Five-zero-six means 506: the total kilometers that I've run in January. It's 314 miles.
I'm just bragging here, but I think I deserve it.
A lot of km. A good training: good job, high five for me.
I've found the perfect balance between working on the pure resistance (never lower down to 40 km on Sunday), with back-to-back training (for the newbies: two days in a row of long running [I was doing 30 km on Saturday followed by 45-50 km on Sunday]) and the speed work. During the week I was working more on my speed and less on the total km (an average of 14 km), staying under the 5'/km (usually 4:30'). Off course, for running all of this km, I've increased the number of sessions: morning and evening runs on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.
Perfect work. It was hard, but not that harder. Honestly, I didn't realize that I was running all those km until yesterday evening.
Now it's (almost) time to start the tapering: at the end of February I will run the ultra in Fort Worth (The cowtown ultra): psyched!
That's it.
Oh no, one more thing. I'm wondering: is it possible to run 1000 km in one month? Probably yes.
I've been climbing since March 17 1990. This means 24 non-stop years of crimping and sweating with the only purpose off arriving on the top of a rock.
It sounds stupid, but is not.
I've never considered (and I will never do it) climbing just a sport. For the way I'm seeing it, there is a lot of poetry and philosophy and romance in climbing. Climbing teach me how to behave and how to react and respond to several situations. Climbing kept me high during low phases and helped me a lot. And it's still doing all of these things to me.
I love climbing, and I will love it forever. This is statement.
Unfortunately, in these 24 years, I saw a lot of changes in the climbing world, and most of them were bad changes.
When I've started, we were going bouldering with nothing but our climbing shoes and the chalk bag. But we were climbing anyway.
When I've started, most of the bolts were manually made by the setter, and most of them were rusty after two months. But we were climbing anyway.
When I started, only few guidebooks were available. But we were climbing anyway.
When I've started there were no climbing gym (only a couple of them in France), and there were no differences between climbing and training: it was just climbing.
When I've started, Patrick Edlinger (rip) and Patrick Berhault (rip) were setting the rules for what is climbing today, and nowadays nobody (in the climbing circle) remembers or knows them.
I still remember how sad I was last year when Patrick Edlinger (Salut!) died. The same day, I went to the climbing gym and I was explaining why I was sad. The reaction of the others climbers was "Patrick, who??". Meh...
Patrick Edlinger (left) and Patrick Berhault (right): so 70's, so pure.
When I've started, there has always been the feeling that maybe, that day, was the last of my days, because, you know, shit happens. And this was part of the thrill, part of what was making climbing so big and important (at least to me).
Today everything is different.
Ten years old kids are crushing grades and pushing the bar every day a little bit higher. Today is (almost) safe. Today we can train harder and harder everyday. Today there are thousands of different spots where we can go to have fun. Today we have crash pad, ultra-light material, cool clothes to match with our "ultra-cool" climbing-lifestyle...
...and I could go on and on, but long story short, I think today is worst.
The magic of climbing is gone.
Every time a new hamster (this is my definition of totally-psyched-megadude-indoor climbers: hamsters, like hamsters in their wheel) born, a little piece of magic of climbing is fading away.
"Hi, I'm flashing V10 on plastic, but I've never seen a real rock in my life..."
Today, all of these hamsters don't know the history of what they are doing... And I'm also convinced that they are doing it just because they need something to keep their mind busy.
Most of them are just a bunch of douchebags strong enough to climb and evolved enough to know how to belay (by the way, it does not require to much brain-effort).
I'm a scientist, and my nature is to observe and describe the world. Therefore, I'm observing those hamsters: they yell, the scream, they pump up each other's ego, but I don't see anything that belongs to climbing.
Maybe I'm a little shellfish here, but I think climbing is not for everyone and it should be restricted to a specific group of people. Don't you think?
...and what about all these meetings and aggregation of hamsters? Is that climbing or a lemmings migration?
One of the several good aspects of climbing is that you can do it basically all alone: you just need a rock, the nature all around you and yourself. Beautiful.
But no, not anymore! Just like the hamsters love to stay close to each other, also the doucheclimber do the same: they organize meeting with hundreds (or thousands) of other hamsters, behaving exactly like they behave in the gym. Absolutely awful.
Melloblocco: look at all those damn hamsters (please enjoy the statistic here: 2 dudes climbing, 36 dudes doing nothing).
Ok, I will end here.
I know that all these complains could sound just a general complaining of a hold fart too attached to the past. And maybe it's like that.
All I hope is that these words have pissed off some of those hamsters out there...
...and please, note that this is just the tip of the iceberg.
Here the soundtrack:
I choose this song for a specific reason. Several years ago I was doing multipitch at Pianarella (see picture): while I was climbing, there was absolute silence, I was surrounded by wonderful rock and nothing else, and this song was in my mind. Suddenly, I realized how wonderful was the situation and I thought "I don't need anything else.".
Sometimes, often I would say -every day is even better- it's only the anger that drives me all day long.
I woke up already angry.
But is not enough. I need more, and I need an excuse to be angry.
So I'm looking for it in something or someone else.
...and everyday I find it: in the people around me, in what they're doing and in what I'm doing.
And when there is nothing left to hate, well, I start to be angry to myself.
I need to be angry, I like to be angry and I hate to be angry.
I feed my anger: with words, with actions, with music.
Often anger is the only thing that keeps me floating.
Often anger pushes me over my own limits.
Often anger saves me from myself.
I don't trust in people that are always happy: it cannot be real, sincere.
My anger is real and sincere instead.
Be happy: be angry.
Hold on tight because I'm going to be really angry here...
I want to talk about a specific category of (sub)humans that I really hate.
I'm talking about those human beings that usually avoid any kind of contact with the soap.
Dirty, stinking men.
Every day I'm surrounded by this kind of Homosapiens (yeah, sapiens...): they're disgusting. They stink like wild porks during the mating season, but they just don't give a fuck.
They infect the environment in which they are living in with their pungent stench: a mix of sweat, sour cheese and fried dead fish.
Seriously: I can "feel" their presence from distance, and after 10 minutes, their disgusting smell gives me headache.
Listen: if you don't care about yourself, please, care about the people around you, ok? And by the way, it's also a form of education: since we're supposed to share the same rooms and spaces, please take care of yourself...
Please, explain me why, for fuck sake, do I have to breath and feel and assimilate your stench just because you're not educated enough to take a shower? Are you a kind of punishment for my bad behavior?
I could go on and on, for hours, complaining about how much they disgust me...
You're disgusting creatures and you should feel ashamed for polluting the world with your damn stench.
Sodium dodecyl sulphate (SDS), one of the basic compound for soap: use it!
I've got the perfect band for those stinking pseudo-humans:
I have theory: every bench of every lab in the world has a stupid troll living underneath it ready to ruin the experiments.
There are no other explanations.
And while the poor scientist is trying to figure out why the cloning didn't work, the dumb troll is already thinking about some other funny (for him) prank... Mixing your reagents, or hiding your pipets maybe... How about some change of the pH of your tris?
I hate when this happens: every once in a while some stupid experiment or PCR or whatever does not work... Why? There is no explanation. Only the presence of the troll can explain it.
I hate it.
Fellow scientists, listen to my advise: never relaxed, the troll is always ready for you...
Trolls are from the North, so here some music from the North
"The laughter had died down and I knew there was a foreboding wave of darkness waiting for me. I wondered why, when I had feelings of intense joy or happiness, I could always sense the black wave, cresting above and threatening to crash down on me at any time but, when I was actually having one of my sad spells, it felt like it was never going to end - like I would never get the happiness back."
From the book "Fuckness".
I love this author.
Turn off your TV/computer/cellphone/whatever. Read more, use your imagination, fuel your brain with thoughts.
...and this is the perfect soundtrack for the post: explore, be curious damn it!!
Outside is cold and dark. Maybe is raining, or snowing, or maybe the
weather is just fine, but still, is 4:45 in the morning.
I get up, I drink my coffee and I go out for the first run
of the day. Depending on the day and depending on the phase of the training, I
will run 10 or 15 km (1 km = 0.621371, do the math) or even more.
That same day, in the evening, I will wear my running shoes
again, and I’ll go for the second run of the day.
That’s what I’m doing since I’ve decided to run ultra-marathons.
I usually run 7 or 8 times at week, with an average between
100 and 150 km at week. Often alone; sometimes I share the miles.
Sometime I share the miles
with wild animals, like coyotes or wolves.
One question: why am I doing this?
The answer is: I don’t know, but I love it.
Maybe it’s the rush, it’s the addiction to endorphins, it’s the
feeling of awesomeness that I can feel right after 50 km straight.
Maybe it’s the
pleasure of the pain and the sore.
Maybe it’s the epic feeling that my body can do
more than what I thought it was able to do.
Maybe it's the selfish sensation that I can do something that is not for everyone.
People complain: “Get a life!”…
Dear fat-asses, that’s a pretty intense life. Don’t bother me
and go fat yourself (ha!).
This is for the complaining people: nice violent music, enjoy it.
Howdy. I've finally decided to start a blog. Why? I don't know. Maybe it's just because I like to write. Since this is the first post, I should write about myself and how awesome I am and why you must read my words. But it'll be too lame and useless.
I won't write about any particular subject. I will just write about everything I have in mind in that particular moment.
...and since a lot of things bothers me, I will complain a lot.
The original idea was to talk about science, about climbing and running, and about music (in other words, about what I care); but I'm pretty sure I will talk about several others things, because my brain is always complaining about something.
Maybe you're wondering why the wallaby. Well, wallabies are majestic creatures and I hope one day they will rule the world. That's why.
Here's a picture of one (two, actually) of this wonderful marsupial:
Wonderful, isn't it?
Since this is the first post, I need some epic music to start with.
Here you go, the best band in the world, playing the best song in the world.
