Milena Velba Bra Hole

Florence Marathon, jogging 28/XI/2010

Dear friends,


this time there was no emotion in the end, because the happiness, what makes you smile, was higher.

morning at 7:00 there were 3-4 ° and rain drops, the Arno lowed full and frightening.

At breakfast I left orthodoxy and fundamentalism, those croissants and those of authentic Venetian Florentine pastry was too tempting.

And then I did not think we would leave, if the parties, we would have withdrawn.

We arrived wrapped at the starting line, leaving the suitcase in raincoats and the like, not to put too much and at that moment, it seemed so crazy and unreasonable to further intimidate.

Too much hostility of Fate.

But it's never like that, we can not predict anything, we are human.

is part, and on the other side, not like other years, the line is placed almost at the end of the descent. First the boring parts and just the 'ascine, where silence and solitude of * thirty kilometers, together with fatigue, you estrangement, then the center and the historical part, more historical, more beautiful, so much to give back hope and strength .

So the half came unexpected, and at 22 I lose my mentor for a malignant Stefano evacuation.

I leave and go on quiet, realizing that the miles run faster.

The "heavy rain" provided in all newsletters to 11:00 am not be seen, a dense rain keeps us company.

After the 30th I decide to scrape a few seconds, the conditions are right, and everything is a growing up to 40 °.

Here I am reminded of the most beautiful poetry Florentine Dante or Petrarch is not, but Stefano Cappelleti, with the best hand, even if no metric, given in identical conditions.

"Gestisciti, it's over."

's so young.

At 40 °, however, is over.

But this day, apparently started so badly, it still has something to say.

There are legs, there is the head, and I decide to pull the sprint, increased the pace, get down to 10-15-20 seconds.

Incredible!

control the weather, are just a few seconds of the staff, and increased again, overtaking tens of slag and disappointed and, finally, the path slips in that corner I know well.

's too beautiful, for many reasons: it is the Holy Cross, is the goal, it's a record.

I just have time to take the medal and towel heat the sky rumbles and the water comes true, as in "The Betrothed, the one that cleanses and refreshes all minds and hopes.

Thanks guys I have supported and encouraged through Florence, still a wonderful memory.

F