How it feels

Looking through my first few posts on the blog, I realized how much emotion came through my words.
It's true that the events I'm writing about are still intensive for me, and I hope to get 'cooler' with time and experience. Now, to have it out, I'd like to post purely on the feeling that trail running brings about in me. It's a complex mixture of good and bad. The bad that makes you stronger, and the good that gives you the fuel for life.

Nugged by other runners' posts, I will start with the dark side of training. If I ever perceive anything negative about running, it is the feeling of difficulty that arises at a certain level of discomfort. It is sometimes hard to take the first step out into the cold day, when you've been freezing next to an open window for a few hours already. At other times, it's hard to convince yourself to get up when it's still dark outside and get dressed for running, leaving your breakfast for a later appointment. It is hard to resist skipping the last lap planned for the day, when you're feeling tired. To set off later for your day on the trail, upon a request of friend willing

to join in at lunchtime only. It's not easy to start running with sore muscles, with blistered feet. With an irritated knee. It's hard to run extra early because of work. It's hard to run after a full day of hard work. It's not easy to train, knowing you're going to do some more tomorrow, and the day after, and already feeling the fatigue. To watch weight, even for 80% of the time.

If you start asking yourself the question: why am I doing it?, it means you're tired. Really. Take a breath, ease down for a moment, but for a moment only. Remind yourself of your goal. Of what it's worth to you. Of how you have to prepare for it. Why you're after it. Don't let the mood set in.

The price of being able to do difficult long runs, is HAVING to do such runs repeatedly. Keeping in shape. But then, the reward is out there, waiting for you, after the next bend, or maybe behind next hill.

I can't easily name that feeling that I bring back down with me each time I set out on the trail, especially on a longer run in a montaneous area. It's not like exhilariation or enthusiasm, but rather a sort of a calm and peacefulness. The certainty that 'I can do it'. The feeling of not being afraid, of being ready to take on the world. The life itself. It feels like... waking up from a good night of sleep. Like having a chat with a friend. Knowing that everything's gonna be alright. The feeling of being stronger. Some sort of satisfied nostalgy, when you're finally heading home. This is the prize I'm after.

No wait... there's more to it. The beauty of the trail, the journey itself, as they say. I like the glimpse of the sun rays biting through the woods. I like to see the sun in the full horizon in front of me, at the start of the trail. I like to have it warm my back at the end of the day. I like to stare into the sun, leaving the sunglasses for the moment I literally go blind. I like to see my goal from a distance, to inch my way toward it until I get there. I like to have a fresh apple in the afternoon of a hot day in the mountains. I like to take a timed climb to a mountain hut seated at the foot of a glaciar valley, and get myself a hot tea with lemon once I get there. I like to meet other trail runners or hikers in the middle of deserted wilderness and to greet them with a nod. I like to feel the freedom of choosing to go right or left at the crossroads. I like to take a siesta on a mountain meadow at noon. I like to sit by a mountain lake and watch the fish swim.
I like to sprint the last 100 metres leading to a summit. I like to run in pouring rain, and in a snow tempest. I like to run close to the enraged waves of the lake under strong wind. I like to run during a lightning storm. Of course, provided I don't make out the only grounding available. I like to run in subzero temperatures, and in the summer heat. I like to run in deep snow, in the mud, across a stream. I like to come off the trail with my

shoes filled with mud, carrying a few scratches from the rocks on the way. I like to bring myself to my limits, and each time a little bit beyond, so that I have further to go next time. I like to fight my own weakness and emerge victorious. I like to arrive at a point, where all the bad stuff I had my head full of at the start of the trail, has completely evaporated.

I like to put my head under water fountains in the mountains. I like to run through rocky passages. I like to look back at the road I just came by. I like to be prepared for whatever conditions are out there, so that I can just go out and don't have to worry about anything. It's me who's going to set the limits to my trip, not the weather or trail difficulty.

I like to eat with other runners after the race, at the huge banks under the tent. I like to carry some magnesium on me, in case I bump into a fellow runner suffering from cramps. I like that huge breakfast I can have in the morning of a race day. I like to stop by and exchange a few words with the voluntaries. I like the 5 mins before the depart at the start line. I like the last 300 metres to the finish line.

Even though I like to have the company of a friend next to me for a while on the trail, to be true to myself, I do like to run alone. To feel the absolute freedom and independence. The detachment, the lack of responsibilities.

As I don't have to tell anyone, it all weights up, the good and the bad. Period-wise, you may seem to be stuck, but what I find also helps getting over it, is looking back on the progress you've made over the last months or years. You will see yourself starting slow and shyly approaching 30K mountain runs, which by now you're having as your minor weekend workouts. Or whatever distances you're into. The pictures I take on trails do bring back some of the magic feeling and are a great help in motivating myself to go on. Then, the need to run itself is something that tells me what I've become, and what I have to face to go on.

This is how it feels to trail run for me. How about you?

The Etna Adventure: DAY4 - DAY5 - EPILOGUE

DAY4 (January 4th, 2011)

I have hard time getting my sore derriere out of the bed, but finally I leave the refuge at 6:15. It's still dark, I make use of my head lamp. On today's menu I got Piano Provenzana, a half-deserted ski station destroyed during the 2003 eruption, next a hike up to about 2400m a.s.l. on the north-east face of Etna, a check on the visibility conditions, and if the light's green, I proceed to traverse to the south face and go down to Sapienza, before heading for Nicolosi. The trail makes about 18km with 1700m of positive gain, and 1200m of negative gain to Sapienza, plus the 19km and 1000m of negative gain to Nicolosi. In theory, on a broad road, from the start to the end, no way of getting lost. Ahem.
The asfalt road leading to Piano Provenzana is quite uneventful. No traffic. Just the dark, and the approaching dawn. As I get closer to the station area, I see the massive heaps of volcanic rocks, that cut through the local forest a couple of years ago. I see some remains of ruined houses around, but other than that, the place doesn't look so deserted. It even seems, they're constructing new pavillions to replace the old ones.

I take a few minutes to identify the trail, completely unlabelled. I'm going to hike up the road used by quads transporting the tourists to the summit area. There's some 15cm snow on the road... it does slow me down a bit, but I counted with it anyways. The view of the Etna is hidden behind a massive fog at this altitude. By watching the fog shift, I discover that the slopea above is pretty well visible, all i gotta do is to pass the fog
barrier. Following the road, I spot the fuming triangle in the distance, telling me I still got way to go before I reach the summit. On the way, I capture beautiful pictures of sun lighting up the clouds that I left beneath. Sun sparkling on the snow. Sun flooding the perfect blue sky. I feel comfortable, but soon enough my water hose is frozen. Also, my isotonic drink in the waterbelt starts forming ice.

After 10 a.m., I reach the shoulder at 2900m a.s.l., where I start moving southwards, and looking for the descent behind the craters. I can see the triangle of the Mongibello peak, but after a short dispute with myself, I decide to give up the climb to the craters what with those recent eruptions, massive smoke, killing visibility, and time limit to my trip. On the map and on the pictures, the road seems to circumvent the crater area, in a large loop of around 2km, at precisely the altitude I'm at. One minor problem: the snow cover conceals the road, so I'm not sure how far to go before taking a straight way down, and, guess what, clouds are covering my view down, it's what they call in French 'jour blanc'. I spend almost an hour hiking up and around the craters, but soon enough, my view is cut off by the cloud cover. Noon's approaching, the time's to get off the mountain. Further to the west, I see a promising slope, and I get a flicker of what looks like a road in the distance. I decide to drop the search for the established descent route, the more so that I don't feel like nearing the fuming volcano. I start moving down the slope of snow-covered ice, decorated with single volcanic rocks, which, to make things more interesting, tend to move when I try use them for a grip. Fine. The way down seems to take ages! On less rocky areas, I simply slide down on my butt, or, depending on the inclination, run downhill. After some time I arrive at a vast lava rock field: it definitely looked easier to do from the way up, since the little buggers are quite loose, and they're full of sharp edges. It takes even more time to cross the field, but then I'm done with it. I'm in the center of the cloud now, I take glimpses of whatever I can while it's available, and hold firmly onto what I'd just seen to choose my path. I follow one of the two hilly protrusions in front of me, covered with slippery small-grained reddish rocks, that lead me down and closer to the road. I can see it quite well now. I take whatever shortcuts I can to go down, and finally cross a small field of volcanic rocks, where I take on an enthusiastic sprint towards the road. Bloody hell, I trip over on this easy terrain, and fall face down on the sharp stones. Luckily, the frontpockets of my backpack are full of stuff that makes my fall softer, and I'm lucky to retain all my teeth. I reach the road. Like I thought, I just made my way down to a point in the Pista Altoalpina, the trail I took the day before. There's nothing to it, but to follow it back to the crossing where I can take the SP92 down to Nicolosi. It's around 16:00 that I hit the SP92, at first I walk down, but then, to fight the feeling of cold, due to the thick wet fog surrounding me, I start to run down. The visibility is maybe 3 metres. It's chilly, and it's getting dark. Finally, the night falls, and I put on my headlight. I know I walked up this road 3 days ago, and I know where I'm going. Luckily, cuz otherwise I would be shitting my pants asking myself where the hell I am, and how I get home. The thought of the warm shower at my B and B in Nicolosi does keep me warm. I finally make it at 18:30. I'm exhausted, but I still get myself some food at the local supermarket, that I devour in my room. Warm shower, warm bed. Goodnight.

DAY5 (January 5th, 2011)

l's well that end's well, is what they say. I check out at 8 a.m., grab my bike, and make my descent to Catania. I'm actually going quite slowly, what with having no helmet, and a woman waiting to cross the street urges me to speed up. This must happen only in Italy ;) Still, I'm enjoying the chilly but sunny morning, the road is easy, and I arrive at the bike rental station before 10 a.m. I greet the guy, who takes the bike back from me, and go on to stroll through the streets, and enjoy the feeling I brought with me.

EPILOGUE

On January 12th, 2011, the SouthEast Crater finally erupts, and spits out rocks and lava, that flows to the already devastated Vale del Bove. I missed the event by about a week. Next time, then.

The Etna Adventure: DAY2 - DAY3

DAY2 (January 2nd, 2011)

I wake up around 9 a.m., a bit late for my taste, but good enough for the little walk I intended for the day. I check out at 10 a.m., leave my bike chained at the hotel, and get some sweet bread from Mulino Bianco for breakfast (I take enough stock for 3 days, it's light anyways). I start walking up the SP92 road, following the 'Etna Sud' direction. The road takes 19km and climbs up about 1000m up to the Sapienza refuge, where I intend to pass another night. The time goes slowly, and I have loads of time to look at the wasteland around me. Most of it is covered by the lava debris from 1983. I hit the border of the Etna National Park and continue climbing. Lots of cars going up and down pass me by, some greet me by honking. Thanks guys, I don't need a ride, walking is good for you.The landscape becomes monotonous soon enough: grayish lava and volcanic rocks, covered in visps of mist.

I make it to the Sapienza area before 16:00. I check in: man, are they expensive! 75€ for a halfboard... I take it, no other choice. I put on my 'second layers' and go to check out the souvenir shops. I end up with a 1:25000 map of the Etna mountain, volcanic rock bracelets, a small polar vest, and arancini for the day after. It's a pity I can't see much of the mountain in these conditions... it even starts snowing. The dinner is delicious, and the cook promises to wrap some food up for me for the next day, since I'll be leaving before breakfast time.

DAY3 (January 3rd, 2011)

At the checkout, I ask for the weather forecast. I get a mixed blessing: sunny morning and noon, but clouds and snow in the afternoon. It's 7:15 a.m. that I leave. It takes me more than 30 mins to find the start of the trail down from the SP92 road, but the compass, altimeter and map help me do the job. Today's goal is to achieve the Brunek Refuge on the North-East side of Etna, through a 43km trail called 'Pista Altoalpina'.

The morning is just lovely. I look over to the seaside, to see the warm sun pouring over the horizon onto the SP92 road. I try to find the small dirt road to lead me to the Pista Altoalpina, for some 40min in vain. Finally, I decide to make use of the hardware: with the help of the compass and the altimeter I reach the starting point soon enough. I follow a broad dirt road covered with a few centimeters of snow. I'm in the woods: for once it's pines, then oak forest, it keeps on changing with the distance. Lavic debris to the left and to the right. I pass a few refuges: in Italy it means unguarded shelters of wood or stone, with a few banks to sit on, and a fireplace to keep yourself warm. I have the west slopes of Etna to my right. The sun is shining through the woods, the air is crisp. I'm keeping up a slow trot on the flat and downhill sections. I march up the slopes: I want to save as much strength as possible for the day after.

Around 11 a.m., I take a deviation from the main road to hike through the ragged lava debris of 1976. The passage is marked solely by piled rocks, and I take care to add a few of my own. I  join the main road once again, and stop to have my lunch around noon. It's cold arancinini with some fruit for desert. I continue northwards and soon enter the Bosco di Maletto: a dense oak forest. After less than 2km, the trail turns North-East, and soon enough I arrive at Rifugio la Casermetta. Or what's left of it: the ruins of a larged dwelling present a sad view. I cross another solidified lava stream, and follow the trail that is now clearly heading eastwards. I'm at about 1500m a.s.l.: from here, the Etna peak looks quite distant, and clouds and fog are condensing above. It's afternoon, and there's maybe 5 km left to the Ragabo Refuge. I'm passing through Lava del Passo dei Dammusi, with weird lava formations.

Now, the piste is cutting through a vast lava bed of 1911 and 1923, bathed in wisps of fog. Right around the corner, lava of 2003. Afterwards, the scarce trees are getting denser again, and reform a strong oak forest. I'm enjoying the last 2K towards the refuge: it's getting darker now. Finally, I hit the crossroads of Mareneve. I can see the refuge lights from far.
I made the traverse to the North-East side, 43 kilometers of it, in some 9hours, taking two 10-minute breaks, not including, of course, the time to take some 150 photos, and consult the map on numerous times.

I take time to explain to the refuge crew which way I arrived by, and what I would like to do tomorrow. They strongly discourage me from going to the crater area, because of ongoing eruptions, and a snowy weather forecast. I  study the maps and discuss the trail conditions with the chief, and after all decide to take my chances. After an exhausting day, I take a rest at the fireplace, and get myself ready for bed.

The Etna Adventure: Prologue - DAY 1

PROLOGUE

A snow covered mountain, sloping towards the early sun, scattered volcanic debris marking the outline of the route, heavy clouds curling beneath and above, covering or revealing the summit area. Crisp air, frozen water hose, smoking craters. Not a soul on the mountain. It's mine. I am the queen of the hill. How did I get there?

DAY1 (January 1st, 2011)

I abandoned the New Year's Party at 5a.m. I get up before 10 a.m., start packing at speed to check out of the hostel at 11 a.m.. I choose the 'absolute minimum' to take on the trip: documents, money, photo camera, mobile, compass, my Suunto watch, mp3 player, a tourist map of Etna I purchased in a local library. Long running tights, calf warmers, polar underlayer, a pair of Salomon Speedcross 2 GTX W, Salomon gaiters, two technical T-s (one of them is meant for Tris, with pockets sewed on the back of the waist), a long sleeve GTX, a small wind-stopper vest, a neck scarf, a bonnet, sunglasses, spare socks etc. I include a 2l water bladder (to fill up on the mountain), a water belt (I fill the bottle with Isostar Long NRG drink), several high NRG and cereal bars, as well as energy gels from Isostar, then dried bananas, apples, arancini bought at a local food market. To sum up, the stuff I'm not currently wearing I manage to fit into a generously filled 5l backpack, a water belt, a small document bag, and a shopping bag attatched to the bike head.

It's around noon that I get on the bike, with a road map of Sicily and a compass in hand. My goal for today in Nicolosi: a small village on the Southern slope of Etna, 900m higher and 30km away from Catania. Two elderly men I meet on the street advise me to follow the signs for Mascalucia, and try to explain to me how to avoid passing through the highway. In vain! Following an innocent-looking small road, with an 'Etna' sign on it, I end up in the middle of the highway! SHIT! No bike helmet, and the road is climbing, can't turn back! Here, a great surprise: all the cars behind me stop, honking urgently, and let me pass to the right-most piste, where I can at least go on until the next exit. Uuuuufffff.... Alright. After less than 2km I am able to get off the highway. I'm somewhere close to the Tremestieri, and I follow the signs for San Giovanni la Punta. From there, I take on the direction of Mascalucia. The gentle rain takes on intensity. Shit, it's pouring cats and dogs. Well, it's still +15C, so it's ok. I finally choose to pull over and have a snack, despite the rain. 5min after I've stopped, a jeep stops by and the driver asks me where I'm going. I say: Nicolosi. The guy claims he's a pro sportsman, an experienced biker and, if I got him right, an owner of a triathlon club. And, that on days like this, he recommends indoor biking. You know, you can catch a cold in the rain. And the road is going up LIKE THIS. So he offers me a lift, or, should I choose to be stubborn enough to go on, his jacket. I do choose the stubborn way, but accept his mobile number, in case I need help. Ye gods, luckily we're not all that pro, eh?

From where I stopped, I follow for Mascalucia and Nicolosi. Soon enough I'm in the village! Now just to follow the little streets to arrive at my B&B.I arrive at the Etna Garden Park around 16:00 with some help from a local driver. Wet but happy, and believe me, with that extra edge of satisfaction over certain triathletes. My room is warm and so is the shower. I fall asleep almost immediately.