Sunday morning seemed to be on tour: sixty runners gialloneri and infiltrators, who with the lid lowered, some with the adrenaline already a thousand people (like yours truly) with the desire to arrive at your destination to test the efficiency of chemical baths. Lacked only the sandwich con la cotoletta e pareva veramente la quinta elementare. Il lungolago di Stresa è già gremito di piedi scalpitanti, l’odore di canfora si mischia a quello di salsedine e l’eco di mille parlate si confonde con gli ultimi pensieri ad alta voce. Tutti hanno un obiettivo: il mio è quello di arrivare fino in fondo. Possibilmente in piedi. Sono cosciente di avere pochissimi chilometri nelle gambe, il piccolo infortunio di gennaio e altri impedimenti mi hanno fatto desistere dal provare ad abbassare il mio PB di novembre. Attilio vorrebbe che seguissi lui e il palloncino dell’ora e tre quarti, ma la vocina saggia mi implora di starmene nella mia gabbia e cercare di non farmi superare dalla bombola d’ossigeno of 2 hours and a quarter! I, of course, I leave behind, more than to Baveno towards Arona so much so that I will have two minutes difference between real time and official time. Childbirth at my own pace, surrounded by a band and thousands of other runners. Now is the fourth year that I participate and I know the path. I know that is not as fast and flat as they would like to believe that the crisis will come, sooner or later. More before this time. At the 13th km, but with a bang with pride I can control my head. The kilometers run and I feel good. Nothing out of breath, only femoral aggressive. The road salt every now and then: they call "false floor" but I seemed to own a real climb. Along the path wings cheering crowd and called for jubilation in our name. Oh well, there was a carnival, lots of people were in costume and shouting our name because it was written on the chest! At the 15th meeting km Attilio sore and I regret not being able to exploit it as a rabbit. Continues even though the fatigue began to be felt, but I can (IO!!) To encourage those in need, even if I say to myself, to save the beautiful addavenì breath. Indeed, the upward movement of the last few miles is felt: in the distance I see Fabrizio, a teammate, so I try to make you and me next. We run together for a while, 'Villa Taranto is close now, I know that the last piece is falling and I have to crank it up. It seems easy though! I run a bit 'with another teammate who pushed me to never give up. In the distance I hear the voice of the speaker and I understand that very little is missing. Cutting the line in 1:52 a.m., '1:50 a.m.' Real Time. Almost four minutes less than last year, even though I beat my personal. But I beat my VB: Vacca Executioner if I did it!
I throw up a hurdle to get over, I wait for the arrival of Fabrizio, let us take a picture of a medal bearing and, after a nutritious snack (a glass of tea and biscuit crumbs 7), we start to the bus.
2 km on foot, under the midday sun, uphill. But
incite the last woman arrived was exciting, because that's where we understand that the past would not exist without the former.
Federica Caporali
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