We have already said a lot about We Run Rome: the competitive 10km race organized by Nike and Fidal Lazio in Rome on the morning of December 31. We described its extremely evocative route through the streets of the capital a short time ago and met Valeria Straneo, who was the female protagonist of last year’s edition.
We also mentioned the special attention Nike was putting into organizing an event that was not only a beautiful page of sports, but also a festive occasion to greet 2012 in the way we runners prefer: running!
We also did not leave out the multimedia aspect related to Nike+ and social networking. In short, the only thing we still lacked was to experience this race firsthand.
Trying, always.
And so, with my mind full of New Year’s resolutions, here I was on Monday, December 31 at 8 a.m. on a beautiful sunny day choosing which shoes I would run We Run Rome in: the light, snappy lunarglide4, to try to improve my personal record on the 10k? Or that other pair of comfortable, cushioned A3s, which I usually use on long runs, so I don’t push too hard and maybe take some photos along the way? Or, do I close the year by “being foolish,” as the good Steve exhorted, and do We Run Rome, with that pair of barefoot running shoes I got a couple of weeks ago and only used for a few outings to begin my transition to natural running?
I make my “crazy” decision, leave the house, and head for the Nando Martellini athletics stadium at the foot of the Terme di Caracalla, where the heart of We Run Rome has been set up.
The rumble of 12,000 legs.
The total registrations for the three races (competitive 10km, 10km and non-competitive 3km) are about 6,000: a true success considering the average participation in this type of race.
Inside the stadium, in the middle of the athletic track, soar the two main Nike booths, while a bit more secluded are those of the various running clubs and sponsors.
The last latecomers flock to the counter to pick up their bibs or to register for the non-competitive races. The most meticulous have already begun a long, slow warm-up.
I greet my friends from Nike, walk around the booths for a while to relax, and then start getting ready myself. Thirty minutes left in the race.
I try not to think about the fact that I have a pair of barefooting shoes on my feet without any cushioning at the heel and mentally go over the race route.
Ten minutes of warming up, to get used to the cadence of the barefoot run and to loosen up my legs nicely, I set up my ipod and stand on the grid waiting for the start. The atmosphere for those of us who start in the rear obviously is more serene and almost festive than the competitive tension of those who started in the front to play for the victory.
At 11 o’clock the speaker’s countdown begins, followed by the starter’s gunshot: the We Run Rome begins.
A 10k is no walk in the park, oh no.
The first kilometer is a mess! There are so many of us, and between the crowds of runners surrounding me and the pitfalls of the cobblestones, I skirt the Circus Maximus as I descend toward the Mouth of Truth more careful to avoid tripping or dabbing someone than the race pace.
I turn right and tackle the first climb of the race with the knife between my teeth, aiming straight for the Capitol and Piazza Venezia.
The crush begins to subside; the group finally thins out, and my running becomes smoother and less zigzagging to avoid slower runners.
I close the first and second kilometers in 4’30” and 4’34”, respectively.I am so focused on keeping the right “pace” for barefoot running that I did not notice that I started out with an almost short repeat pace.
Through Via del Corso between two wings of crowds cheering and inciting us runners. Only on the occasion of the marathon have I seen such a high attendance at a running race in Rome.
The long straight stretch of Via del Corso takes me in a few minutes to Piazza del Popolo, where after a quick lap around the square comes time to face the real demon of this race: the climb up the Pincio.
Four 150-meter ramps, rising steeply toward villa borghese, interrupted by three dry switchbacks, interminable and very challenging. The setting may be great but, believe me, this climb is truly beastly
Halfway up the second ramp, I get out of breath: I look around and notice that even the faces of the runners next to me are a little less festive and smiling.
Looking at the route on the maps, I never thought I would suffer so much on this climb. I’m facing a real demon, but I’m not going to give up, even though my legs can’t work off the lactic acid anymore and the increased stride frequency imposed by barefoot running is literally breaking me in two!
I don’t want to give up! And with my lungs screaming all their need for oxygen I finally reach the top of the climb and enter Villa Borghese. I turn right, catch my breath for a hundred meters assaulting the 5-kilometer refreshment stop, look up and with terror realize that another climb of at least three hundred meters awaits me.
I try to raise my knees and maintain the best posture I can, dropping my feet in line with my body, plant or toe, but I am scraping the bottom of my last resources.
I get off on Vittorio Veneto Street and thank God we finally start going downhill!
Like a rolling stone.
On this stretch, the competitive spirit of the runners takes over: the climb has slowed them down and made them suffer, but now, on the descent, the pace becomes furious even here at the back. I see old men panting and pushing on their ankles as if it were the last race of their lives; girls lengthening their stride with their heads sunken into their shoulders as if the finish line were four hundred meters away and not instead four kilometers. There is also no shortage of the nice guy with his face deformed by excitement and adrenaline running through his system who flanks you and gives you a shove to get his way.
A very few minutes of descent and then it’s back up again, in general desperation, to Via del Tritone. Three hundred meters of ski lift slope in which I pass several people who have not been able to recover from the previous climb and are now walking. I get to the top, curve to the right, and in a matter of seconds I find myself passing between the Quirinale and the Constitutional Court.
It’s hot as hell! It’s the 31st of December and it feels like April in Rome! I could have sworn I also saw a couple of swallows, but perhaps they were hallucinations from overwork.
After passing Piazza del Quirinale we throw left onto Via Nazionale, then right again to Viale Cavour. Here there is some breathing room thanks to another short descent.
I can no longer feel my ankles, or rather my ankles are screaming so loudly from pain that my brain prefers not to hear them.
I arrive on Via dei Fori Imperiali, turn left, look up, and see it! The Colosseum. For many tourists it is a sight that is breathtaking in its majesty. For me to see him right now means only two things: that I am still alive and that there are less than two kilometers to the finish line.
One more climb circling the Colosseum (how I miss the plains in these situations), as tourists cheer us on and children extend their hands to high-five us, and finally the last kilometer begins.
I push like crazy and smile thinking that now the agony of my ankles is coming to an end! I look at the stopwatch and realize that I am perfectly average with the times of the last few weeks, despite those two damn slow, tremendous miles uphill.
Three hundred meters to go. I lift my knees and bring my heels upward: inside I imagine myself running with the gracefulness of a Kenyan, while it is very likely that those watching me see only the sad image of a totally disjointed runner with his face turned into a mask of fatigue and suffering.
My ankles keep begging for mercy! But by now I want to push on to the end, whatever it takes, even if there is no breath left in my lungs, until I cross the finish line, aching and hardly able to breathe, in 48 minutes and 4 seconds.
I take a small bottle of water, enter the stadium and collapse on the grass breathing heavily.
A sip of water, a sip of life drunk with the eyes.
As I stand there still a bit gasping for oxygen I look around. Many runners have already reached the finish line, while others are still facing the last kilometers of the race.
There are still a lot of people running around in the stadium: children are running on the track emulating the dads and moms who took part in the race; wives, husbands, mates and friends, with cameras, are waiting for their respective ones to immortalize them in the last meters.
I see tired, smiling runners joking with each other as they compare times done or talk about the course. And I realize that Nike has achieved its goal and organized a beautiful celebration of running and sports that will go on for a long time to come.
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