Before the memories of the trail running of Sunday fade out (as if that were even possible) let me share the report of a race that has been scheduled in two months, and for which I have been struggling with nutrition and mileage... this time without inflicting any injury to myself.
To start with, I finished Trail de la Lesse in 5th position and arrived after 5h50'09" on the distance of 55km and 1850+ mt elevation gain.
I must say that the organization was not impeccable. The signalling was quite poor which led several runners to get lost in the middle of nowhere, forced them to run back to the last visible checkpoint, lose some positions and add some more mileage to the already longer-than-50-km track. That happened to me too, around the 13th km. I was holding 4th position and could see the leading group. They were fast, much faster than I expected. But being capable of seeing them made me feel still in the race.
Unfortunately, a quite hidden signalling flag that should have told me to go down towards the river and cross it for the first time, made me run in the opposite direction and cover a distance of 800 mt plus return. That meant a solid 8 minutes lost, and I think 12 positions back. By km 28 I was holding position 13.
Not for long. I heard that voice telling me that the race was still open and I had to catch up to the position I deserved.
Caroline was waiting for me at the first station, around km 22 then I saw her again at the next one around the 34th km. I gave her a flying kiss and promised to meet her at the finish line. I had a moment in which I was kind of hesitating about my promise.
When I passed from the starting line, I had one last loop of 17 km after which I could have gotten some rest. But you know what 17 km can look like when your feet are wet, you have very little water, a few verticals to climb and the last 900 mt elevation gain. Number 17 has never been so scary to me.
But that voice was still there, whispering not to give up, then screaming not to quit, in the loudest possible way, squeezing the energy out of me and forwarding it directly to my legs which had to do the job of carrying my remains to the finish line.
Come on, come on. It's only 15. Go Francesco, 12 km left.
I realised to be holding position 5.
Not so bad.
I also noticed that the first four runners were too far to even think to catch them. The only possibility was to defend my position. It could only get worse.
Number 6 was only 3 minutes behind me. Would I got lost another time, and I would have been fighting for that position at the end. No way.
I had to stay focused not to miss any flag.
Caught the first, check. Where is the next? There! Go. Run.
Where is the next? There!
Go, run. Run, for God's sake run! Don't look back.
Where is the next? Left? No. Right? No.
Ahead! There is a river. Cross it! Go into water, walk fast, water to the knees, walk fast. Come on, Francesco.
It's you against time.
Don't look back.
It was such a Hell for more than one hour. A physical and mental pain that was going to finish soon. Well, not so soon. The last vertical, 90 mt elevation in 300 mt distance, something that we had to climb with a rope gently bound to some trees by the organizers. And we had to do that twice.
I crossed some guys of the 35 km race that was going on at the same time.
We were running the same last loop. I had to climb on that rope as fast as I could. Number 6 was on my back, remember? The runners of the 35 km I met on my way were slower on the rope. I became quite pushy to some of them.
"Sorry guys" I shouted. "Leave me the space I need." I told them, without speaking a word.
After the vertical climb, the road became familiar and I remembered that I had been there already. My mind was not bright anymore. I was running on inertia. Legs were painful, when I could feel them. The feet, no I could not feel them.
At the last 2 km my watch showed km 53. I wanted water. Nothing in the hydration pack. Just a dry straw and some sweet gels that could have destroyed my stomach. A guy seemed to have some water in his backpack. I asked if I could drink some. He did have water in a bottle. Just a few sips, not much. Enough to swallow some nasty sugar and run towards the finish line.
Number 6 was just a bad memory.
The good memory was Caroline waving her arms 200 mt from the finish line, telling me that I was running on the wrong path and I had to jump into another lane to get back on track. I was not really capable of seeing flags, lanes, nor recognizing things around me.
I could only detect the horizontal white stripe on the ground, and the voice in my head saying "You made it man. It's over."
Then another voice told me "I am proud of you, babe. You are in the top ten".
It was Caroline's voice. That one yes, I could recognize.
To start with, I finished Trail de la Lesse in 5th position and arrived after 5h50'09" on the distance of 55km and 1850+ mt elevation gain.
I must say that the organization was not impeccable. The signalling was quite poor which led several runners to get lost in the middle of nowhere, forced them to run back to the last visible checkpoint, lose some positions and add some more mileage to the already longer-than-50-km track. That happened to me too, around the 13th km. I was holding 4th position and could see the leading group. They were fast, much faster than I expected. But being capable of seeing them made me feel still in the race.
Unfortunately, a quite hidden signalling flag that should have told me to go down towards the river and cross it for the first time, made me run in the opposite direction and cover a distance of 800 mt plus return. That meant a solid 8 minutes lost, and I think 12 positions back. By km 28 I was holding position 13.
Not for long. I heard that voice telling me that the race was still open and I had to catch up to the position I deserved.
Caroline was waiting for me at the first station, around km 22 then I saw her again at the next one around the 34th km. I gave her a flying kiss and promised to meet her at the finish line. I had a moment in which I was kind of hesitating about my promise.
When I passed from the starting line, I had one last loop of 17 km after which I could have gotten some rest. But you know what 17 km can look like when your feet are wet, you have very little water, a few verticals to climb and the last 900 mt elevation gain. Number 17 has never been so scary to me.
But that voice was still there, whispering not to give up, then screaming not to quit, in the loudest possible way, squeezing the energy out of me and forwarding it directly to my legs which had to do the job of carrying my remains to the finish line.
Come on, come on. It's only 15. Go Francesco, 12 km left.
I realised to be holding position 5.
Not so bad.
I also noticed that the first four runners were too far to even think to catch them. The only possibility was to defend my position. It could only get worse.
Number 6 was only 3 minutes behind me. Would I got lost another time, and I would have been fighting for that position at the end. No way.
I had to stay focused not to miss any flag.
Caught the first, check. Where is the next? There! Go. Run.
Where is the next? There!
Go, run. Run, for God's sake run! Don't look back.
Where is the next? Left? No. Right? No.
Ahead! There is a river. Cross it! Go into water, walk fast, water to the knees, walk fast. Come on, Francesco.
It's you against time.
Don't look back.
It was such a Hell for more than one hour. A physical and mental pain that was going to finish soon. Well, not so soon. The last vertical, 90 mt elevation in 300 mt distance, something that we had to climb with a rope gently bound to some trees by the organizers. And we had to do that twice.
I crossed some guys of the 35 km race that was going on at the same time.
We were running the same last loop. I had to climb on that rope as fast as I could. Number 6 was on my back, remember? The runners of the 35 km I met on my way were slower on the rope. I became quite pushy to some of them.
"Sorry guys" I shouted. "Leave me the space I need." I told them, without speaking a word.
After the vertical climb, the road became familiar and I remembered that I had been there already. My mind was not bright anymore. I was running on inertia. Legs were painful, when I could feel them. The feet, no I could not feel them.
At the last 2 km my watch showed km 53. I wanted water. Nothing in the hydration pack. Just a dry straw and some sweet gels that could have destroyed my stomach. A guy seemed to have some water in his backpack. I asked if I could drink some. He did have water in a bottle. Just a few sips, not much. Enough to swallow some nasty sugar and run towards the finish line.
Number 6 was just a bad memory.
The good memory was Caroline waving her arms 200 mt from the finish line, telling me that I was running on the wrong path and I had to jump into another lane to get back on track. I was not really capable of seeing flags, lanes, nor recognizing things around me.
I could only detect the horizontal white stripe on the ground, and the voice in my head saying "You made it man. It's over."
Then another voice told me "I am proud of you, babe. You are in the top ten".
It was Caroline's voice. That one yes, I could recognize.
