Race lived with unusual detachment. It will be the period, at least particular.
Yes, I admit it: I also had to deal with hot weather. My training program does not care about the weather, the body does not care about instead of the program. Result: maximum performance with minimum effort. It makes sense then desperately disheartened? No. So, I console myself by reading the tips on how Pizzolato survive the summer and decide to adapt the table to the season. Even the races, then, must be contextualized in the complex preparation, thus minimizing the competitive component. What is certain is that, as it seeks to circumvent ambitions and expectations, will always be impossible to avoid the hidden power of the chest: If you decide to race, that race is.
the first mile I think I could go back. May already be exhausted from the climb? Who stands before me does not seem to acknowledge any difficulties. I must resist! I will fulfill my secret dream, but at least sell life dearly before giving up on a victory already obtained. A stranger than me, and it is quite a setback. But in me are fighting against a party who wants to stop that which appeals to its wonderful resources. With complicity of the brow, won the determination: the mate who greet me so far before I throw a pitch and dive. I know that a truce will be short-lived, the street will be back soon to rise, perhaps with greater arrogance. But I try to take advantage of the favorable inclination to leave the legs. Energy recovery, which are also activated to resume ascent. I feel better, in reasonable thrust. If I think I'd want to retire ... Sometimes I feel the scent of pines, sin fail to appreciate the view. Some will say you have spotted two deer. I, when I run, I barely realize who I'm next. I feel annoyed footsteps behind me, far too close. I hate to be heels, my irritation is palpable, to me it is sufficient to turn his head so that the runner is made of hand. Looks a bit ', is one of my fellow company. Each time it identifies a new one, but many are we?
Yes, I admit it: I also had to deal with hot weather. My training program does not care about the weather, the body does not care about instead of the program. Result: maximum performance with minimum effort. It makes sense then desperately disheartened? No. So, I console myself by reading the tips on how Pizzolato survive the summer and decide to adapt the table to the season. Even the races, then, must be contextualized in the complex preparation, thus minimizing the competitive component. What is certain is that, as it seeks to circumvent ambitions and expectations, will always be impossible to avoid the hidden power of the chest: If you decide to race, that race is.
the first mile I think I could go back. May already be exhausted from the climb? Who stands before me does not seem to acknowledge any difficulties. I must resist! I will fulfill my secret dream, but at least sell life dearly before giving up on a victory already obtained. A stranger than me, and it is quite a setback. But in me are fighting against a party who wants to stop that which appeals to its wonderful resources. With complicity of the brow, won the determination: the mate who greet me so far before I throw a pitch and dive. I know that a truce will be short-lived, the street will be back soon to rise, perhaps with greater arrogance. But I try to take advantage of the favorable inclination to leave the legs. Energy recovery, which are also activated to resume ascent. I feel better, in reasonable thrust. If I think I'd want to retire ... Sometimes I feel the scent of pines, sin fail to appreciate the view. Some will say you have spotted two deer. I, when I run, I barely realize who I'm next. I feel annoyed footsteps behind me, far too close. I hate to be heels, my irritation is palpable, to me it is sufficient to turn his head so that the runner is made of hand. Looks a bit ', is one of my fellow company. Each time it identifies a new one, but many are we?
We proceed in rapid descent, already more than halfway through the race. A dirt road makes me swear: he spoke of the wheel path entirely paved! Few tens of meters, but enough to bring out the geek in me and let me get over some runners (fortunately, only men). Found the asphalt, recovery momentum and try not to put hand brakes on the steepest sections. I see the unknown che mi aveva superato diversi chilometri fa: devo raggiungerla! Provo a cambiare marcia, ma i tornanti e le pendenze spezzano il ritmo e mi impediscono di puntare dritto all’obiettivo. Quando la strada si appiana e si individuano le distanze, manca appena mezzo chilometro all’arrivo: troppo poco per recuperare una posizione.
Mi classifico sesta: risultato anonimo e prestazione insignificante. Cerco di incamerare gli aspetti positivi di una gara senza luci né ombre: che almeno frutti come allenamento.
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