango or slopes. Perfect for my hocks that today, I hope not too soon to say, I feel fresh and light, well-disposed to the race. In fact, we run: now down quickly, bend after bend. If I remember correctly, we should not get that much: four hundred yards, maybe five hundred, then return with the nose, to more than 2,600 share.
legs feel fresh and loose like never before. Mine is still the same race a bit 'awkward and uncertain, but it is something better than just walking downhill. Even George is surprised: "Did you see rarely run downhill." Yes, true, but today goes well! The trail continues soft and comfortable, with hairpins in the middle of the slope grass until you reach a dirt road that just touches: a few meters in floor and rising again to the right, up a rocky path and just mentioned, along a river. The sky is almost covered. A Borraccetti sucked the honey, not to betray me from the ascent. I take with caution: it announces another beautiful flight, first on the path quite rough, stones, and then on a real convenient road. A little 'weakness is knocking at my door, but just enough to slow down and then look ahead: some group, some lone runner, trudging up. It 's a way, true, but pretty steep. Rebuke, gentlemen, oh if I take them! And then too bad if I eat a salad in discesa. L'entusiasmo fa presto a tornare alle stelle. "Ed ora, in modalità locomotiva", esclamo, con una buona dose di megalomania per la verità. "Ed io, in modalità vagone attaccato alla locomotiva", sospira il buon Giorgio, che qui, per qualche attimo, sembra tribolare più del solito. Resta qualche metro indietro e, cosa inaudita e preoccupante, tace. La strada ha una superficie sassosa, poco confortevole, più simile qua e là ad una pietraia, ed una pendenza che non concede requie. Tallono le mie lepri, sempre più vicine, ma con un occhio ogni tanto rivolto indietro, a vedere che il mio compare sia ancora lì. Preoccupazione inutile, non cederebbe nemmeno se una valanga lo travolgesse in questo istante e, in ogni caso, non si lamenterebbe. Più testardo di un mulo: e se lo dico io, che di cocciutaggine me ne intendo... Io invece mi lagno di continuo, ma è solo quando smetto di brontolare, che sto male davvero.

Attraversiamo una pista da sci, terra nuda e desolata in questa stagione; molto più in alto, si vede la sagoma di un rifugio. Un escavatore parcheggiato nella curva distrugge gli ultimi cocci della poesia della montagna: che scempio quassù... Ancora qualche curva, qualche rampa; Giorgio dice di soffrire la quota, ma intanto schizza avanti, con balzo felino, forse perché sente aria di ristoro. "Abbiamo fatto 110 m di dislivello in 10 minuti"... E ci credo, con pendenze del genere, il dislivello lo macini fast! Here he is there, the rest of the bench. Heroic, these volunteers are on the hill, exposed to cold wind, wrapped up like Michelin men in thick jackets. Stand still or nearly so, up here for hours, it must be terrible. 2659 m, Sommet de la Vizelle, but not yet the Cima Coppi. The menu for me is always the same: rivers of Coke, nuts, dried fruit, cheese, sugar.

Wonderful landscapes from up here, just do not see nothing but mountains around. A place to dream, and then today, more unique than rare, I'm fine, what more could I ask of life? We set off again down slightly, chewing, but soon returns to reverse the slope. Steep ramp to another hill, Col du Fruit, just lower than the previous year. We are just beyond the fifteenth miles and walked a lot, now: you can not really say that we beat the weak, however, proceed slowly, inevitably. The difference is remarkable. We walk between towering rock formations, to the arrow signpost, and then another descent, this seemingly friendly: it seems too good to be true! Gian eye, sooner or later comes the catch ... Meanwhile, corricchio at a good pace, and my left ankle, torn by an incalculable amount of wrong in every now trail, for now does not complain, gives no sign of life. Do not sing victory too soon, however. The descent

ends at 20 km, approximately, on a nice wooden bridge over the stream. There it is now a long stretch of flat, or nearly along the river and the sun is shining more and more covetous of its rays. We talk and walk, to save and regain your strength, it is still long, though, in theory at least, two thousand meters in altitude are now behind us. In our neighborhood, two French runners with the red shirt, one of them is visibly tired running, is beyond us, then sits exhausted, the other waits. Giorgio them justice: "To do so, they will not go away." A herd of cows lazy, lying in almost every field, we observed ruminating. The first plateau is interrupted by a short but challenging climb, a step of a hundred meters of altitude on another bowl of that tract level, to the Refuge du Sault. "At noon, a half at most, could be the next restaurant," George delights. But yes, at this point I can tell him: "Yeah, too bad that the gate time is eleven thirty ...". Falls from the clouds, the poor, but the screen shot. "I do not care - I conclude - do what they want, I'm not going to pull the neck." And with this conviction, attack the climb, the real one. Narrow path and steep, as always in little steps to be taken quickly and with the full force of the poles. Giorgio silent. Of course I was really cruel ... I might be silent at all! But I confess that this gives me a subtle malice malicious pleasure ... I have no idea what is missing, such as distance and height difference between now and rest, my pops has with it the altitude, but it's not that enlightening. And then, however, most of what I'm doing I could not do, no point in my worry.

The ascent is challenging, but technically nothing alarming, at least until the first pass, the Col de Chanrouge. Ditto the descent, very quick to tell the truth. But then ... I knew it, I knew I should not make me illusion. He returned almost immediately to increase, but only for a short time on the trail. I raise the nose and suffered a blow Fell on my solemn assurance: the hill is at least two hundred yards in su... E ci si arriva solo per una pietraia ripida, di pietroni grossi, per giunta con un buon condimento di neve... Dai Gian, tanto s'ha da fare, buttati... Ma non è affatto cosa semplice. Fatico a seguire la traccia, che tra l'altro nemmeno esiste; mi sposto a quattro zampe, quando non anche a forza di chiappe; sfrego, mi graffio, mi schianto contro le pietre, faccio un passo avanti e tre indietro. In una parola, mi sorpassano tutti... Sembrano danzare là dove io avanzo come un goffo bruco, ed ogni volta che tiro su gli occhi, il colle è sempre lassù, alla stessa distanza. Sui nevaietti, poi, la gioia è suprema. Addio caviglia; una, due, tre storte, brucia già da piangere. Il mio calvario sembra non avere fine; George has run a good stew almost immediately to wait, disappeared on the horizon, it will already be at the top. I see him soon, and emerges from the nightmare, disappear over the hill, while I subisco now, on a walking path under the brow, the queue of those who went before me.

Unfortunately, on the other hand, the matter is no less dramatic at all. A few steep and slippery hairpins I rushed straight to the attack of a long and steep snowfield. The others deal with using the backside as a kind of luge: to think of it, is the best solution, because the slope will eventually weaken, but to me the idea of \u200b\u200bslipping even for fifty yards out of control makes i brividi. Occhiata disperata ai bordi del nevaio: o neve, o pietraia scoscesa... Tantovale provarci. Con cautela infinita, reprimendo a stento un moto di terrore, cerco di non guardare giù e misuro i passi piantando il piede di taglio, i bastoncini come uncino, un passo e poi un altro passo, pronta a sentire l'appiglio che cede ed a ruzzolare fin giù. Non cede: ma è il corridore che mi segue, forse l'ultimo dietro di me, a perdere la presa. Lo fermo puntando il piede in modo che la sua scarpa va a frenare contro la mia caviglia, quella sana: ottimo lavoro di squadra!
Un paio di ere geologiche più tardi, sono in fondo al nevaio, ma ancora una volta sulla pietraia. Così, rieccomi a strisciare, a bestemmiare in ostrogoto for the twisted ankle, chewing nervous the day veered in a direction much, much darker. Competitors around me, apart from my pursuer, no one, on the other hand, I find a lonely picket the organization, he explains, fluentissimo in English, which, in the section I follow the good track regardless of path, because the cut slope might seem the best idea, but for some reason, in reality it is not at all. Broadly speaking, I get the idea, although I would have grabbed more than happy to tell my partner. Great looking man, physically robust, light brown flowing hair, blue eyes, almost almost could fake a sudden illness, right here ...

Invece, l'incrollabile senso del dovere del corridore mi spinge a proseguire, prima lungo una traccia appena accennata, che taglia il pendio ripido a zig zag, poi lungo una traccia che non esiste più: hai voglia a cercare i pallini di vernice... Mi servirebbe un binocolo. Stufa, punto diretta al bordo del laghetto, dove ritrovo infatti il vero e proprio sentiero. Cammino senza entusiasmo, scornata e dispiaciuta perché ormai la barriera oraria sarà irrimediabilmente chiusa. Chissà Giorgio, che fine ha fatto. I pochi raggi di sole che filtrano tra le nuvole fanno brillare l'increspatura dell'acqua. Cerco nello zaino la crostatina e l'addento: ma sì, consoliamoci con il cibo... Immediatamente spunta un altro personaggio a guardia of the race: "The rest - I felt in French - is just ahead." Damn, but had a few 'a pan of cabbage your ... Can I be hungry now, yes or no?

muttering to myself, I hasten along the trail, finally viable, a long stretch of the hillside and, finally, a little further down, the rest of the gazebo Petite Val. There arrival and resigned in pain, with the ankle in flames. I find waiting for George and a lot of bib numbers scattered on the floor of runners who retire. In fact, the inn is in the process of demobilization, but none of the volunteers of the organization seems to know anything of the gate time. Our transition is still detected. We do not know, in other words, if we consider the race or not. Meanwhile, I refreshed her going. My travel companion does not arise the doubt, continue, period. I follow him, obviously, but hesitant, a bit 'cause my cosmic pessimism leads me to think that you are now out of time, even if nobody wants to say, and a bit' because I fear that the reporting of the trail are removed before we passed. True, there are the marks of paint, but ...
rising again in the company of my bad mood. Dirt road, with a slope not too demanding. We look around to see where you are going to pass: the graph altimetry, now should not expect more long climbs or binding. I see a hill on my right, silhouettes of people moving on the ridge, it might be there? Apparently, no, we go in the middle of a pasture, then along a path in the grass that cuts the hairpin bend finally decided to left, still on the road. There is a small troop with us, at least a dozen people. The road makes a saddle, Col des Salauces, and starts to descend. Increasingly somber mood, still grumbling, angry, complaining of pain in my ankle, provoking the ire of George, with difficulty repressed. Then he snaps the spring: and that's fine, want to run? Then we run, and bring all your sprouts are. I feel my legs yet inexplicably withdrawn and I am very much surprised myself, and I throw in a nice ride, just held back by a minimum of attention to potholes, stones and road irregularities, so I almost think I groped for the passing of the big group. But it is better to go downhill, I avoid the bullies. In fact, the road goes to converge on a path, nothing terrible, but that makes me lose a bit 'of soil over the fugitives. Narrow path, halfway up, up and down among the rhododendrons. I see on the right side of a hill, high above us: there are people up there ... Want to see who is there, our destination? George argues that it is not possible, which is too high. Um, we'll see. For now, it seems to have reason for him going down a lot and we are in the opposite direction. With much weeping and gnashing of teeth, another heap of stones: short, thankfully, but enough to put me in excitement and make me lose more land. In addition to not understand how I can stand, I can not even see the direction ... Reminds me of the cry of George, the trail turns hard right and starts uphill. And that climb. The attack with the fury of my bad mood. I reach in a walking group that goes slow, too slow: rest a bit 'behind, frying, then I throw, I try, I cut a hairpin bend and fail the entire column. Forza Italy, "says someone ... From then on, I put the soul at risk of a cuddly, with the heart that hits you in the head and lungs that do not have more room to let in air. "Heck if you go," George snorts ... As if he had thrown gasoline on the fire. Over the pass in a moment, and thank goodness. Col de la Pierre large, the altimeter altitude 2,400 seconds of my pops. From here on, a long ride under a sun that seems to restore its domination, and in an environment that looks more like that of the Riviera: missing only the scent of the sea. White stone, limestone, crumbly and dug everywhere, the path runs in the middle of pinnacles and deep holes, cracks, splits, with some passing and some delicate glance a bit 'too exposed for my taste, the valley . George is excited, he runs and jumps like a grasshopper, disappears behind the rocks, then I wait and run in again. Yes, it is true, it's beautiful here ... But, for whatever absurd mechanism of neuron now my tilt, not admit, not just for what is right to give at this moment, is the scapegoat of my Paturnie. Of course the stony ground has really spoiled the day ... Very attractive, landscaped grounds, this tract, but rises, falls, rises, falls ... Enough, for pity's sake, here we take a decision! Or up, or down, but we make a choice ...

Down, fortunately, after an interminable time and distance. Stroke, a more sheltered stretch of trail, to the junction of the paths along, our, and short, one to 30 km. "We still climb to 2,300 m," announces my torment: "Run, that the French are already behind ... I'd like to pull his stick between his legs, nothing but run. They are weak and no longer wanted: one of those depths of sadness when I fall from time to time, when things turn out differently from how dare I want. But who cares if the French take over there! The temptation is to do a whim, planted here and not move more ...

Fortunately, he soon reached the final climb. With a capital S, a steep ramp to climb using tree roots as steps. Typhus is a huge group of hikers belly. More or less back is like a pole: pochi, affannosi metri ed usciamo dinuovo allo scoperto, fuori dal bosco, con il panorama della valle da una parte e dall'altra. Giorgio è lì, poco avanti; si lascia raggiungere. Tornantini aspri, un'anticima, ma non è ancora finita. Mi imbatto in uno dei volti noti italiani, seduto su una roccia: strano, costui è uno che fila... Se è qui, significa che non sta bene. Me lo conferma, infatti. Sarà colpa del sole, che tutto ad un tratto s'è messo a picchiare cattivo sulle nostre teste. Non posso fare altro che lasciargli il gel che ho nel taschino; magari, una buona dose di zucchero pone rimedio al malanno. Anch'io mi attacco, per l'ennesima volta, alla borraccetta di miele. Dei Francesi, alle spalle, più No trace: I know that these companies put up a safe distance between us and them, although I am almost sure that there riacchiapperanno downhill.

Dent du Villard, elevation 2,200, last summit. Hence, an infinite descent, all to run: first on the trail, narrow and wide, then on a dirt road. Running, running, running, chasing the last refreshment. The trail crosses the slope with long stretches in a zig zag, diving into the woods, always offering an area of \u200b\u200bsoft ground and without stones, roots or other obstacles do not seem real ... Down, down, down in the valley, a precipice, there is the lake of La Rosiere, a beautiful patch of emerald green. That 's where we get: an abyss ... George runs non-stop, I follow him with his legs in good condition but will now run out. You should not ever get to be near the end because the last km are always the bad habit to expand dramatically. On the other side of the valley, we see the first foothills of Courchevel 1850, our goal, however, is at 1300 ...

At a bend, a race is held in chick stripping and collecting the red and white ribbons. As we passed, almost attacked us and we repeated several times, in French, shouting: "You are out of the race! Out of the race." I'm beginning to think that a minimum of coordination in more between carers, would be nice ... In any case, now we are near the end, in competition or out of the race, he continues, if possible with renewed enthusiasm. George does not spare unflattering epithets at the gentle lady, I'd rather give it the benefit of the doubt, maybe she was passed that information and most do not know.

From the path to the road, picked up again a fugitive, tired-looking lot. Then, finally, we reach the coveted shore of the lake and the even more coveted resting spot. Even here, our passage is regularly found, indeed, the volunteers also encourage us: "It was only 5 km, all downhill." But a bit 'of Coke and a few bites we are the same. The news of those who send in legs air my bad mood now, yes that is done ... George is electric as if he had just stuck two fingers in the socket. "Five miles, three quarters of an hour and there we are," gloats. Quiet, finch ... I learned on my skin when I hear "all downhill," first port, metaphorically of course, the hands of the family jewels, and then I should refuse to believe even for a moment. Indeed. The road continues along the river and passes under a climbing wall system, we can walk in a slalom between famigiole, older children and dogs away from my path, because I swear that overwhelms everyone! But the free ride does not last, although the last three kilometers are ups and downs: the commitment required, if you will, is ridiculous, but now the only desire is to arrive, and that damn bow turns away more ... Corricchiando and walking, we reach the homes of Courchevel 1300. Last rampetta, almost insignificant, in the meadow: escapes me right in the heart, an unkind epithet address of the person who created the path ... But this time it's really over, We come out on the edge of the pond in the country. "I swim, just to shorten the distance, look, disconsolately. Still half ride on the lake, then the playing field: we have, finally, a few seconds after the hour of eleven and a half hours and a lot of time, but much better than any expectations. The time to drink and nibble something inside a tent is too hot, noisy and crowded it is in the process of awarding the winner, Dawa Sherpa, a random ... Then off to the car and shower. Happy now. But now, I have to face a trial worse the long muzzle of my traveling companion. I should remember that not everyone is as good Matthew, who knows me, I stand and has learned to curb my tantrums, or perhaps simply not caring. Does anyone remember, and if you offend the league on his finger ... And sooner or later I will retaliate!

Inflamed Membraines Foot

17/18 luglio 2010 - Ultra Trail du Beaufortain

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!

The Best Geniatal Wash

10/11 luglio 2010 - Gran Trail Valdigne

"Ah yes, Giancarlo Agostini. Do not touch me not even make the effort to remove the ID card from his wallet: now I have to be so notorious that here and there, my name appears. The lady who sells me over the race number bib 201 and puts me in a pen and a scroll to be signed: the discharge of responsibility, or something like that. It seems that my medical certificate is not delivered upon registration, and yet I am sure to have it sent via e-mail, and anyway I have it guaranteed that I have, and are then enrolled for a two federations and Running cycling, more than that ... And most importantly, I think I've already had fully demonstrated the strength of my heart. "I sign everything want, even a blank check, money order ... Just make me go! ".

At the start of the race there are still nearly two hours, there is plenty of time to wander around Morgex, get a coffee, chat, add a second cup of coffee. It is now difficult to walk ten meters without attacking button: it is true, the category of fools who engage in these adventures is larger every year, but there are famous faces, the regulars, those who are always everywhere, like parsley. Just like me. L 'only trouble is that to remember a face and maybe even attach a name and a story, I should meet him at least three or four times, it happens so that the festive greeting of some runners, I respond with equal emphasis, only to brood for a while ': "But who will he ever? Where I've already met?".

Accompanied by George, I make two or three times back and forth between the car park, sports hall and the departure area, there is always some dare you forgot, you left something in the car but maybe you would agree to take you behind, something that you put in your backpack, but think about it, you feel useless. In my own is the essential fabric thermal, waterproof jacket, a change of shirt and shorts, because thunderstorms are expected in the afternoon, again, the front light, spare batteries, glass, water and the pappatoria. I scan the sky without much confidence, true, for now the blue is the master, but in the afternoon we'll have to suffer and stay moist. Weather forecasts are now no more mistakes, useless illusion. I am comforted by the fact that a weather report posted to a bulletin board in the announced departure of freezing at 4,400 m altitude, if nothing else, you will suffer from the cold. The departure from

Morgex, instead of Courmayeur, new this year for the Great Trail Valdigne, it gives me the impression of being a little 'subdued: there are participants, neither the stage nor the music, but the feeling is an event not heard of a way less intense and engaging. Better so, mind you, for my taste. Besides, I do not feel the same frenzy, the anxiety I felt during the first trail. Not that I have confidence in my pocket to finish the race, of course, are still less than 90 km to 5,400 m climb, a night for a walk on trails. But now I can afford to lie down on the grass of the playground, eat what is left of cake and a good dose of comfort, as far as possible, Paturnie good George, who joined the "short" version of the race - short so to speak, are just under 50 km - but would love to be able to change your mind ... I tried, I ask him to move his name to the list of members long path, but the response has been beaten, who knows why, since the cost of the two tests is identical, and had been paid, however, for a while '. Maybe the boss does not want to be having to deal with a carousel of changes because of the eternal undecided. Poor guy, you have my understanding: rather than take part in the short course of a race that also includes a longer route, closed on me at home to sprinkle ashes on their heads, would be a pain too deep. But anyhow ... Let's enjoy the last moments of rest, with his back against the soft, head lolling on the backpack, spend hours and hours of horde before they can again enjoy a moment like this.

Yet another coffee before getting on the grid: the route to the bar, I run into Teomat, alias Matthew Ghezzi, the winner of the 2009 Great Trail Valdigne and obviously in the spotlight again this year. I really hope she can do it again ... Coffee with sugar: it is a concession that only offer myself before a race or a workout, in contravention of the rule that a good coffee should be sipped bitter. It 's a weakness, I know, but I have an alibi, I can always put the blame on George, who, in terms of caffeine, is a consumer employee most hardened me. Then, the way to the barriers, the first control chip, then there is a corner sheltered and is based the sweet ass on the ground. At the start there is still more than half an hour, that George and I are dedicated to wild gossip. A tattoo on her ankle with the crest of the Marathon des Sables, a girl who runs with the white wedding veil on the head, the clock tower that seems to have stopped, the blue sky crossed by some passing cloud, backpack small, the enormous backpack, the shoes look strange, the same as my other ones ... Menara language is one of the most effective ways to ease the tension, with an eye fixed to the hands of the tower. Yes, because as usual I do not have with me any instrument that measures the passage of time - there's the phone, but that is hermetically sealed in the pocket, invisible - and my pops has a complicated contraption wrist, with twelve hundred functions, including the styling, the car wash and cook toast ... But with the battery almost completely drained. Very useful, I think.
now in danger, so lying on the ground with legs stretched out, let us walk on tumbling from the crowd. Better get up, although still lacking a few minutes. The loudspeaker barks recommendations that, amid the buzz of the crowd, arriving in bits and pieces for timpani. Pricked up his ears when I hear about "time also strong, at around 17" Who has the rods in carbon is asked to take care ... I look at mine: I have not the faintest idea of \u200b\u200bthe material they are made, but certainly I have no intention of abandoning the street: first, because repugnant to me losing material in good condition, and secondly, because, without sticks, are a trip over, me I can forget the trail!

The sun illuminates only the central street, sheltered by buildings. A few passing clouds, from time to time, and goes. Finally, to put an end to the eternal wait, get off, almost by surprise. You start, stop, it starts to pace, trot. The two golf courses, long and short, are divided just beyond the bridge, about a mile after the start: Greetings George, I shall see the arrival, perhaps. If I get it. In some ways, running the race together might be nice, but now I realized, from experience, that to me the company does more harm than good. Through no fault of the travel companion of the moment, but just know myself because I am not fit, even when the other does his best to fit me. To find the right pace, to curb the euphoria, to overcome the moments of discouragement or physical distress, to overcome fear, I must be alone, there is nothing to be done. Otherwise, risk of damaging the liver and destroy a friendship, because only me and the fellas who had the misfortune to experience, we know what levels of hatred and aberration I manage to get off when they are in crisis. And to think that in everyday life, I will recognize the merit of being a living, let live and focuses on his fixations without tormenting his neighbor.

Vai, Gian. The first hour will be pure suffering, now you know, will not save you from this torture anyone. Lightweight race on the upper stretches of gravel road, which, in previous years, was placed more or less half of the race. Yes, the ring route remained unchanged, but the road has been a shift of 50 km here, if I had been explained in these terms, at school, traveling, maybe I learned something. I leave the torpedoes to run to catch up and I just do not mention the road to climb. Road which soon becomes the path in many places corribile; a climb, a short winding down, then still up and down, until the junction manned by volunteers. E 'fears of a swing: I want to run more, not to slow down those who follow me, but I'm afraid to strain the muscles too early, with the risk of paying the bill well before the end. Descent winding up Pré St Didier: in the opposite direction, rose the fastest runners, who have already completed the ride in the center of the country. Beyond the bridge over the rushing waters of Baltea through the square and reach the point of comfort: even if we just left, a glass of Coke I do not handle anyone. Allotment in a gallop, determined to tackle head on this first stretch of the climb to the refuge of Arpy: who knows why ... Crossing my turn runners still down. Uphill I just can not help myself, if there is any enemy in the neighborhood, I know, it's a little satisfaction, but this is the only ground on which I can afford to say, sometimes, my. I realize that the pace is too much that I took to be the beginning of the adventure: danger of very serious blow. Yet it is equally exciting to see people who dodge to let me pass. You know, we schappe we need our little reason to feel great, even for a moment ... Fortunately, the sometimes narrow path slows the pace of the line and allows me to breathe a bit 'breath, looking much further down, a hairpin, the case piccine piccine di Pré St Didier.
Il sentiero ripido confluisce in una strada sterrata, dove chi può si mette le gambe in spalla e schizza via. Io no: su questa pendenza, ben più blanda della precedente, sono impotente, per quanto paradossale possa sembrare. Percorro un tratto al passo veloce, in compagnia di Silver e di un paio di suoi compagni d'avventura, ma non riesco a tenere la loro andatura. Calma Gian, non consumarti inutilmente qui, non avrebbe alcun senso. Le gambe sono già inchiodate, il fiato corto, ma non è il caso di preoccuparsi; tutt'al più, di buttare giù un po' di zucchero, se non altro per sentirne il gusto. E' una cosa che ho notato da non molto: forse da quando ho aumentato le prove di lunga distanza a pochi giorni o settimane l'una dall'altra. Una gran voglia di zucchero, proprio le semplici zollette di zucchero, o le bustine da caffé, un desiderio che mi accompagna da cima a fondo della prova. Se poi lo zucchero bianco sia o meno l'alimento ideale, non lo so...

La strada sterrata offre un bel panorama sulle cime e passa accanto a bellissime case in pietra, con i vasi di gerani d'ordinanza ai balconi, ma non sale mai... Cammino ormai nel vuoto, ma solo fin quando si torna sul sentiero. Da qui, non mi è difficile mettere il sale sulla coda di chi mi precede. Un chilometro circa di sentiero ripido e sconnesso, che corre lungo un canale artificiale, colmo d'acqua, e lo interseca più volte. Tocca fare ben attenzione not to stumble into the tube that follows the same direction. I climb with almost frantic pace, not slow down even for those who follow me and does not intend to pass is not always act as the locomotive is so easy ... The vegetation is dense and moist, great games, the reflections of the sun on the drops that wet the leaves. And then the buzz of power lines, to remind us that we are just playing the wild life: the amenities are not far off.

This path leads to a meadow at the foot of the town of Arpy. Inhabited so to speak, the houses, beautiful and well restored, with stone roofs, seem deserted, but for a white curtain and a pair of slippers on the threshold of a door. First real restaurant, with pappatoria, al rifugio. Come sempre, tracanno Coca Cola a volontà. e mangiucchio un po' di tutto, dalla frutta secca al cioccolato, ai cubetti di zucchero che ingoio a manate. E mi porto via un po' di formaggio, da sbafare nel successivo tratto quasi in piano. Via, di corsa, fuori, anzi no, si torna dentro: con le mani piene di cibarie, ho scordato i bastoncini. Lungo tratto al passo veloce in mezzo al pianoro: sfiliamo di fronte all'ultima baita, sotto gli occhi dei commensali di una ricca tavola imbandita in giardino. Qualche famigliola si gode il picnic sulle sponde del torrente; il sole è ancora limpido e caldo. Oltre il ponte, svolta a sinistra e poi subito a destra: si torna, finalmente, a salire, lungo una strada sterrata e fangosa che presto again crosses the stream and returns to the path. It dates back in part precisely the flow of water, blessed GoreTex shoes I avoid the concern to control where you go. Hairpin bends up towards what looks like the edge of a step in the mountain, not too cautious or reasonable pursuit of those ahead of me, blowing like a bellows, with the little heart that begs for mercy. I feel a crushing fatigue, leg pain, back, but I know that everything passes, with distance, and today will not be an exception, I hope. In addition
yet another turning point, I find myself facing the lake Arpy crowded with tourists. A moment of hesitation which direction to take, then, two spectators mi indicano il sentiero che corre lungo il lago. Infatti, scorgo più avanti altri compagni di sventura. Da lì, ancora salita, fino a lasciarsi la vegetazione sotto i piedi: con il naso all'insù, affretto il passo, raccatto qualche avversario, per conquistare una soddisfazione temporanea, che sarà smontata, pezzo per pezzo, non appena la pendenza s'invertirà. Non vedo altro che la punta delle mie scarpe, il prato ed il traverso finale, su al colle. Ci arrivo e trovo, lì appostate per il passaggio della corsa, coppie e famigliole accompagnate dagli amici a quattro zampe: non posso trattenermi dal dispensare due coccole ad uno splendido labrador dallo sguardo dolcissimo; "Mi porterai fortuna fino alla fine!". Quota 2.400, about: to be here in La Thuile, single, very long descent. With one eye on the path to another, worried that the storm clouds gather precisely in the direction of the race: gray, swollen, threatening. Moreover, Gian, you knew that already. Today, the storm did not escape: and we hope it is just that, in fact, only one time, and in the evening and night are, as promised, clear and dry. E 'is essential because I can think of to finish the race.

The descent is endless and dramatic, especially in the first part. As I try not to think about, arms and legs feel numb, even my lips tingle. The view becomes blurred a bit 'and the head starts to make a great evil, as if the heart is were transferred to fly in the skull. It 'also possible that it went like this: the empty space on that side, do not miss ... I am beset by a sense of exhaustion, a tired that I can not contain. Also this is a situation that already know, and I often occurs when the descent is very steep and fast, will be the fault of the pressure, who knows. Maybe I should do as the sub; gradually acclimated before going down ... Meanwhile, halfway around the world surpasses me, like a script. Jump like deer and spin away, while I am forced to conduct a feasibility study on each foot support. And to fight the head turning. The fainting is so intense that, when they are almost at the Thiule, I have to pause for a moment on the wooden bridge and rearrange ideas, it turns out that collapse like a ripe pear ...
Slowly, I went toward the house and take the first dirt road, follow the channel, leading to the country. On the banner at the entrance to a resting spot, I read a comforting news: we are at km 23. But then ... It 's true, I suffered a lot so far, but I've already milled 23 km! Not that there's really that surprising, given that the race is composed of four climbs and one is already behind us, but in any case, it is a wonderful surprise. "Congratulations - exclaimed a lady at the entrance of the structure - unless the weather goes bad." And here, if I had the raw material, would take instinctively place their hands in unmentionable: statements like this bring a scab incalculable ... At the table of refreshment, Coca Cola and alternate stock, faithful to my recommendation to stop a bit 'and we then add a few bites of everything from chocolate to dried fruit. A quick look at the chairs tells me that many tend to take it easy, intent to eat, talk or care blisters to the feet, the better, it means that, for a while ', will not stay alone. But it's stronger than me, I can not do it to be quiet and calm. Do I have thrown back out of the jaws still work out to the next climb. I only distracts the views of a great big dog, a cross with a Holstein, I think: sleeping appearance and color similar to the Bernese Mountain Dog, but this is even bigger than a Saint Bernard. The point, I would snatch a caress, but I see him come into a courtyard, followed by the two-legged companions, two people together, to me, not heavy as the beast. Brings me back to reality a thud, gloomy, unmistakable: the first thunder. I leave the life of the Thiule, tables and shops, to rise to a leaden sky that no longer can. "Thank God that the time goes ... Yeah, damn misery. Take the path through the lawn, which rises gently, all well and good for the tummy still engaged in the first act of digestion. The temperature fell sharply. A flood of anxious thoughts: The storm began just now, I'm going up to a pace that exceeds 2,500 m in altitude. Certainly not arrive there before Jupiter Pluvio is unleashed, and indeed so much so that I know I will find myself in the worst place and at the worst moment, will not be long. So? So, no, no point brooding, so there is no alternative. And even if there were, I do not want to know. Next, at all costs, as long as you can.
Several times, the drops begin to fall, forced to wear a jacket, then subside. Slips, slips, again without stopping, with developments worthy of a contortionist to keep everything in hand, jacket, backpack, hoses, sticks. I watch the runners next to me: someone cover, others proceed undeterred in T-shirt. Brrr ... Would hate to walk up here with only the shirt, too wet. It 's true, with the jacket you sweat a lot and we get wet the same, though, if nothing else, it preserves the feeling of warmth.

Above our heads, the clouds pass by a dark gray color to an ugly rat: I feel really bad that marks ... But if nothing else, it seems to me to be a little 'better. I recovered a number of fugitives, while others will recover in the short stretch of steep short cut that cuts the bend in the middle of a few houses. Then again dirt road, which shows some evidence of a remote presence of asphalt. What Pluvio Jupiter intends to reserve you can not understand, from time to time, a ray of sunshine even manages to make his way through the clouds. A bend to the right brings us to the feast of refreshments: Coca, needless to say, and hot tea. Before getting his arm outstretched and the cup in his hand, as a kind of beggar, and today the rule is "Ask and you shall receive". The climb from here is long and mild, at least initially. The plateau still bears traces of snow, in the process of dissolution, and pools that seem to say that it has already rained. Were true ... But the clouds suggest anything but, in truth, and the jagged peaks of the mountains seem even more menacing black with metallic light of these moments. Go Gian, notice the delay line. Perhaps the shrimp ... If I could at least over the pass up there. I can already see the transition, well above, the shapes of people still on the hill. It really is not that much change, to be under the storm just before or just beyond the hill, but it is the psychological aspect that counts. The wind is cold and strengthens, step by step, the first bells rumbles of thunder soon become dark and disturbing. I look down to make like ostriches, burying our heads, but the light of sudden and violent lightning you see it. Lightning strikes and closer and closer together, one would like to cover their ears with their hands while standing on the path reel, faster, even faster, up towards the hill. It 's weird: I know that I'm running a big risk, and indeed we are running all of us in the neighborhood at this time, however, does not feel fear, indeed. It 's a strange feeling, almost euphoric. I would be terrified if someone was with me that I care, but no, at this very moment and I'm there under the arrows. At worst, the feathers back to him there's just me ... Maybe not, with a cool head, a point of view as acceptable, since, at home, someone who is not exactly happy event, however, thoughts and feelings during a race, when the rest of the world is so far that seems not to exist, are very basic, instinctive. Step

the hill and then speed torpedo down a steep and slippery path but it seems to me a highway. It always seems darker, as if about to fall at night, but I'm sure, despite not having a watch with me, that we are only in the afternoon. Drops down more and more determined, more lightning and thunder and the little that I can see the sky in front of me with glasses wet, is anything but encouraging. Okay, Jean, come on, this is no time for despair. A priority at a time: now, the main thing is spinning out of here. Further down, you can meditate on what to do. At worst, if you really want to know Jupiter Pluvio not put your head in place, you can always stop in Courmayeur.
However, forecasts Weather spoke of storms and the night sky. Deep in my heart unconscious and confident, I believe. I have the confidence that maybe I'll take the rain to the valley floor, but then I can go, too dry. Meanwhile, however, the drops have given way to something more solid: they hail ... And not so small! Damn, I just do not use the helmet on a bike, I want it now ... Legs over his shoulder to escape the arrows and the bumps, I almost wonder of my unexpected gifts of downhill in the wet. I have to also take a detour to go and retrieve the bottle that jumped out of the pocket, has seen fit to roll ten feet down, to the river ... Annoys me, but the recovery, not for its value, but because I hate the idea of \u200b\u200bgiving a refusal.

From the woods trail and dirt road: it continues to rain, but now you are traveling more serene. The peaks in front of me are partly hidden by clouds still stubbornly black, but that is the direction we should take now? Boh. I wonder how they perform their competitors of the short course. At this time, George should already be safe, as well as several others, hopefully good. Shortly before
Courmayeur, the rain stopped completely. I get to the asphalt and do the slalom between pools and few tourists hastily equipped with umbrellas and golf: it's the only time cui posso permettermi una telefonata e turbare l'operosa quiete del buon Matteo in negozio. Vedo così che sono circa le 18. Mi viene spontaneo abbozzare due calcoli: a Courmayeur siamo più o meno a metà e ci sono arrivata in otto ore... Già, però la prossima metà è più dura, infligge due salite toste alle gambe già stanche. Riuscirò a rosicchiare qualche minuto rispetto alle diciannove ore e venti dello scorso anno? Boh, in fondo chissenefrega...

Il punto di ristoro non è, come pensavo, al palazzetto dello sport di Dolonne. Tocca attraversare Courmayeur, il centro; è anche piacevole, visto il tifo sfegatato dei turisti del sabato pomeriggio. Poi si raggiunge un parco, un paio di gazebo: eccolo Here, the table of supplies. Even before arriving at pappatoria, I run into Teomat: "And what are you doing here?" He exclaimed. "Well you know, I've gone around once, now allotment ...". Offhand, I can not stands no doubt about the reliability of his words would be quite capable of doing so in earnest. But no, he tells me that he retired to digestive problems. Too bad ... A moment later, I'll throw the bread on the momentum of un'idrovora. Gulp a plate of hot pasta as a kind of python, almost without chewing, hunting mouth dried fruit, chocolate, cheese, spread in strict order. Again, all I want is to leave, leave immediately. And so do I, in the grip of a rage I know that not even explain: fury, enthusiasm, desire to succeed. I start over again without even changing his shirt to the skin, wet: and yes you go to the evening ... My full-scale aggression has to climb the Colle Liconi, in defiance of every rule of common sense and caution, if only to save a little 'legs. With fury in the woods, so that all of a sudden I can even take a wrong turn. But almost immediately I notice the lack of balises and go back on my feet, earning a couple of expletives from the runner who followed me trusting me. Even track down the right path, and here I meet a runner, joined the long path, the wrong way early in the race for an hour and followed the route short, before you know it, and retrace his steps ... The wretch is sprinkled ashes on their heads and gives dell'idiota, but I admire him very much, for the iron will that drove him to groped however, to jump into a race-tracking, where many others would have thrown in the towel demoralized. Instead, this phenomenon has ground a lot 'of miles more than me ... It is here, now!

steep climb through the woods, with the scent of the pines and the light turns to night. We arrive at a shelter that I remember: Paul, who follows closely, hollowed out a mint tea and a shepherd's hut from Morocco ... The mint tea is in effect, but in the face of the Moroccan minister, that I see is a nice blonde woman with blue eyes and a wonderful smile! And I can not even think of having a hallucination, in my moments of madness, I usually see George Clooney ... Another long stretch in the forest, before exiting through sull'interminabile rising, sometimes even steeper, more or less straight, and at each side of the mountain reveals another long stretch, and more. Flashes of light blue sky, the legs hold up, but I do not take advantage. A bit 'of sugar from time to time, you never know. Through a couple of snowfields with bated breath: a few meters, with the passage already well marked by the footsteps of those who preceded me, but a quick glance to my left and move forward enough for me understand that if I slip, I would not stop much, much deeper. The light air I stick the shirt still wet to the skin, but does not make sense that I change here: there is little between the steep slope, the jump that will make me spit blood and tears, as well as more sweat. Proceed with caution and slow down a bit ', as the path becomes narrow and slippery. I look forward to the ramp ... For out of here.
arrives, the ramp, and how if he comes, here she is. The trajectory of a vertical climb becomes. And is more bitter than I thought: I had not calculated the mud ... Already it is difficult to climb with the nose almost glued to the trail, planting sticks as a kind of picks ice, let alone if the shoes do not always grip on slippery ground and on wet rocks. Calm and cool: I'm afraid of slipping, but also inadvertently hurl a stone on the head of those who follow me ... I would not really be in the shoes of those who pass here at night. I put the soul in this part, to bridge the gap compared to those before me the strength, the third climb is almost done. Between a slip and the other, fear makes me almost levitate to the top of the hill. But at the top, a glass of hot tea I did not handle anyone. And even some last minute break to change my shorts and shirt: now you go and it will be cold. Just a quick glance at the panorama from the hill, then down toward the plateau: the lake is still largely frozen, a rainbow of colors from blue to pink to white ice of the sunset ... I mention a few running steps, but you better not pull too far. I never dared hope that we can still count in the most difficult stretch of the descent, the light of day.

Over the plateau, the trail drops down through a series of hairpins, next to the rushing waterfall of the river, almost deafening. Farther down, towards the second plateau, I see some competitors skiing on the snowfield without skis: the panic comes over me ... Fortunately, I notice a couple of dots instead took the path of scree. Luckily, the snow is no alternative: When we arrive, I have no doubt and I throw myself on the rocks. Awkward, disjointed, a torture for my feet, but always better than skating. There, among the few huts on the plateau, is already in the spotlight of refreshment. Unbelievable, because the distances are reduced when it was already sent to the memory location. And now I know what and how much there is to here to here to there ... Fill the bottle and allotment, Planaval destination, a long soft descent. Six, seven miles, approximately, a runner next to me, judging from the Tuscan dialect, promises to who knows who, over the phone, reaching Planaval quarter of an hour. Boggle: yes, a quarter of an hour, not even by helicopter!

The long descent over a stream: passage in which I take the providential help of a competitor that makes me way. Then off in the woods, without end. Now it's dark on the right, downhill, lights and buildings; around me, leaves, branches and roots that gives the front view of life, left a ghostly form of motion imagery. I remember that shortly before the rest, the path gets wider and starts to climb slightly, because, passing by the silhouette of a building, perhaps a barn, and give ear to the sound of cowbells from the darkness, I seem to see a small light that proceeds Leste, a little 'higher. And soon, much sooner than I expected, right here on my lights Planaval. The lights, voices, the hum of the generators. Perfect, Gian: now, quiet. You'll still twenty miles, a little more or less: stop, eat, take back a moment. Yeah, one word ... I drink Coca Cola at will, even if it is at room temperature, which means cold up here, I drink tea and chewed something, but not as much as would like my tummy. I'm hungry, but does not want to go down pappatoria: tantovale then fill the bag that I attached to the shoulder and try to throw something on the way down. So, from here onwards, there is a good stretch in the plan.

Recovery sticks and run away, munching on dried fruits and chocolate. The light of the rest fades slowly, but now the way I mark the two competitors un po' più avanti di me. Va tutto bene, finché posso approfittare della traccia, sia pure lontana, delle loro frontali. Il guaio è che, all'improvviso, li raggiungo e, complice una loro sosta, li sorpasso. Sono dolori... Non che manchino le bandierine di segnalazione, tutt'altro; è solo che, con l'aggravante delle mie difficoltà di vista, mi tocca zampettare su sassi e sfasciumi, là dove non si può più parlare di un vero e proprio sentiero. La vedo, la bandierina successiva; il problema è arrivarci senza capitomboli... Ripenso a quella splendida notte di agosto del 2008, quando ho percorso l'itinerario di questa gara con la guida di Matteo. Siamo passati di qui nella notte, anche quella volta, ed abbiamo tribolato l'indicibile per poi scovare la traccia quasi per caso: adesso capisco... Non è facile nemmeno stanotte, con le balise a guidare la rotta! Incespico un'infinità di volte e perdo il senso della distanza; so che, tra poco, mi toccherà affrontare l'ultima rampa... Ma non riesco a valutarne la distanza. E più inciampo, più sento salire il nervoso. Per fortuna, il cielo è meravigliosamente limpido, anche se la luna questa notte non ci fa compagnia.

Il rumore della cascata è fragoroso, assordante; dà alla testa, soprattutto nell'ultimo ripidissimo tratto. Per quel che posso, alzo l'occhio verso le lucine che salgono lente sulla verticale della mia capoccia, ma al buio non riesco a farmi un'idea distance. Gian walk, climb as fast as you can, and think of something else, not the noise that you're battered eardrums ... Or crazy! Here, as on Liconi, you are walking and slipping in the mud, that anguish, made a hand resting on a foot that you do not know if it takes ... Fatigue, breathlessness, heart bursting, who hear me to get you by, take advantage of a break. Woe to stop rising, wo .. What is almost over, I can not see it, but I feel it when your knees begin to do some 'less effort to lift the bulky rear. I feel an intense smell of grilled meat, but maybe it's my imagination ... The volunteers of the control point are improvising a barbecue at night? I do not know, I do not approach even for a glass of water and greeting step further surprised to find already on the long stretch of dirt road, almost level, leading to the pasture. Walking fast, with lights Planaval on the right, but much lower ... And the sleep that I suddenly falls on him. No, kale, is not the time ... Yet, it is fatal to happen in this trait: it is easy to travel here, there are no dangers or surprises, unless you stumble on their own feet. Slalom between the wells should be traces of the storm last week. I admire the stars and yawn, I get lost behind thoughts stray so far from the dreams, and maybe this is not a middle way between waking e sonno. Non è il momento di cedere; manca davvero poco, ormai.
L'alpeggio è deserto; ne sono sorpresa, mi aspettavo di trovarci il bestiame ed i cani da guardia. Nulla, questi muri hanno quasi l'aspetto di ruderi, sporchi e riparati da coperte stracciate a mò di tenda. Ma forse è il buio che rende l'immagine più cupa di quel che è. O il sonno.

Il corridore che ha scollinato poco prima di me è già sparito, arzillo ed agile. Io ho un sonno tale che vorrei davvero sedermi a dormire... Solo qualche minuto... Ma è meglio di no, quassù ci si raffredda in un attimo. Forza, Gian, vedrai che tra non molto raggiungerai il punto di ristoro. La strada diventa sentiero, sono confusa, non ricordo bene where, how, for how long. Climb, descend, climb again, a curve, another curve and behind the dark, nothing, no one besides me. Yet it is the right way, there are the tapes ... A grassy slope with no end, his eyelids growing heavy. The dark noise of the generator is a real breath of life for me: light, voices, here is the refuge. I throw it with enthusiasm: it is not hunger that drives me, but the desperate attempt to wake up. Coca Cola, the, for the umpteenth time, then division, with the promise to come back in September, with a cargo of the famous peppers Carmagnola, straight from the festival.

Now is really the last climb. During the day, almost a joke, but in the darkness ... The path mows the lawn, going to turns, and then it becomes a beam in a slope, with the gap on the right. I see nothing but the narrow strip of land, a little wider than my foot, and the slope that dissolves into thin air, where my front light can not help me. And here my legs tremble: proceed very slowly, one step after another thought, even with the knowledge that, so take me an eternity. Pendo left for fear of tumbling down on the right: I have nerves like violin strings, because I know what awaits me ... At the end of the beam, as expected, the pan into the fire. At the head Fetita you get back a piece of rock on which, alas, are your hands; but to date would still be tolerable ... The trouble is that I can not find the path line between balise and the other, will also be primary, of course, but I can not, really are helpless. Overcome difficulties with the first delicate step, his feet unsteady on the bit of damp soil, and to cope I cling to everything, including shrubs. I try with the second, successful, point your foot, I do the momentum ... The support and I find myself slipping in an instant, without even realize, his hands clinging to the rocks, sticks dangling from the straps at the wrists and feet that are no longer taken. E 'panic. I can turn myself back, I lean to the stone in the attraction produced by trusting my voluminous ass and realize that in a moment, from here, I do not unnail more ... With my heart went crazy and sobs that push to go out, I try to rearrange ideas. The rock next to me gives me the same confidence of a mirror too steep, if I try again, I get straight and spun in the arms of Beelzebub. I cry, yes, at least to me vent, but I know that is not the most useful solutions ... I just have to wait, to hope that there is still a competitor behind me. I sit in the bushes, her face to nowhere. A few minutes, have the chills I bite back, and here is a small light, or rather two. More or less I feel like I've seen get a whole team of Relief Alpine, complete with a Saint Bernard and flask. As if someone had just said "Lazarus, rise and walk." Trample no mercy what little is left of my dignity and with her voice still shaky, I ask for help at the first of the two lights. Moved with pity, the holy man takes to heart my case and I almost back to my weight, not only makes me way, but now it gives me a great sense of security. I entrust us with such momentum that, if at this moment I would say "Take a leap and plunge below", I think it would obey without question ... It 'a reader of my stories, the Samaritan: damn what a fine figure remedy ... I can not even hide, this kind of cold and shivering bundle has a name and a family name now. Patience, the important thing is that we are now at the top, out of the nightmare. There is a control point at the top, but the most dangerous section is completely unprotected ...

Tribolo a little 'to go down to the Pietroni, even here, the technique on all fours with reinforcement of buttock is the one that saves me. Then surely lose the trail of my guardian angel, is too strong, he ... I do not just have an endless descent into La Salle, fighting against sleep singing everything that comes to mind me, stuff the melody of colorful expletives. The right calf is contracted, is bad enough, by downloading the weight go down as far as possible, on poles and on the other leg: thus, a good number of twisted left ankle to balance at least provide the sensation of pain on both sides.
The lights of the valley, you saw up there, they disappear quite soon, when the vegetation returns to swallow up the path. One thought I rumbles between the temples never ends, never ends ... More really does not end this nightmare down with his back that cry out for revenge s'inciampano legs, sleep that demands its toll.
The small cluster of houses, the last resting spot, arrives unexpectedly, as a true liberation. The volunteers, despite the late hour, are more hard and jovial as ever ... And there is even the cake! Step out like a meteor I grabbed two nice pieces and forth, still downhill, dirt road and then footpath and road yet. Finally, the town. You could run, here, wanting to, but I see that nobody wants ... Nor me. There are three or four souls in torment, to dangle between the silent houses, the fountains and cascades of flowers in the breeze stirred vessels. And find a familiar face, good Silvio totally different pace, in the end we arrive at the same port, more or less the same time. There remains only the last restaurant, then off, a few miles of dirt road along the river, I remembered downhill ... Yeah, so it seemed. A run can not do it, the calf is nailed, the right foot rests only with a ninety-degree angle. All that remains brisk by the target: a chat to digest the latest effort to update each other on the latest adventures. When the road comes out of the first houses Morgex, I look up and see that already stand out in the mountains a bit 'more in the sky ... The first, very first light of dawn. The clock tower indicating the four and a half passed by little, you see that stay below the nineteen hours ... Silvio is sure, but I hardly believe it, accept it only when I realize that the finish is not as I feared, as well Morgex, but it is in the center.

recognize the shape of George: the madman brutally interrupted sleep in the comfortable hotel to come to expect ... Take photos, join the race, shoot again, and say that in the 47 km leg of the short course, which are still far from a picnic, trails in less than ten hours ... The last pain, subway, then the middle path, the arc arrival ... It 's done. Over, once again, failed to perfection: 18h 48 ', half an hour less than last year. And I just have to celebrate in a more sinister, out of respect for corpaccione tired and flushed: a solemn cold beer ... For the series, if not kill, in this case for congestion, then strengthens!