L'autografo illegale.

Era un'assolata giornata di marzo. Sole. Quanti ricordi.

Più di 1.000 km sono passati da allora. Un'altra lingua. Un'altra terra.*
*tutta sta "poesia" e poi, rileggendolo, non si capisce 'na sega. Il concetto è che giovedì 10 marzo mi sono incontrato con il personaggio che vedete alla fine. Venerdì 11 marzo sono partito per Londra (circa 1.200 km da Milano). Ed è da lì che scrivo. Come sa bene chi ha letto gli ultimi tre post in inglese. OK, adesso forse è più chiaro.

Ci incontrammo a Milano, davanti all'ufficio. Lui si era svegliato da un'ora. Io da almeno sei. Era l'una e un quarto P.M..

"E' incredibile. Tu sembri più giovane di due anni fa. Io sembro invechiato di quattro anni. Qual è il tuo segreto?"
"Mi sveglio tutti i giorni alle 12."*
*(Sto stronzo, ndr).

Due anni fa.

Due anni fa prendevamo il treno insieme per Trento. Studio illegale, il libro, era uscito da qualche mese. Le vendite erano già alte. Lui era già famoso per il blog, Studio illegale. Anche se ancora in pochi conoscevano la sua faccia.

Allora ero un povero praticante appena trasferitosi a Milano.
In due anni è cambiato tutto.
Adesso sono un povero praticante appena trasferitosi a Londra.

Oggi, 23 marzo 2011 esce La gente che sta bene, il secondo romanzo di Federico Baccomo, già noto come Duchesne. Quale migliore occasione per pubblicare questo post, cominciato a scrivere due settimane fa?

Federico ha autografato giovedì scorso la copia di Studio illegale che andrà al vincitore della seconda puntata di OK il tempo è giusto!

Gli avevo chiesto se voleva venire a Londra ad autografare anche la copia de La gente che sta bene, il premio del vincitore della terza puntata di OK il tempo è giusto!

Mi ha invitato educatamente a restare a quel paese.

Niente paura, la copia de La gente che sta bene sarà autografata il 10 aprile, quando sarò a Milano per la staffetta.

Nel frattempo, ecco il momento epico dell'autografo.

Chissà quali immortali parole sta scrivendo!!!

Valerio: sono a pranzo con Duchesne, che emozione.

Federico: speriamo che almeno l'omelette sia buona.

Studio illegale andrà in premio a chi indovina il tempo della squadra di Milano-Londra più veloce. E' solo una questione di culo fortuna, può essere qualsiasi tempo in mezzo tra le 3 e le 5 ore.

Qui maggiori informazioni:
http://milanolondra.blogspot.com/2000/01/staffetta-di-milano.html

Per giocare, passate prima da qui:
http://www.justgiving.com/Rexel-UK-Green-Team

E' per una buona causa. Grazie.

Violenza.

Which means violence in English.

Another post in English. I know, it's terrible. Still, I think I'm here to improve my English. It would be useless if I kept writing only in Italian.

Today we're talking about violence. On ourselves. And on pigeons.
What's the reason of the marathon? You run for 42 km and 195 m (26 miles), which is insane, and you have to pay for it. To train for months, maybe for years. You wake up at 5.40 a.m.. You run at 9 p.m.. It's insane.

Given such premises, let's talk about the last two training sessions.

I'm currently staying in London, working in an office with showers. It has more than just showers, actually. Though, they might be considered the facilities that I appreciate more.

I tried to run in the morning last week. The showers needed to be used. The idea was to go to the office very early, to change myself there, and to start there my run.

I realised that it didn't make sense. I could just save 10/15 minutes.

So, I had a brilliant idea: to bring running shoes and clothes on Monday morning; to run back home on Monday evening; to run back home on Tuesday morning. I could save the time of commuting, by this way.

Monday

I left the office at 7 p.m.. The area was crowded, with all the people who ran back home. Metaphorically.

They were in my way like moving pins. I loved it, dribbling them like Ronaldo. One! two! three... Ok, I'm bored.

I looked if there was an alley to jump into. I found it. And jumped. Everything was easier, when I reached the Thames. Home was just straight and then left.

I reached Battersea Park at the 8th km. Too early, but also too dark. Do I go back home safely, or run in the darkest tiny streets?

Other 4 km will be fine.

I got lost a few times in the park, and arrived home at the 13th km. An average of 4'17'' per km. Definitely too fast. And 1 km more than what it was planned. Tuesday will be a nightmare.

Tuesday

The alarm clock rang once. Twice. The third time it didn't ring, I stopped it a few seconds earlier. Half an hour later I stood up.

Let's suit up. Let's run.

I was much less confident than the evening before. Legs were heavy. Don't forget that I had just run with Sarah two days before.

After 2 km I realised that it wasn't the perfect training. An average of 4'42'' per km. And I was already tired.

Monday was the serious day, I thought. Tuesday is for relax. Let's behave like tourists: Westminster, the Big Ben. Trafalgar Square.

I was so amused that I also stopped a few seconds for taking a picture.

It shows the greatness of this Country.

Do not feed the pigeons. Horation Nelson approved this signal.

They're the worst animals ever. Milan is invaded by pigeons. Tourists keep feeding them, helped by unlicensed seed sellers. And we got Berlusconi.

Never feed the pigeons!

There isn't even the "please". It's "mind the gap, please". "Do not smoke in the airport, please". "Quiet, please".

And then, "do not feed the pigeons". Full stop.

While such deep thoughts were keeping my mind busy, the office popped out.

8 km. 1 km less than what planned. An average of 4'32'' per km.

Let's go to work, it's better. Please.

Running with Sarah. Part II.

Here's Part I.
http://milanolondra.blogspot.com/2011/03/running-with-sarah-part-i.html

I'm screwed. Sarah accepted. I'm gonna run this evening (Sunday evening).

It's an opportunity that life is offering you. Give up with junk food. Give up with beer. Give up with bad habits and start behaving in a good way. Don't forget you're supposed to run a marathon in four weeks.

The voice of my conscience was speaking. And I needed to listen. Four weeks?! WTF!!

So, I needed to focus on next training, later in the evening. 15 km, at least. Fuel was needed.

It's Sunday. Never forget what Moses said: "remember to hallow the feasts. By eating English breakfast". Two eggs, mushrooms, bacon, two slices of bread with butter. And a cup of porridge, of course. 12 p.m.. 6 hours before running for the second time in a day.

Last one was my second Sunday in London. Ever. The first one was spent by running for 36 km in the morning, and whining for the rest of the day.

I wanted to behave like a real Italian tourist this time. Hanging around in the area of Oxford Street and Piccadilly Circus. Staring at windows. Eating an ice cream. No, ice cream is bad. There's the run with Sarah at 6 p.m..

So I went to a pub and ordered a light lunch. Club sandwich with chicken and bacon. Fried hand cut potatoes on the side. Mayo on top.

"Anything to drink?"
"London Pride. A pint."

This is a real Italian, isn't it?

When I finished my meal it was 3.30 p.m.. I crawled out of the pub, feeling guilty for Sarah. What will she think when I'll puke in the park?

I'm usually very concerned about the food to eat before a race or a training. Not this time. Not this time.

When I opened the front door she was there, sitting in the sofa, surfing on the internet. I can greet her and go upstairs. Maybe she doesn't remember, I thought.

"Ready for running?"

That was my voice. I was actually reminding Sarah that we had planned to go running. What's wrong with me?

"Yeah!" She answered.

At least I can know her better.

She's a girl. She will be slow. We ran the first km in 4'55''.

"Am I slowing you down?"

Dear Sarah. If you knew (she knows now, indeed). I was hoping that you were slower. 4'55'' is slower than usual. It's faster than what I could suffer at that moment.

Suddenly, something strange happened at the end of the second km.

I was talking with her. Pleasantly. And I forgot that I had ate a heavy club sandwich with fried potatoes.

I hadn't really forgot it. It was there, with all its heaviness. I was just running as if it wasn't there.

4th km. Sarah needs to go back home. 11 km are missing. 11 km, like the ones I had in the morning.

It was different this time. I felt pain less than 11 hours before. Sweating like a suine with flu in a sauna. 11 hours later, I could even quicken my pace, have a progression run.

The last 11 km were run at an average of 4'07'' per km. Even too fast.

I made a promise to myself when I arrived home: no more junk food. No more beer. Four weeks are missing, there won't be Sarah next 17 April at the start of the London Marathon.

In order to celebrate such oath, I decided to eat salad. Just salad.

One apple, two carrots, a head of lettuce, two small avocados, 300g of beetroot, olive oil.

 (in the picture: more salad in an evening than in the last 10 years)

O mythos deloi oti (i.e. the moral of the story is that) will is stronger that strength. Your mind can achieve results that your body cannot even pursue.

But at least don't be pretentious with your body. You can win the battle during the day. But your body gets its revenge during the night. Especially after that sort of salad. What an idiot.

Bilanci e tabelle. Quattordicesima settimana.

Post in ritardo e iper veloce.

Domenica e lunedì dedicati a "Running with Sarah".

Bilanci
Molto positivo. 69 km corsi in 5 uscite settimanali. Forse la velocità media è stata troppo alta. Il grande cherokee è d'accordo.

Tabelle
Ecco ciò che mi aspetta questa settimana.

Ancora una settimana impegnativa. Ancora 5 uscite, questa volta un lungo da 32 km domenica prossima.

Avevo detto che sarei stato breve. Il racconto dell'allenamento di oggi (lunedì) si leggerà domani (martedì). Questa settimana è un po' complicata, lo riconosco.

Buon divertimento con Sarah e l'inglese de noantri.

Running with Sarah. Part I.

This is a post for English speakers. I ought it to my non Italian friends.

Moreover, if it were in Italian, the title character of this post wouldn't have understood a word. Which wasn't that bad, actually.

Sarah is one of my flatmates in London (the other being Elisa, an Italian girl).

As you might know, I'm attending a secondment in an English law firm. Such firm is associated to the one I'm working for in Milan.

I'm also in London for running the marathon next 17 April. Ok, let's tell the truth here, at least. I'm in London for running the marathon. I just needed a reason to be here for my boss.

This blog was created to help me fundraising for EEIBA, a charity which I support together with a team of other six people. We're the fantastic seven. Or the wild bunch, if you like better that movie instead.
Here it is our justgiving page:
http://www.justgiving.com/Rexel-UK-Green-Team
Please, feel free to help.

In this blog, there's usually space for tales of the training to London, to Veron (an half marathon I ran one month ago in 1h23m27s), and to Milan (a relay marathon I'm running next 10 April).

Wow, I summarized three months of blog in two paragraph. It's easy to be short, when you don't know the language.

Today I should have ran 21 km for the marathon. Not too much, compared to the 36 km of last Sunday.

I couldn't run them. I mean, it was not possible for my body to run it. Not that they were too heavy, or too fast. They were just following a week of junk food and beer. My first week in London.

Wednesday, a lawyer of the office thrown a party cause he was leaving. Thursday, St. Patrick's Day. Friday, meeting some friends. Saturday is Saturday. And today, my girlfriend was leaving London.

This morning I woke up at 7.30. I knew that I couldnd't run 21 km. Though, I wanted to give myself a chance.

First, 4 km quite slow, at an average of about 4'40'' per km. Warming up. Then the fast run started. I was supposed to run 17 km under 4'20'' per km.

Since I'm new in London, the city needs to be discovered. I went east from where I'm living (Battersea Park), last Sunday. Westminster, the London Tower, the Tower Bridge, and all that stuff. Today I went west.

East is better. I passed beautiful houses, but also a factory and a modern hotel before getting to Wandsworth Park. Nice view, but nothing compared to Battersea and the Chelsea Embankment. I realized that I couldn't go further. The beer of the night before was killing my legs. And the bad-looking area wasn't helping.

Go back home, Valerio. Go back home.

I went back home.

When the watch stopped, the timing was ok: the last km were run at an average of 4'18'' per km. The length was a disaster: 11 km.

I needed help. During the day I was off. I needed a reason to go out also in the evening. With someone, possibly.

"Sarah, I was planning to go out running, this evening. Would you like to go together?"

A lie. My first week in London and I'm lying to my British flatmate. What will she think about Italians?

I wasn't planning to run in the evening. My body begged me not to go.

"Ok", she said.

I'm screwed.

[tomorrow the end]