Sopressata,italian Salami

the "usual" marathon of Reggio Emilia ... this time with more emotion.

What you can let in a race that you have already run six times? What new can you try one more manifestation of which you know perfectly all: Location, volunteers, organizers and speakers
? These are two questions that I am placed immediately after running the marathon of Reggio Emilia. I have not found the answer in words but in the contentment and harbored happiness in me. When I speak of the Marathon City tricolor I like to take into account the whole weekend because it is from Friday evening until Sunday afternoon that the athlete or rather the person who plays the role that becomes the main character, the heart of ' whole "circus" and as such is treated, pampered and served. "Reggio Emilia" has always understood that those who run the marathon event is the flywheel of the common, ordinary man who wants to be in the spotlight, the main actor is not simple pop or goose that laid golden eggs by plucking as unfortunately happens to many other places where you think a lot more to the top runners, the image and the business. Who is he does at Reggio Emilia for the sake of running and aware to spend a good day of sport with many others with whom he shared the same passion ... THE PASSION OF THE RACE. Who runs in Bologna, almost always comes back and does so willingly, this are the numbers that "they say" comforting and thanking the organizing committee. This year the climate has wanted to be benign, a weekend of good weather and no fog, rain and snow, as in the past has been, has helped everyone: athletes, escorts, organizers and favored even more festive and cheered their hearts. I was the marathon expo is Friday evening and Saturday afternoon, everything seemed to me ordered, hospitality fantastic, as usual, and the withdrawal of the chest quickly. Sunday morning in the sports hall, which houses all the services a few years, we still saw the arrival of some athletes that retired race number, all a bustle of people, a flow is perfectly conveyed by the speaker who was in so annoying that you would create traffic jams. You could use the changing rooms but almost all of the steps they used the system to "change clothes" and then left the bags on the spot where the volunteers then they would be kept under control. There was an atmosphere of friendship, I myself have had the opportunity to meet many people I had met on previous events and with whom we had arranged to meet in Reggio Emilia. Peter wandered between us aside, that with the camera and microphone interviewing a bit 'of athletes trying to steal some emotion and Stefano Morselli with his trusty camera and took photos at all, staring at the faces and gestures of the athletes knowing that soon his equipment would have "left" unfortunately! The starting line located five hundred feet from the sports hall was reached in a short time there, the athletes were warming, photographers, carers and sbandieratori filled the entire roadway. At nine o'clock the "Snake men" comes alive ... KICKS OFF THE MARATHON OF THE CITY 15 ^ 'of the tricolor, a tour through the city center, passing it back for a farewell to the stage of departure and route to Piazza Tricolore which expresses the departure from city. As the miles pass you go up the hill and so the gray of the buildings is transformed as if by magic in the soft colors of late autumn. Now the background is colored green, yellow and brown, the blue sky is watching us from above and so the mind benefits from it, it runs quietly. Me with my usual flag Inter following are the target, sympathy, teasing by fans of other teams but this one is and I always fun. My gait is having to do quite a workout, I stop to drink at all in some refreshments and I stop just to chat, do some technical stops, so to speak, I have some stomach problem, but nothing to worry about. Meanwhile, many people, for the article on Race and photos published in the November issue recognize me and make me compliments, I thank them all happy and smiling even if these statements make me blush. Throughout the course it will. The people on the roadside transmits heat, refreshments gargantuan that there are never missing a beat, an encouragement to all is a party. The fortieth km reach my friend Andrea, she says she has had a problem, something I can not scream and write "port" with me to the finish line. I begin to prepare my usual show with the banner of Inter to two hundred meters from the finish when I heard a voice calling me from the public, I turn and I see my granddaughter Asia that greets me, I go back a few tens of meters, to take hand with Andrea ec'involiamo all three to the finish line. I do not hide that I'm excited so much astonishment at seeing this little girl run that looking forward smiled happily as if he were living in a dream, between two wings of the crowd applauded. "How I see the world through his eyes right now," I said to myself, and meanwhile in a mixture of joy, tears and happiness finishes. The delivery of the medal strictly to the neck of my nephew that if he looked happy and glazed ends the story of the day and stops the image that will remain indelibly etched in my mind. Excuse me if I can still move me so little, and moreover after running more than thirty marathons and ultramarathon but some are stronger than me, alive with emotion and when they feel happy or they are present. Someone, perhaps a few curious you can ask how much time I have finished the race, I tell him calmly that I absolutely did not care the time it was to be a workout, I had to do well and I had to get into the joy of running. Everything happened and I'm satisfied. In this period where almost everyone ends the year as I'm "digging" to lay the foundation for next season. Foundation to be solid, very solid. There will be processed, a lot of work but I'm here and I do not shoot back. The Seregno hundred miles to be run in less than eight hours and nine packages are the two main goals for next season and deserve respect. My heartfelt thanks go to all those who have made this a beautiful day, the President of the organizing committee, all volunteers until the last athlete crossed the finish line, I say once more THANKS!

Husbend Feeding Wifes Breast

The boring afternoons George B.

Mr. B. hated waking up after a few hours of sleep, all hot and sweaty because the wife, without his knowledge, had raised the temperature of the room.

The wife of Mr. B. loved the hot and felt at ease in tropical climates.

Mr. B. did not like to talk about the early morning, and sat in the living room, sipping His bitter coffee, read the newspaper very seriously. Not everything, however, because he had the bad viziaccio to support the wet cup titles above or on the editorial, so that he could never read.

The wife of Mr. B. loved to speak very early in the morning and any argument: of time, the transience of scented geraniums, and the near hysteria of his cat, itself and its beauty.

Mr. B and the wife of Mr. B. George had a rough-haired dachshund.

Every day George was being carried out around 11 am, from Mr. B for the usual, toilet walk.

George was not any dog, but it was the dog of Mr. and Mrs. B., for this reason was receiving some respect in the neighborhood.

received from the tasty pork sausages, which were thrown by the rotund operator with an unexpected force and enthusiasm, most of the time, ended up hitting the poor clients, who were leaving the store with pieces of sausage in her hair.

from the florist's daughter received pampering delicate head. George rolled on his back and his purple tongue called the little girl to play. The girl, known throughout the country for his acumen, did not understand.

The afternoon was dedicated to spiritual exercises and daily visits to the uncle of Mrs. B.

George hated every afternoon of his short but intense life canine. Not being souls owners, all dogs be prohibited from entering the church, but not to him. Being the dog of Mr. B., had to have a shred of sweetbreads somewhere and it was well accepted even within the tiny, smelly, the village church.

The dark, cold and the intense smell of incense, put George uncomfortable and, sadly, he crouched next to the big ankles Mrs B., hoping each time not to come over it. But after the cold weather, the liturgy of the word, the Eucharist and the final farewell, the terror is now making its way into the mind of George as blurred, with the heavy Bentley Mr. B., were approaching at full throttle in his uncle's house lady B.

Nothing could portend the dark presence in this fine Victorian mansion. The sequence was always the same. Sound the bell. No noise. Wait five minutes. Look for the keys from inside the handbag. Enter. Dark. Switching on the lights. And from that moment, nothing, because George had never been able to see the uncle of Mrs. B.

He had seen a foot out from behind a tent, a hairy arm from under the bed and a piece back from the bathroom door, but never the whole figure. The uncle of Mrs. B. had never been fully seen by anyone. The only people who had received the Mr. and Mrs. B.

But the thing that terrified George is the complete lack of smell of his uncle. A human being with no smell.

Mrs. B. made tea and Mr. B. paid the shortbread, a favorite uncle, in a chipped saucer. And both stretched the cup of steaming tea and biscuits at the hand coming out from behind the sofa to secure flowers. It is not talking. Never. George could only hear the noise coming from the objects collided absently Mrs and Mr B. About six o'clock Mrs. B, resolute, and George picks her up, with the same resoluteness was wearing coat, hat and scarf, George incorporating the poor between the chest and the buttons of his coat.

The return to the big house of lords B. George was reassuring. He found his warm kennel and his food and he would let him go to his usual thoughts about why humans are so uninteresting . Reflections that would last until the next morning walk.

Bonne nuit!

(to Sebastian)