My presence at the tenth edition of Strasimeno rooted in the Hellenic land, in the midst of a cold and stormy night in early autumn last year, when a group of Italians looking for, then succeeding, to complete the route leading from Athens to Sparta along the two hundred forty-six km Spartathlon. It was in that atmosphere where those brave horde of athletes were courage with each other in this way trying to alleviate the fatigue of many kilometers courses, with their breath and words that s'impastavano with sweat and rain, that the legendary Popov told me about this race that included the circumnavigation of the lake of Perugia. I extolled the praise in a tone so enthusiastic the next day, in the shadow of the statue of King Leonidas of Sparta at that, I confirmed my presence in the region of Umbria from them a few months and while wearily mese.Trascorsero I logged into my training program this ultramarathon; the ink on the paper calendar told me, "February", the fast overlapped days until one afternoon I received a phone call. : "EU brethren, I have written, remember?" Who could it be if not him, the friend of Umbria, Philip Poponesi that by becoming stronger my promise, had made an entry. Soon found a hotel I am staying I just have to keep waiting for the day of departure. More But a surprise awaited me on Friday peeps a message on my phone. "Pirlo, go down the Strasimeno? If we want to step in and take the journey together. " From that "Pirlo" I understand, not even see who was the author, that the text could only have been written by one of the best tri-athletes Italian, born Amedeo Bonfanti, the Lecco has always performed well around for Europe in competitive triathlon.Accordo immediately found Saturday in the late morning and we move to the center of Italy. The joy reigns in the cockpit, the Apennines snow keeps us company along with a gray sky darker and darker. Out there cold. After a day trip and not before having lunch in the car arrive in Castiglione del Lago, which centuries ago would have been impossible to do because this place was an island lake would have then assumed its present shape after a drought struck the area. The way me and Amedeo divides them before joining the aftermath afternoon after the race. I'm going to pick up the chest, meeting his friend Philip, who is part of the organization and I have with him the whole afternoon. Begin to arrive from all parts of Italy's Friends runners, photos, chat, greetings are the corollary to the time spent quite happily and in harmony, cheered even the coffee that the Committee Strasimeno gives us a river. Meanwhile, outside the small rain showers in the afternoon with the approach of evening, when once a blue very dark and ominous is making a single bite of that leaden sky, becoming a concert of well known tune sung by a crazy time that breaks down the asphalt of the village. All this makes me doubt the forecast that the next morning involving a pale sun and about thirteen, fourteen degrees. A quick trip to the pasta party where I can eat a good plate of pasta and then travel to the hotel in Passignano sul Trasimeno, the next day will see the arrival of the half marathon. A headache attacks me stealing all the good intentions for the next day, I try to react but I fall asleep wearily kidnapped from a deep sleep. The alarm clock rings at six. Breakfast as usual pre-race and then the owner of the hotel accompanies me to the departure of coach that will take me at the start. To my pleasant surprise it does not rain. Waiting for the bus I sit on a bench staring at the stretch of water which gives me this corner of Italy. Before me, a fantastic spectacle of color, pearl gray water which is bathed in the distance by the red rising sun and gradually fading to pink, becoming miraculously giving away the blue tone even lake water. The temperature rises slightly and what benefits it also my mood. That slight tension on the previous evening is loosening its grip and slowly that the bright star continues his run towards the zenith leaves me completely. After the small shift in coach are in Castiglione del Lago, here a large group of people and athletes swan at the foot of the ancient village. It was five minutes to start making fun of someone because they do not see the flag on my T-shirt of Inter, but I note that today's playfully am I dressed all in Inter banner to do so after the usual warnings that the speaker here echoes in the air, you will rightly hold, our National Anthem, played to honor the memory of another fallen son of the Fatherland carrying out its duties that is waging war (even though it says otherwise). 09.15 and are on the lake "The tenth Strasimeno ultramarathon in the park of Trasimeno" begins. The sight is impressive, a record then confirm the numbers even though the starters will be slightly lower for members as someone to be intimidated and not a little by the weather than in previous days was not just our ally. Having to take just one training delivery in the belly of the platoon, there, where life is running, where you taste the true flavor of this beautiful love and where there is the beating heart of emotions which is the essence of our sport. The first kilometers are slow to walk and then I set about 4'20 "- 4'30" per kilometer and proceed without effort. Along the way find a way to talk, to greet friends and that makes me feel good and puts me in harmony with the party atmosphere that surrounds me. A bit 'before the passage from Conrad Tuoro reach that will be my companion in adventure as seven or eight kilometers from the finish. We run very smoothly and we have no way to exchange views on race. With the shift in Tuoro sul Trasimeno my mind can only take me back to the history books which tell us that in this territory was fought the largest battle of the Second Punic War between the Romans and the Carthaginians of Hannibal. After Tuoro continue towards the goal of the half marathon in Passignano sul Trasimeno, with its fortress that watches us from above. Always accompanied by our wonderful and tireless Sabina bike following us leads us to the eastern shore of the lake, to Mansfield, where, in the middle of the last millennium, a conspiracy was hatched, then finished in the blood, against Cesare Borgia. So far a very nice course but a mixed blessing for the athletes, great for the pleasure of the eyes but a little less on the legs with a pair of beautiful climbs that break up. Beautiful and lush hills that surround us, the olive groves all lined up like soldiers marching, many flowering plants are a prelude to the summer season that is upon us, the That Shakes the lake shore and the sun kissing our heads is a landscape that looks like something out a postcard or a picture. Meanwhile the runners I athlete in Bergamo continue climbing positions remaining always with a constant pitch. Now the line of the marathon is a stone's throw them in Kefalonia in Santarcangelo avenue, we decide to pass along side by side. Now a restaurant, a small section not paved and a stop at physiological way back on a path towards the final goal. The day is a beautiful warm spring air, the temperature is high except when we pass in the shade of trees or houses where freschino seems to be a beautiful oasis in which refreshments. After about three hours and twenty travel in the middle of a rising power, perhaps, a bit gleefully, like a bolt from the blue, I go to the trouble light. Corrado comes to my aid amounting to at rest in just up the road gives me one of his gel, so after about twenty minutes start to feel better and resume sure my pace. Castiglione del Lago is now seen in the distance and looks like a mirage, the first problem is gone but this time it's good Pasotto that lets me know by Sabina who is being eroded and is blaming a downturn. Very quietly, in a lucid and just say to our indefatigable muse escort to give him my last gel. Inevitably, fifty yards ahead I started to dilate. I begin to make travel alone, reaching and exceeding many very strong athletes who experience problems. That illusion of distant goal that could be glimpsed now begins to materialize. A contrary wind that accompanied me all along seems to increase. This lovely breeze that flies on the lake waters, legend has it the lament of the nymph Agilla in search of her prince, in fact Trasimeno, the son of God Tirreno, drowned in these waters because seduced by her. Now they are at the foot of the medieval village, in the modern part of Castiglione, one last, long climb. Grit your teeth shorten the step as is appropriate in these cases em'inerpico on this slope. Take the door that opens to me the old town. Now a long, straight violone m'accompagnerà to the finish. There are many people who encouraged me and applauded my run, Piazza Gramsci, there is still five hundred feet and then pass the finish line with the speaker announcing my arrival in the fifteenth position in four hours and twenty-seven minutes and photographers immortalize it in a frame that my moment of happiness. Appearance Conrad arrives a few minutes after me and making him the compliments hug him, wrap my arms, thanking her, even the diligent Sabina with great patience and dedication that has accompanied us along the way proving very valuable with his sympathy and his ways. The restaurant close to them waiting for me, withdrawal quickly the bag a few yards and then with messoci minibus provided by the organization I'll go take a shower. After half an hour back to the streets to applaud the arrival of other athletes and I lay in the sun while claiming its space on my already tanned face. I discover, read the charts, they finished second in my class and I go to pick up a nice prize. Amedeo meeting, I will run into a mega ice cream where the taste of lemon and strawberry brighten my palate with Inter who is having the better of Genoa I'm living a magical moment. Soon thereafter, however, by running toward the house ... The day is not over yet I have three and a half hour car ride and a night long to be processed. I want to thank the organizers for years that we have with many sacrifices this beautiful ride taking into account the organizational efforts of the management of five children come along the path of so many races in order to give everyone the chance to race in the lake. A special thanks goes to my friend, however, that in a distant Popov rainy night in Greece made me fall in love with this race.
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