After the first reflection fantantropologica inspired by the race, here is the second major discovery of natural dynamics: the appetite for the restaurant at the end of the race grows in inverse proportion to the mileage. It 'an aerobic version of the principle of Archimedes.
If the 15 km race of St Martin in Controguerra make them less than an hour, you're a monster, and when you arrive will probably give you your bottle of brew full of vitamins, minerals, branched chain amino acids, proteins wedge-shaped fluorescent and protons.
If you put a little more than an hour, you are already a more normal and maybe you're happy with the gatorade that give you just cut the line, are you happy perché alle docce non c’è la fila e vai a vedere se magari ti sei piazzato in qualche categoria.
Dopo l’ora e mezza (ma con qualche fenomeno che ci mette anche un po’ di meno), la prima cosa che fai, tutto bello sudato, vai baldanzoso a riempire lo stomaco, a reintegrare le tue fatiche nemmeno avessi corso una 50 km nel deserto del Gobi in autosufficienza.
E le mandibole macinano metri quadrati di pane e marmellata, pane e mortadella, infilano una dietro l’altra castagne calde, rigatoni al sugo di pesce, più velocemente di quanto le gambe abbiano macinato i km.
Unico ostacolo da superare: i non competitivi della 4 km, che hanno già da un pieces form a compact wall often at least three units, which are not taken down from the first.
This is what happens at the end of the race of St. Martin in Controguerra: a rich finish, so it deserves a race partecipatissima.
And I? I'm in mid-table general category of mid-table this year ... but at least I did not have any after-effects of hangover and I got away with seven minutes less than last year (1h 18 '...).
I enjoyed the sun and the view ...
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