running above clouds

Time, space, memory and the dream per-ceived, thanks to varying moments inrapid succession of distant photographicimages, all differ from each other.

These emotions not only seen with oneseyes but also with ones heart are expe-rienced in this book with an unusual for-mula, that of a diary that recalls the moreexalting and photographically moresignificant moments of track and field,amateur and non. Photos are what bring together literaryworks that have involved authors likeProust, Pound, Rodari, Hesse, Wilde,Flaubert, Bach, Shakespeare, Goethe,Neruda, d’Annunzio, Leopardi eNapoleone who would have never imagi-ned that their reflections could have beenassociated with a simple action of puttingone foot in front of the other in rapid suc-cession. These such doses of wisdom guide us inour way to revel in the same moment inwhich the instance places itself before us,forcing us to use our memory, thanks toobserving the pieces of a past by nowlong gone. This, because it is worthwhileconserving the memory of laconic sugge-stiveness which provokes this tranquilstupor in seeing the picture of an old mantoday, a young man of yesterday. A littlemore than one hundred “flashes” for aperiod of dense emotions in a certainsense re-evoked by the wind and assignedin the air.

Let us become a part of this “travel agen-da” in search of inspiration and momentsof personal meditation offered by a truerunner of time in search of the perfectway of running where strength and fati-gue finally fuse into one reconciling in afurious search for freedom.

For thoughts and comments you can write to me at:[email protected]

Massimiliano Monteforte was born inRome on March 24, 1972. By the age ofsix he sported his first running outfit forAtletica La Rustica of Rome.He has run more than 70.000 km, allrigorously logged in his running journal.His personal bests are considered good:800m 1:52.6; 1500m 3:50.06; 3000m8:16.4; 3000 steeplechase 9:02.32;5000m 14:25.09. During his runningcareer he has been sponsored by Mizunoand Reebok and is currently sponsoredby New Balance.Massimiliano has been wearing the pre-stigious Forestry Sport Centre jersey inItaly for the past seven years. He hassince moved to London, where he conti-nues to foster his great passion for run-ning in his personal search for happi-ness.A very active athlete, he is also TopAthlete Supervisor for the City of RomeInternational Marathon and organizer ofvarious sporting events, which see run-ning as the main protagonist. In the past, he has worked as both free-lance photo reporter and journalist andfrom 1995 to 1999 he was director of therunning magazine Tartan.

We are immersed in space, withoutpoints of reference, unable to understandwhether we are moving through it.Time remains a series of istances, onefollowing another, with no beginningand no end.

Running above

cloudsMassimiliano Monteforte

from Rome to London

This book is dedicated to my family for having

given me the opportunity and the time to

foster my passion for running, and to everyone

else who has shared a piece of the road with

me day in and day out, a space that, because

of destiny or poor timing, I have been forced to

leave by the wayside of the road called life.

The time spent in writing this book and in

running belongs to them.

“The better part of our memory exists outside our-

selves, in a blatter of rain, in the smell of an unai-

red room or of the first crackling brushwood fire in a

cold grate: wherever, in short, we happen upon what

our mind, having no use for it, had rejected, the last

treasure that the past has in store, the richest, that

which when all our flow of tears seems to have dried

at the source can make us weep again. Outside our-

selves, did I say; rather within ourselves, but hidden

from our eyes in an oblivion more or less prolonged.

It is thanks to this oblivion alone that we can from

time to time recover the creature that we were”.

Marcel Proust

by Roberto L. Quercetani

The author of this original work has loved and loves with all his

heart athletics, in general, and running, in particular. It is a love that has blossomed in

him at a “teneris inguiculis” and today still lives and burns within. As a competitive ath-

lete, Massimiliano Monteforte has reached good levels in both middle-distance and long-

distance events, including a time of 3.50:06 in the 1500-metre race that – 70 years ago –

would have made him a record holder for the “English mile”. Between races and training

sessions, he has ran more than 70,000 km- more than one and a half times around the

world. We can therefore say that he has covered a lot of ground…

Beyond statistics, this young man considers running a way of life. This book, designed with

of a calendar in mind, include his reflections captured while running and observing run-

ning, as well as while reading about the exploits of many champions. Examples include the

English and Italian greats of this sport from the magnificent Livio Berruti , a sprinter, who

during the Rome Olympics of 1960 gave us 20.5 seconds of sheer euphoria, to Thompson, a

sublime speed walker, of whom it loves to be said has run more kilometres than any other

Britain on this earth, present and past. From Roger Bannister, the first man to break the 4-

minute mile, to the great Sebastian Coe, 1984 Olympic Gold medallist in the 1500-metres,

and many amateurs, each in their own way having honoured the sport of running. The

running environment in Rome and elsewhere has provided Monteforte with a myriad of

thoughts regarding our world where ‘ time is a fluctuation and a perceivable action throu-

gh movement”, a quote by Aristotele, a great thinker who saw sport as a type of culture.

Roberto Luigi Quercetani, born in Florence in 1922, is one of the more noted journalistsin the world of athletics. For almost half a century, he followed this sport around the globe.In Brussels, in 1950, particularly interested in the historical and statistical aspect of the sport,

together with H.Abraham (gold medallist in the 100m at the Paris Olympicsin 1924 and the sprinter made known in the film “Chariots of Fire”), hebecame one of the founding members of the ATFS (Association of Track &Field Statistics) and president from 1950 to 1968. For many years, he hasbeen collaborating with numerous newspapers and magazines, amongwhich “La Gazzetta dello Sport” and, since its inception, Track & FieldNews, an American magazine considered the bible of Track & Field. Hehas written numerous books, namely,“A World History of Track and FieldAthletics” published in 1964 by Oxford University Press of London,

“Runners and Races 1500m”, Middle-distance running: the magical history.

With all his heart

Through their own thou-

ghts and actions every per-

son writes a book in their

lifetime. In my book, between one phrase and another, I

have found the time to run. In this book of memories, there is

a trace, above all, of the time that I have spent running following improbable

goals and unlikely intentions. I believe that in our personal novels we are move

than just a full stop and a comma. I am the word...running. Some create

through literature, music and painting. I create something beautiful when I

run and I like to think that people say they have never seen anyone run like

me before. It’s more than just a way of running it is a way of life.

Having Cicerone wrote in an letter to his family, “The letter does not bleed”,

explained that writing allows one to state what embarrassment would

otherwise impede. Over the centuries, women and men have communicated

their intimate feelings using pen and paper. This is how I decided to write this

book, committing to something that perhaps is not my specialty but fascinates

me nonetheless. I hope that in the space of just one page, my soul as well as

yours will be amazed. All this because I believe it is worthwhile conserving the

memory of our daily lives the calm emotion that one feels when looking at an

old man in a picture today or the youth of yesterday. The protagonists of this

photographical collection are not just the people themselves but the environ-

ment in which they move, allowing us to sense and synthesise the significance

of all that has happened on the track even before we ourselves were running the

protagoniste are also all those feelings related to the world of running: fatigue,

victory, injury, defeat, physical and mental preparation for a race, etc.

Nature does not create images nor does it create the happening of events. No

scene or event can therefore be considered a stable and long-lasting image until

one has assumed a temporal or physical dimension carried out during life’s

natural course. When this happens, we can look beyond the frame’s border

using mental associations and flights of fantasy to focus our personal and histo-

rical interest of the photographs themselves that appear livelier and more

dynamic, thanks to their added value from times past. The relation between

Running and me

the lines and the people within the frame situated near monuments or places

of historic importance translates and highlights the excitement of the event

captured in the photograph. This visual synthesis of a fraction of a second that

increases and dilates time, and in a certain sense renders it more elastic. If we

think back to our childhood, our mind is flooded with memories. Sensations

that we thought were lost: voices, images, emotions. It is not a schematic

memory but one that goes back in time to a completely individual dimension:

our personal past. We believe these private memories have been imprinted on

our minds as indelible photographs taken who knows when. They constitute

the album of our lives: images, atmosphere, sensations. From the more hidden

angles of our mind emerge our unsuspected memories of figures and people that

seem to have been lost forever. But what is a memory? Do we conserve a faith-

ful image of every event and every experience in our lives or does time deterio-

rate the memories? I do not have the answer but I know that when I look at

an old picture I recall that time and relive those emotions. The memory of the

first time I stood at the starting line; the sound of the gun being shot into the

air; the sight of so many people sharing the same passion for running, just like

the photos of yesterday, reawake in me many memories from back then. They

are not always clear and immediately recognisable but all emanate that won-

derful scent of the past generating a series of disconcerting emotions and, in one

faraway fraction of a second, they allow me to relive the entire event. They are

yellowed or faded photos are from the time of a previous dimension, not belon-

ging to the world of today. Distant memories at a distance in time situated in

a certain part of the brain and buried under the dust of years of inactivity can

reawaken and offer us this emotion. I experienced these sensations, -the hur-

ried heartbeat that wasn’t due to the fact that I was doing physical exercise-

at a distance of about 20 years while rummaging through my things at home.

Held within my hands was an old photo of me when I was young running

through the streets in a part of Rome still under construction. Attached to my

chest with giant safety pins was my running number as big as the pure wool

shirt I was wearing, quite different from today’s modern materials. I felt a

strong and unexpected emotion. I like everyone else in the world, was a Dorian

Gray wishing that my portrait up in the attic

turn old instead of me.

As Herman Hesse wrote, that the experiences,

enthusiasm and joy of a child, felt during the

short period of youth, become baggage to

carry on one’s shoulder for an entire lifeti-

me. It was my uncle who in 1978 passed

on to me his passion for running. That

year, I began running two or three times

a week, with my mother’s oldest brother

driving me in an old blue Alfa Romeo to

one of the rapidly green sprawls that still existed

in a city which was losing its contact with

nature. For me and for athletics in general it

was surely a period of pioneering and while I

think about this, several anecdotes come to mind.

The time my father, who couldn’t finish a race, step-

ped off the course and removed his running number,

thus becoming one of the spectators as if nothing had

happened. Or my sister, having already fallen in the mud

several times, burst into tears and vowed never to run again. The emotions of

winning and collecting stickers with animal pictures on them from the “Corri

per il Verde” race and affixing them to my notebook like a true collector. Or the

time that I arrived home with the announcement that I could run non-stop

for 15 to 20 minutes straight and listening to my worried mother reminding

me to tell my uncle not to exaggerate because according to her, I ran too much

and it could be dangerous.

Around 1820, for the first

time ever, Niepce moun-

ted an image of the

pigeon-house of his home on to a metal strip. This first

photo required 8 hours of exposures.

Since then, the reproduction of images has taken giant leaps for word and

today, exposing a photograph for even just a fraction of a second is enough. In

our time, photography follows us from the moment we appear in nappies with,

a crowd of people gathered around the glass partition to immortalise that first

day of our lives. Similarly the first years of school when our photographs were

taken with us under the Christmas tree, or at our First Communion or wed-

ding day or perhaps our 80th birthday. So, if it is true that our life begins and

ends with a breath then it is also true that life’s memories loften start with and

are accompanied by photographs. These constitute the pleasure of remembe-

ring, since photograph is memory, a game and the search within ourselves. For

this art to acquire the virtue it is missing, like what a good wine left to decan-

ter for years in the barrels, one must interrupt this operation of merely repro-

ducing reality. The tens of years in which images become forgotten under a

mountain of papers inside a drawer or are lost behind furniture in the chil-

dren’s room make us turn back in time. Only then, can the art of Da Guerre

show us things from the past that no longer exist. One can savour unique sen-

sations and unreal emotions thanks to a negative developed years after the

event captured. One finds that dark interior room whose entrance is prohibi-

ted until one is in the present. Images caught by the glass lens many years ago,

today catch our eye like a billboard poster. These apparently static images allow

us to travel back in time coming across representations of friends and people we

know in the social context of that time. For the youngest, they are years that

were never lived. The news that they have is only fruit of study and storytel-

ling. For the elderly, it is a way of remembering the years of their youth. These

moments show the diversity between yesterday and today. They highlight our

grandparent’s social reality, where in our specific case, running was considered

an extravagant and crazy venture. So I, who have worked as a photo reporter

Shades of memory

for daily newspapers and magazines, have found the pleasure of describing the

photographic language learnt in many years of study and experience, thanks

to these instant photos taken of “running colleagues”. And so a passion was born,

thanks to my uncle Antonio, prematurely gone on Oct 4, 1993, the Mexican

moustache photo reporter for the Italian News

Agency, Ansa. He had a great passion for sport

and would have been happy to read this book.

And I am happy to publish this photo that

actually shows him running in front of

Francesco Panetta, who had just been crow-

ned World Champion of the 3000m steeple

chase at the Roman Championships in 1987.

“Quanta strada nei miei sandali (I have

walked so many miles in these sandals)”,

sings Paolo Conte thinking about Gino Bartali. But he

doesn’t know how long I have been running in my shoes immortalised in this

photograph and with that heavy cotton and wool t-shirt. Those were years

when changing a pair of gym shoes was like buying a three-piece suit or an

evening gown. Fairytales still survive today about fantastic shoes that are able

to transform a loser into a champion and with which one can run forever.

Today, however, it is this exact search for a pair of these divine wings that

pushes runners of the new millenium to change shoes before they are truly “tired

of running”. Twenty or thirty year’s ago it wasn’t like that and sports shoes were

worn until the sole of the foot almost touched the asphalt or the shoes’ treads,

without any technical devices, dangled like a puppet without strings from one

side of the shoe. And yet shoes were and are always considered as the runners’

best friends. They run for us. They get wet when it rains. But if a race goes badly

they are the first to get thrown against the wall and at the end of ones’ career

get hung up forever. Poor runners’ friends, the past for them was always dark :

the hard beating on the pavement, as soft and elastic tracks of today didn’t

exist back then. Earning their day’s keep was difficult because training back

then was a bit odd. One day they ran long distances and the very next, 100m

ww

w.a

nton

iom

onte

fort

e.it

repetitions without ever obtaining the privilege of sharing running with their

“colleagues”. Not today. There are warm-up shoes, those for short fast distances

and repetitions, those used for long runs or dirt roads and if you have even more

pairs, you put them on too.

And I remember laughing a bit under my moustache (which I do not have),

when I think that the prize for participating in those races, which today is a

classic cotton t-shirt, was a medal depicting improbable winged victories

which many runners of the 70s displayed in a custom-built showcase to

impress parents and friends alike.

I also remember when they started giving out useless objects like key rings, bot-

tle openers and basic junk. Then, having seen these were terribly unpopular,

they started giving out classical bottles of our own Italian wine. Times were

different and those years were even witness to many falsifications of final race

results.

The year of the chip was still a long way off and the runner, who by natural

law belonged to the category of big liars, like hunters and fishers who excelled

in the art. The telling of and listening to a lie was a reciprocal act, a necessary

ritual. And so race times were “rounded-down” a bit, and when the official

results finally surfaced several months after the race another name would ine-

vitably appear as the winner. It also makes me smile how runners ten year’s ago

arrived at the starting line of Sunday races. They looked like Italian soldiers

after they defeat at Caporetto in 1917: tattered tracksuits were quickly re-sewn

because running was considered a hobby and therefore costs needed to be kept

to a minimum. Several extraordinary personalities and events have left a

strong imprint still make people smile and think. Yesterday, like today, persi-

stence and tenacity are the qualities of one who loves running. Neither the rain

nor the cold can stop runners. They train often and consistently. Running is an

individual sport but he who practices it doesn’t dislike company, because one

can run alone but together one is encouraged and has a lot of fun. In the last

50 years, the running movement has evolved immensley. It is self aware and

realises its social importance and therefore the need, more now than ever befo-

re, for technical competence and a good dose of experience. All this could seem

mundane but “ footing” , in the past, was often synonymous with improvisation.

The modern runner must possess a new kind of knowledge. He must follow the

protocol of all traditional sports i.e. a medical visit, the use of proper equip-

ment and a good deal of common sense. The do-it-yourself method is no longer

acceptable as it can damage your health. Looking back to the past for inspira-

tion and guidance can help us improve, but we must be careful to only choose

the positive aspects. For example, the great spirit of unity during the 70s could

be used as a model to bring our sport back into a hypothetical golden age.

Every once in a while,

one stops to reflect.

When asking why one

continues to run, the answer often is not easy to find.

Sometimes, we get very close to answering but stop because we

have something else to do. We must put one foot in front of the other.

Progressively faster. We continue to run because each one of us must follow the

black line of the asphalt forcing us to think of nothing else. The rest is distrac-

tion. It fills our head and our muscles weighing us down and it brings cram-

ps to our head which are much more pinful than those to our legs. I did a few

things too intensely in my life: I thought too much, I fantasised too much and

I dreamed too much. The unkind say, I wasted too much time run-

ning but this isn’t true because I am not yet tired. Often, during my

training sessions and races the very thought of putting on my

running shoes makes me feel and the pleasure of moving

makes itself heard. I am overcome by euphoria and true

happiness. Running means getting to know oneself

profoundly. That is why each one of us who believes in

something should listen the song that goes “the aviator never

carries with him heavy thoughts for they alone would be a

heavy load”. Perhaps it is for this exact philosophy that we are

still here. Running to become part of this running energy.

All this because nothing is better than that feeling of

euphoria after a long and hard breathless gallop. Sense of

freedom, above the stars only the sky. I believe that an ath-

lete’s aim is not to win a race but to push one’s physical limit. When expe-

riencing fatigue, instead of stopping, an athlete will manage extraordinarily

to keep on going, he will have overcome another hurdle. What has happened?

We have simply switched on our interior motivation, which as a master always

ignored, has brought us to achieve what we thought impossible. It is, therefore,

that imprison these prejudices regarding our numerous abilities, only because

a limited vision stops us from seeing further!

This running energy

I visited London

for the first time in

1990, when I won

a scholarship to

spend two splendid weeks in the

United Kingdom. During that trip I fell in love for the first time. It was

obviously one of those adolescent loves that lasted till the end of the summer

and a bit beyond. I met up with that very same girl by chance several years

later and immediately noticed in her gaze and in the lines on her face that

there was a profound difference between us. Time had changed us both. She

had completely conformed to society’s ways thwarting any chance of hope that

existed, given the cold reality of every day. I, on the other hand, continued to

feel alive with a spirit that continued to drive me towards my goal of living

differently, to attain my aspirations. At one time our paths had crossed but now

they had separated forever. I was still in search of myself and nothing in the

world could have stopped me from closing the drawer that contained my

childhood dreams. I returned to London in 1998, on the occasion of the

Marathon which that years was won by the World Champion, Abel Anton

(2h07’57”). It was then that I came to

understand how this city has a positi-

ve relationship with its runners and I

was impressed by the perfect organiza-

tion of the race. I saw a city that

made itself completely available to its

runners, a city where running wasn’t

a crazy thing to do, as they had led

us to believe in Italy. I decided to

cross the Channel again at the end

of July, 2004, to participate in the

“Really Run London” on 1 August.

Unfortunately, after months of

serious preparation a knee injury

Running above the clouds

(From Rome to London)

forced me to run the race, as a true tourist. After more than seven weeks

without training, I came in 85th running an average of 3:55 per kilometre.

The disappointing result, however, permitted me to run with my head held

high, looking “through the clouds”, appreciating all those sensations that one

tends to lose when in peak form, like drops of sweat hitting the ground. I noted

the smallest details during that race: English flags along the race course, peo-

ple clapping their hands continuously and I remember being struck by the

party atmosphere that got everyone involved. It was wonderful and helped to

lift my spirits, the number 5 on my bib didn’t reflect my physical condition,

and I was sad not to be able to run

at the head of the pack, fighting

for victory. I knew that upon my

return to Rome I was to be operated

on my knee and, obviously, the final

result wasn’t a shoe in. Crossing the

finish line, I promised myself that if

my knee operation was a success, I

would for next year’s race and win

it. During that vacation, I under-

stood that running for Londoners

had a different meaning: those jog-

ging on the spot at traffic lights, wai-

ting for then to turn green weren’t

ridiculed but admired for what they

were doing, for being able to dedicate

a part of their day to the sport of running. Running through the city’s parks

was also incredible and little by little I began to think about coming to live in

London for a longer period, to experience something new that was sure to grown

on me. Once again, running was leading me down the road towards my

destiny. Fortunately, the knee operation went well and after my recovery I

asked for a one-year sabbatical from work. I left Italy with a suitcase full of so

many hopes and decided to come to London to prepare for my next challenge:

running a 100 km race in under 7

hours. The rest is the present, this

book! I wanted to write about Rome

and London through the sport of

running. Those worlds of yesterday

and today made up of one-of-a -

kind people, those “strange” indivi-

duals that move from one place to

another running. Wherever these

people are in the world, they

dream of running on green grass

because they understand that the

pleasure of running is nothing

less than a stretching of the soul.

Correva l’annoRunning yearCourait l’annéeLaufendes JahrCorrìa el anoCorria ò ano

GennaioJanuaryJanvierJanuarEnero

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The sweetest fame is that which does not look to great suc-

cesses and therefore invokes neither jealousy nor isolation. It

looks around us with the feeling that the best has yet to

come, which happens to all youth until they realise that the

best has already passed.

19711971



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To observe is not the same as to see. Allthose who have their eyes open are onlyobserving. The act of seeing requires amore complex use of the mind. One can-not run away from an image. It is not suf-ficient to simply direct ones eyes by thesole action of looking. It is also necessary toassociate ideas and concepts of what hasbeen seen and to interpret the capturedimage with every look.

Princess of Wales at the start at 1908 Windsor Marathon.



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Space itself is nothing; an absolute spacedoes not exist. It only exists withinbodies and their energy. Even time isnothing. It is only a consequence of theevents that are occurring.

Foro Romano



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We are bounded to things by a thousand roots, innumerable threadsrepresented by memories of times past and the continuous conspiracy ofknowledge and habits from which we are unable to escape.

In this photo, the athletes, the policeman and the Appian Way with its roundcobblestones seen perfectly connected to their time. This “Roman postcard”transposes, beyond its years, the Appian Way built by Appio Claudio in 312BCand once travelled by horse and buggy. Does not seem in the least bit “out oftime” but rather provides the photo’s various subjects with a proper expressionof time immortalised.



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The Olympic flame is carried across the river Thames, on its way toWembley. The bridge is that between Windsor and Eton, and WindsorCastle can be seen in the background (1948).

Today, as we see others do things which we once could do ourselves, buthad to give up like so many others, we gain comfort in the knowledgethat humanity, through time, creates the true person part of the whole.



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Character, elegance, passion, effort, these are the base ingredients for

producing fatigue. It is an integral part of sport, an internal desire

that challenges muscles and pushes them beyond their limits. The

physical fatigue felt by an athlete who confronts a hill, or who begins

the last lap after the sound of the bell, pushes him towards the fini-

sh line with sufferance. Fatigue has contributed so much pride and

simplicity to our sport. Without fatigue one can never become a true

member of the running world.

White City Stadium (1956): Derek Ibbotson beats Chris Chataway

character +elegance +passion +effort =

Fatigue



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I believe that, only he who suffers the fatigue of training on a daily basiscan really understand and rationally breakdown that unpleasant expe-rience felt just before a race. It all boils down to this. You are risking your-self and the time you have dedicated to reaching your objectives it is oneof those eternal instances when you are pitted against your own invisiblephantoms, your adversaries and the relentless pace which, in just amoment, will you see us battling to shave even one second off your time.

The pre-race tension brings with it excitement and fear; in the sameheartbeat we feel both confident and unsure. We dare ourselves to believein all that we have trained for, to exhaust all out pent-up energy and topush harder than we ever have before. Then, all of a sudden, our ears burnwith torment, driving our legs to finally express themselves.

Terme di Caracalla Stadium in the 1950sAnother shot! The Olimpyc Games’opening ceremony in London in 1948



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Luck decides who gains the glory, according to its own hidden criteria.Often, I have seen it precede merit, and even go beyond it. He who firstunderstood the similarity between shadow and glory was on the righttrack. Even in the photo one can almost metaphorically see the ray of lightintended as glory about to shine down on the athlete as he crosses the fini-sh line.

It is the luck of the draw that accords us the gloryLuck decides who gains the glory



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The Appian way is dark. The only lightcome from the hand-held flame of the carsthat are following or the flashes from severalsmall cameras. Every once in a while, a carheadlight brings a bit of daylight, like hereat Cecilia Metella. The finish line is still faraway. We have passed the 35km mark. Abebeand Rhadi ran by some time ago. The dreamof the Englishman in the photo, Brian Kilbey,has already finished: he will finish in 29thplace at 2:28.55 more than 13.5 minutesbehind the winner Bekila.

Bare feet



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The “perfect moment” is that photo-taking instance in which all the com-position’s elements, the geometric placement and the equilibrium that runbetween the subject and all that surrounds him, are seen visibly united.While the photographer moves in search of a better position and while thesubject moves within the foreground, an optimal physical union appears inthe line of fire. In this particular case, the photographer was physically andemotionally ready, giving life to a true “vision of ” running in the70s. The subject, frozen in his sporting pose, “drags” the image across thefilm bringing it forward into our time, with a strong visual force that willcontinue well into the future. This photo was taken in Caffarella Park inRome on 4,1979 November.

The

per

fect

mom

ent


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It is an emotion like no other that one feels when one

accomplishes that which he has desired: in sport, a victory,

gives the spirit a state of absolute ecstasy and trepidation to

the body that for a few split seconds that make one feel

supremely omnipotent. In those brief moments everything

seems possible. Later that burst of emotion transforms itself

like a vital lymph into energy to be used for the next dream.

He who has experienced this fury of athletic vigour, even

just one time, is now forced to act as a go-between for that

titanic heartbeat that tries to act on ones own aspirations.


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Suspended between earth and sky in his elastic

beauty, the athlete seems to realise even just for

one moment, the dream of Icarus.

Icarus


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Pace is a perfect form cut

out in time just like an

image determines space.


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With the present as an accompli-ce, the past guides us towards thefuture. Thus to encompass thebody and soul of a person, youshould not look at what he hasaccomplished but rather that towhich he aspires.

You desires oftenreveal your innertalents


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Whe

n on

e tr

avel

s thr

ough

the

pas

t, on

e tr

ies t

o go

bey

ond

it.

The

bea

utifu

l thi

ng a

bout

tim

eis

that

it p

asse

s. W

here

ver

you

are,

wha

teve

r th

e m

omen

t, ho

wev

eryo

u m

ove

and

wha

teve

r yo

u do

, tim

e m

oves

on a

t the

sam

e pa

ce, t

hrou

ghou

t the

ent

ire

cosm

ic u

ni-

vers

e, w

itho

ut h

arm

ing

the

futu

re m

omen

ts o

f rea

lity.


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Memories re-evoke the pleasure of by-gone days and turn this pleasure intoa symbol of happiness, paradise and the goal of our desires. This photo cap-tures the precise moment in time when a young athlete crossed the finishline on 25 October, 1952 on the occasion of the 16th anniversary of theinauguration of the Terme di Caracalla Stadium. This Stadium was erec-ted on 25 October, 1936 for the track meet between Austria and Italy.Immediately after the war, athletics was still a rich and charming disci-pline capable attracting a large crowd. Unfortunately, today the “event” ofthe true athlete, one who runs on the track, has become increasinglyboring. The code is irreversibly programmed so that it doesn’t register truenovelties and by now the charm of being together in the stands of a smallstadium has been lost: in the new millennium, the stone or marble standshave become too cold.

The stands are full at the sta-dium of Rome during a regionalmeet in the 1950’s.

Memories re -evoke

the pleasure of by-

gone days.

Spectators


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Time stood stillA sense of peace and of infinite power pervaded my soul. I can compare

that sensation of immobility of time and of its extraordinary fullness of

being with that which I feel when overlooking the edge of great and

silent canyon or the immobile surface of a deep and majestic river.


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...Present and past


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Past

and

pre

sent

...


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Revisiting places of ones childhood is both a delight and an anxiety. Adisconcerting number of memories flash in our mind and in a few millise-conds our entire history is relived, taking us back to recall those familiarand painful moments that are now gone forever.

In the above picture, taken in 1980, one can see,among the young ladies, an happy FrancaFiacconi , who then went on to win the NYCMarathon.

Franca Fiacconi

Stories


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In this rectangle of the sky framed bythe photo, there are a variety of lines,forms, depths and tones that add anobvious expressive content to theimage itself.

“I concentraterun, jumpand touching

the sky, I ticklethe clouds”


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1957

The world is just a wheel, with equal dimensions, and yet it seems sostrange to think that we too are turning with it. These athletes are spur-ned on by vivacious spirit that makes them become even more so, part ofthis turning wheel. that turns. (Terme di Caracalla)

The world is just a wheel


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Seasons, like our expectations and personality, change in a

hurry. Even cities transform themselves, even Rome, which has

always been considered the eternal city. In this picture, we are

surprised by the sight of a cross country race passing under the

big “mushroom” of southern Rome, still under construction or

the Axum obelisk at Circus Maximus without any visible

modern-day architecture. The Ethiopian monument was brou-

ght to Italy in 1937. One hundred and seventy tons of memo-

ries. Seventy-six years as a silent witness to a changing city.

Named “God’s flute” because of the sound it emits when it is.

struck in a certain way. With a height of 24metres it sends

our spirits towards the sky.

1959

60’s

The eternal changing city


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Bites


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I am sure of it and when the dust clears you

will have already reached the finish line.

Do your feet, knees and bodyknow that you have decidedyou want to win this race?

Will your joints, muscles and tendons be a

natural protectant against the fatigue that

will come over you like a hungry beast before

you arrive at the finish line?


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Shapes, depths and surfaces reflectthe light in many ways: the sha-dows of running legs constantlymoving in sync, like a strongadversary who never relents; thelong straight road to the finishline. A reflection and the har-mony of feeling that you are a bitspecial, stronger, and thus capa-ble of doing things that others canonly “catch a glimpse of ”.

The running legs

AprileAprilAvrilAprilAbrilAbril1

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Unlike so many contempo-

rary photos, the way this

photo is cut and framed

makes it very suggestive .

Giving everything to reached the clouds




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This photograph has an antique feel to it. It shows a group of young kids fromthe era. Today, one of them is a P.E. teacher, another an engineer and yetanother, a government employee or an architect. Unfortunately, one is no lon-ger with us but his spirit lives. On, as does, the happy go luckiness of goodfriends wearing the same track suit and having fun together…just running.

1908 Olimpyc Games: United Kingdom Team (London Metropolitan Police), winners of the tug-of-war.



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The fuzzy movement of the subject intensifies the effectof speed and the excitement of the race and gives lifeto real visual tension.



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Always flying higher…with the same grace of a bird

turning in flight.



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It is just as difficult walkingon a thin line drawn on thepavement as it is movingforward on an even thinnertight rope. And yet anyonecan succeed because it isn’tdangerous if you just pretendthat the high wire is nothingmore than a line traced withchalk and the air that sur-rounds you is the ground. Youwill surely succeed on all thetight ropes of the world.What counts is what iswithin us. From the outside,no one can help us to live alife without war but withlove, getting along with eachother; if we were to do thisthen everything would bepossible, not just walking ona tight rope but also flying…

The way of the 70s



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The Eagles’ stadiumduring the great period ofthe “dolcevita”.

I dream of things that still

aren’t and I ask , why not?Some people see things as

they are and ask why.



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In this photo from 1979, a succes-

sion of different tones of grey, some

subtle and others more evident

have been recorded; not less

important are the “environmen-

tal” differences of our time.

Caffarella park at the time this

picture was taken was in absolu-

te “degrade”. It has since been

upgraded and made available to

all Roman citizens to show that

those battle of the races have ser-

ved for something.

Those difficult races were

worth it.


MaggioMayMaiMai

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Everyone is together, the pace caden-

ced and elastic. The race has been

defeated because no one is superior to

the others. Their thoughts and lives

are momentaneously fused. The athle-

tes are one entity moving with the

common aim of winning the race. The

rhythm is calm. They all want to be

seen, to be at the front of the group

and that is why they move outward,

expanding into the third lane.Together


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Naturalselectionbegins.

Enzymes, proteins and neurons talk to their bodies. The heart begins to

pump. Nerves are tense and the group unavoidably starts to break up. The

tension rises, the spikes begin to work battering the red earth iwhich was

initially only able to absorb the athletes’ energy but now is ready to return it.


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Will and tenacity are needed to be the best.

They are the only things capable of spreading

the group out making one thrust towards vic-

tory. In a few fractions of a second the woollen

string will referee the victory; a result of tac-

tics and muscular force that knows how to

make one proud and exalt in glory.

Victory!


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It is a battle between Melvin

Sheppard and Harold Wilson. The

Englishman is exhausted, his fati-

gued face shows the suffering expres-

sion of a man about to be defeated,

The American has a relaxed face

and already savours success. Melvin

Sheppard moves ahead of the

Englishman Harold Wilson at the

finish line of the 1500m race at the

Olympic Games in London in 1908.


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Olympic stadium 3 September 1960. RomeOlympics. “Foyk is in lane 2, Seye in lane 3, Johnsonin lane 4, Berruti in lane 5, Norton in lane 6,Carney in lane 7. On your marks, set…boom! boom!” The tension riseswith the Italian’s false start. “On your marks, set…boom!” A good startwith Berruti attacking the curve better than anyone else, his legs runningperfectly, propelled forward while at the same time glued to the track. Hecomes to the straight with a clear advantage and flies on the wings ofeuphoria not allowing his adversaries to recover. Olympic victory in20.5sec.!

Berruti! On the wings of euphoria

Quick as lightning


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An atrocius pain that keeps returning

An atrocious pain that keepsreturning as if someone hadtouched an uncovered nerve. Astabbing pain that hits youduring every step of your belo-ved run. You’re losing it. Youfeel you should stop, perhapsabandon running for a while,and leave your daily dose ofadrenaline and physical fatiguebehind. Later, you will be forcedto start from the beginning. Avolcanic fire, an alien has pos-sessed your foot: ice, ice and stillmore ice. You use more of itthan an Eskimo. Massages, the-rapy and cortisone often do nothelp because only time can healyour athletic wounds.

And you start from the beginning!


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Not even the difficult uphills and downhills make you worry. Give it all youhave and sweat! Let the puddles and stones pass under your feet. Don’t slip!Don’t avoid the mud, confront it. Get in there. Run through it.

Run through it!


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Follow your instinct.

Follow the direction tra-ced by your instinct.Listen to the sound ofyour stride and yourbreath. When you can“calibrate” your stridewith the beat of yourheart you will be a truerunner.

Running on a greatroad: the CristoforoColombo


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Thin, robust, muddy, ultra light,neutral, absorbant, fast, modern,dynamic and creative. A thou-sand colours, shapes and styleswith a thousand technical varia-tions. Shoes are and have always beenfor runners indispensable. Theonly change cames through evo-lution born of a desire to conti-nuously improve, suggesting newideas and solutions not to wasteeven the smallest bit of energyproduced by our muscles.

Shoes


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“He who becomes a creature of habit dies slowly repea-

ting the same routes day after day”. In this way Pablo

Neruda explain that authentic happiness is what

makes us cultivate our dreams, making life as we

want it to be. The dream is more important.When you

are happy, it is as through a sweet perfume has per-

meated your soul. You think about your inner feelings,

your eternal emotions, universal thoughts; you would

like to express these feelings externally- from your

heart to your hand and onto a pice of paper. But you

cannot do it, a few signs and symbols are not enough.

The only signs capable of expressing your inner feelings

are the footprints you leave on the path.


GiugnoJuneJuinJuni

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There has always been a doubt as to who helped Pietri in White City. Thatfateful “place” of the crime with Sherlock Holmes called to the scene, who said“elementary dear Watson”. The two people guilty of having aided the Italianathlete arrive to the finish line at the London Olympics in 1908 wereFortunato Ballerini (then founder of SS Lazio) and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

The cursed zone

You find yourself in that cursed zone where every athlete hopes never to enter.Your body has accumulated the maximum lactic acid possible: you can’t see ,you struggle to breathe, you are almost lifeless. You only perceive pain and fati-gue, but you know it is wrong to focus on the pain. I don’t think the mind hasnot yet realised: it has been drugged by the euphoria of running. Just asSuperman loses all of his wonderful powers, an athlete, with the presence ofthat lactic acid in his muscles in contact with kryptonite, has the impressionthat the finish line will never arrive…


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1000m ten times, two and a half laps of the track with a 3-minuterecovery. This is the most common workout for whoever wants to defi-ne himself a long-distance runner. Whether you run the classical distan-ce in less than 3 minutes or more than 5 minu-tes per km.the endresult is thesame. Itproducesthe samesensationsand sametheendorphins.The firstrepetition isthe most dif-ficult because the legs are still not yet “awake and free to express themsel-ves” and the mind is still thinking about the laps still left to run. As youcontinue, the repetitions become easier and when you get to the seventhone, already more than half way there, you only think about the remai-ning ones left to finish your training session.In two and a half minutes you start again! Six orseven repetitions for a trained athlete is nothing, even if the mind startsthinking about the fact that the next one will be the hardest. The one wedo in the best time will give us a good average.Two minutes to go! The last repetition usually doesn’t count. It’san extra and is considered the easiest, almost a tribute to the fatigue thatyou have accumulated.Still ninety seconds, forty seconds…go, with one last risk,that of becoming a hamster confined to his red wheel.

1000m ten times


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“one minute till the start” The runners touch the taught tape at the starting line.Elbows are high not to remain trapped: one shot and the seaof runners spills out onto the street. It is incredible that asimple tape was able to hold back so much energy. All thoserace numbers, running shoes, insults and pushes, no one wantsto be sucked back into that state because they are just at thestart. The power of the belief that one is able to keep up withthe pace of the front runners is still strong and it will be untilthe end: the lungs have oxygen to spare and the mind hasheaps of nervous energy to set free.Yesterday like today. A neighbourhood on the outskirts ofRome and the big city itself where kids from the 1950s andthose from the 1980s partake in the historic Italian StudentChampionships at Villa Borghese.

The lungs have oxygen to spare...


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20I observe a man, I watch an athlete, I see a runner.

1975

I observe a man; I watch an athlete; I see a runner: all the extra kilometres,training session after training session, appear like graffiti that time has traced.Around the eyes, the mouth and the brow of the athlete. Here is Tulli (No.46),a person who lived for running, who demonstrated to us all that with hardwork and sacrifices any goal can be achieved.Piazza Navona


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Around the benning of the 20th century, piazzaNavona was usually flooded during the summer period to alleviate theromans from the summer heat.

Water games.

1900


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Running a marathon is an art. It is an aesthetic choice as well as anathletic one: to run as fast as possible for the longest period of time isthe most beautiful thing that a human mind can produce. Themind is where my forefoot, my heart, my glycogen, my desires, mymemory, basically all that makes me who I am, becomes a cohesivealley towards the same finish line. I have never seen anything morebeautiful than a runner with wings on his feet. Nothing more beau-tiful than he who first reaches the finish line. Nothing more beauti-ful than this art…

In the photo:Fatuma Roba(Ethiopia), win-ner of the RomeMarathon in 1996with a time of2h29min5sec.

Fori Imperiali


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There are runners who get up to train at six in the mor-ning because by eight they must be at work and who, onSundays, travel more than 200 kilometres for a race onlyto come last. Because even being one of the last to cross thefinish line is an achievement-you can say you were there,you participated.


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20I have seen the pleasure of the running in theeyes of those who crossed the finish line last, likethe special glow in the eyes of one who dreams ofgoing to the Olympics, fighting, withoutknowing it, a Don Quichote-like is battle again-st his own insufficient talent and against aworld that ignores or mocks him.

I have seen the pleasure of losingin those who have reached thefinish line last.


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Rome: Via Veneto, 1950s. This picture shows

the fatigue and the effort of two determined

athletes. The cars behind are just as determi-

ned to reach their own finish lines. The bicy-

cles, cars and bus belong to a Rome long gone.

The vehicles seem to respect the athletes and

treat them as one of their own kind.

170 beats per minute or slightly more!


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Our souls travel through spaces that time,

our own invention, cannot measure.


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20In this immortal witness of the past, captured

on 11 March 1960, we are amazed to see how

large a crowd the Final of the Student

Championship attracted.


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20It is not important whether the photographer is considered an extremely ableartisan, or an artist doted with superior skills of observation and interpreta-tion of reality. The photographer simply uses a mechanical instrument which,through the interaction of lenses, shutters and film, transforms the movementand colours of the 3-dimensional subjects into thhe 2-dimensional, motionlessimages, with various shades of grey. However, the magic of what remains lies inthe fact that, as we look at these images of the past, we shall always continueto be moved

The torch-bearer, passed the

tribune of honour during his

circuit of London’s Olympic

Stadium, applauded by mem-

bers of the Organising

Committee in 1948.

The Olympic torch at PiazzaVenezia in front of the tombof Unknown Soldier.


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Robert Kerr (Canada) wins the 200m at the London Olympics in 1908

You are almost at your limit, your energy is finishing and those fewmetres that separate you from victory never seem to pass under your legs.Your are overcome by a strange feeling, your lower limbs stiffen and yourself-confidence vanishes: Can I still do it? For an athlete this is the mostdifficult and most uncertain moment because when you are reallyexstaused, every step can be your last. Your legs, knees and calves canblock all of a sudden and leave you stranded just a few metres from thefinish line. For this reason you become easy prey to your anxieties: those oflosing and of being defeated. But the most pressing anxiety, the hardestone to ignore, is that of not succeeding, not realising your dreams.


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For a runner, the race begins already the night before. It starts the momentyou set your alarm for 5am having prepared and left everything on thechair by your bed ready for the next morning: backpack, tracksuit, runningshorts, team racing top with your race number, pinned with the smallestsafety pins possible believing that the less extra weight you carry the fasteryou will go. The microchip is already attached to your shoes under thechair, together with the all-important toilet paper. When everything isready you turn out the light and it is at that precise moment that the racebegins. You are apprehensive and do not sleep well. This is why you wait forthe sound of the gun the next morning, longing to finally be freed of yourtension and anxiety. Longing to escape and be free.Ponte Milvio


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More often, however, it is anuneventful monday evening.Outside it is cold and raining.You’re exhausted and as you tieyour laces you think abouthaving to clean the house and amillion other reasons why youshouldn’t go. You force yourself toput one foot in front of the other,first running to the corner ormaybe to the indian restaurant,or that traffic light down thereand then I’ll stop, knowing that99% of the world would havealready given up at the front door.

sometimes a run is just like thatbeautiful image portrayed in per-fect photos, of an athlete runningover a gentle hill illuminated bythe golden glow of a sunset.


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No longer a natural phenomenon measurable with a

succession of instances, time now becomes the “time to

act”. Time to seize the moment, the right moment to

decide where to go. Whilst waiting our nervous

apprehension propels our soul and our conception of

time reveals itself totally inadequate. What is more

important is our experience of life.

It is

tim

e to

mak

e a

mov

e.


LuglioJuly

JuilletJuli

JulioJulho31

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After months of preparation and fatigue, when you arejust one step away from victory, something goes wrong.You feel your adversary’s breath on the back of yourneck. Panic infiltrates your entire being, and you seeyour glorious victory slipping out of reach.


AgostoAugust

AoutAugustAgostoAgosto1

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The secret of life is the art

The world is amonster of prejudicesand preconceptionscorrupted to the core.The secret of life isthe art of daring theworld. Instead of bowingdown to all that isinjust in this world,we should dare tochallenge it.

of daringthe world


AgostoAugust


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Exsasperated concentration.

As one races, the dimension of time slows down.Spectators see only quick movements. The athletehowever, as a result of his concentration, experienceeverything in slow motion. The athlete who succeedsin making time travel the slowest, who manages tolive that intense fraction of a second the longest, is theathlete who is able to run the fastest and win.

A memorable photo of Lord Bergley (second from theleft) in the 120 yard hurdles.


AgostoAugust


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Nothing teaches us moreabout ourselves than re-seeingand so reliving something wehad achieved many years ago,thus observing ourselvesthrough the eyes of someoneelse. Here Thompson it’s immorta-lised with an old televisioncamera during the RomeOlympics of 1960.It is possible that Thompsonwalked more miles than anyother man on the face of thisearth during that time.


AgostoAugust


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The photographer has perfectly captured

the scene and enables us to “leap” back in

time. We are taken back to 1953 with all

the officials immaculately dress in jacket

and tie. The serious judge sitting by his

elegant table, awaits the measure of the

athlete’s bound.

1953


AgostoAugust


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Always be true to youself, and your thou-

ghts and dreams will carry you further

than you ever desires.


AgostoAugust


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At the line I was tense, angry and even a bit confu-

sed. But as soon as I heard the sound of the start pistol

and my thoughts ran. I was more determined than I

had been during any other race of my life. With my

teeth clenched and my eyes wide open. I seemed like

a madman but in those few seconds I felt truly alive

truly free. I gathered all my forces and with an almi-

ghty yawp, I wiped all those thoughts from my mind.

With my mind clear I feel happy. I want to tell

someone but I can’t, I’m running…

Stadio dei Marmi many years ago…


AgostoAugust


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The outcome of the “battle” depends on a singlemoment or a single idea. One enters the race,fights a bit, and hides to study the adversary.Then when the decisive moment arrives thatmagic spark helps you to make the right deci-sion, you break away from the others whoremain behind you, discouraged and dishearte-ned by the often misleading premise that he whois ahead is the strongest.

1902 1902 1902 1902 1902 1902 1902


AgostoAugust


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During your lifetime you have to achieve something. If your body dies, atleast memory of you will remain. The memory of these young men hasremained alive thanks to their emotions on the podium. Their marble-likebeauty (with their club emblems on their chests their old-style tracksuitscovering their muscles and their leather spikes on their feet) is full ofyouthful vigour, rendering them eternal like a Michelangelo sculpture.

III III


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The majority of students enrolled at university this year was born in

1985. They don’t remember televisions with only three channels. Perhaps

they’re never seen a black & white Tv. They can’t even imagine life

without remote control. And maybe they won’t believe that this is how

our dear old Olympic Stadium used to be.



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The ROADcan at times be a battle-ground. Even through I amnot competiting now. I stillremember with melancholythe days in which I ran andran soaked with sweat, andwith my face red with fati-gue. I ran until the sunwent down and cloackedmy road in darkness.



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“Sir, what made you think of this?

The homework you’ve set is so bizarre. It seems impossible:

find the measure for merriment,

the way to freedom,

the volume of happiness...

And the last one is really too much:

how much is a race in the midst of green fields worth?

We’ll never be able to answer these questions!”

But the teacher calmly looks at our anguished faces and replies:

“They are simple seasonal problems.

During the holidays you will find the solutions”.

Gianni Rodari



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The start of this race in front of S. Pietro is charged

with tranquil emotion. The real tension will only

show itself as the race starts. In the photo we can

see an interaction between all lines and levels, fore-

ground and background; the interaction between

runners and road will begin later.



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FAITHFUL

Will is the persevering and unaltering

companion of our persona: hidden in our

ever faithful shadow, it works non-stop

without taking into consideration changes

within our “ego”. Often, it isn’t the desire to

be famous but the habit of being indu-

strious that allows us to produce a great

piece of work and the wise reflections on

the past that help us to prepare for the

future.

Eric Liddell, winner of the 400m at the

Paris Olympic Games in 1924. He remained

faithful to his own personal belief, refusing

to run on a sunday. Thus he had to chan-

ge from the 100m race to the 400m; and he

won!



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1875

1960



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If I

clo

se m

y ey

es I

can

fly

too.

If I close my eyes, my legs beco-

me wings, and as my shirt

fills with air the magical

spell intensifies. If you don’t

run too fast, that wind is only

a whistling sound in your ear.

But if you begin to gallop and

challenge the very air itself,

you realise that the wind is

actually whispering words to

your heart and suddenly you

find the answers to many dif-

ficult questions you carry

within.



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What does a world record or a personal best in a marathon really repre-sent? A handful of time. Dust compared with a sole look of eternity. Themore disillusioned runners could object that usually they don’t know whatto do with tenacity and virtue because this means obedience. Of course,but we must ask ourselves, to whom must we obey. While all the other vir-tues so loved and praised are considered an obedience to laws laid out byman, tenacity does not fall under this category. He who is tenacious in factobeys a different law, a particular and absolutely sacred law : the lawwithin, being faithful to oneself.London 1908: Forrest Smithson runs with a bible in his hand.


OttobreOctoberOctobreOktoberOctubreOutubro1

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Einstein believed time is

flexible and space expanda-

ble; thus our motion of time

is relative and can easily be

distorted by motion.

Aristotle too believed time is

flux and action, perceived by

us only through movement.

Flux and movement



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It’s my turn! I want to show

the others what a great shot

putter I am. With a yell I

launch the sphere as far as I

can, using all my strenght;

and now I balance on the

tips of my toes with my

mouth open wide and neck

extended, urging the iron

ball to fly and fly and fly.

With my mouth open wide


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Once upon

a romantic time...

1950’s:The loop of the four Basilicas




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Once upon a romantic time...

St. Giovanni in the Laterano



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20Here we see the simple sports lovers who, in their own way, try to protectthe parks and villas of Rome, a city that in the early 70s was a capital ofurban decay. The message of this type of race was to quickly combat thesavage construction and building abuse and to stop the spread of the uglyconcrete-block-style buildings that can be seen in the background.

Man

mee

ts d

og



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Launch your heart ahead of you and then run to catch it,in an attempt to steal a little time and to succeed, at leastonce, to beat the clock.

Fanny Blankers-Koen (the flying mum) wins the 80m stee-plechase at the London Olympics in 1948 just ahead ofEngland’s Maureen Gardner.

Launch your heart over the hurdles



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You seek the greatest possible accumulation of energy, hundreds of watts absor-bed by the pole and then released. Enough energy to challenge the force of gra-vity to turn the sky upside down if even for only a fraction of a second and tosign your name as high as possible. All of this before you beginyour fall back down to earth.

Towards the clouds



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This is why I run.

And after a gloomy, rainy day in which perhaps you were defeatedby your immediate adversary, you ask yourself why you continue torun and to suffer so much fatigue. You return home with your smel-ly socks, your dirt-filled shoes and your muddy t-shirt. It is just thatt-shirt that you cannot do without: during a race you wear it like asecond skin creating a sort of protection against all those valid rea-sons for which it would be more intelligent to stop running. This iswhy I run…



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3:59.4

Life does not ask us to be the strongest or the best. It only asks us totry. I have. Now, an unpleasant sensation is pervading my body. Mylegs are becoming heavy and my back stiffens. I breath heavily, andI begin to hear nothing but my heart pounding in my ears. If life isa journey towards our dreams, a realization of our desires or anaccomplishment of “impossible possibilities”, then ever sinceFilippide he who never gives up is the protagonist of our uncertainhuman story. And this is why, even without knowing the final out-come of the race, I like to think about the athlete who made it, whosucceeded.



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The

rul

es o

f spo

rt

This photo is a fresco of one’s memory paintedthanks to a rewind of emotions: the EuropeanChampionships at the Olympic Stadium ofRome in 1974. In the foreground, we see anathlete devastated by her above the stands,we see the luminous fantastic result of therussian Sanayew who wins the triple jump,beating his adversaries by over half a metre.One of the cruelest rules of sport is that youmust give your best on the right day, at theright time, and at the right precise moment,all without any chance of escape.



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The moment interupts time’s eternity.

Here the dance of time, usually so lively and dynamic, seems

interrupted and blocked. Time no longer has the power to

engulf everything and carry it in its flow. In this very moment,

time has been beaten.

Bob Mathias, Decathlon Olympic

Champion of London 1948.


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Einstein believe motion, space and timeare all relative.



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Time is like airWe just have to breathe it. We do not have to concern ourselves with it, becau-se it’s the one that concerns itself with us. It’s ever-moving flow accompanies usalways. The assault on the 4-minute mile barrier took place on 6 May, 1954 atthe Iffley Road track in Oxford on a cold, rainy and windy afternoon. Companions of venture were Chris Brasher, future Olympic steeplechase cham-pion, and Chris Chataway. “Suddenly there were only 200yds to go and I wastaken over by a mixture of joy and angst. I could feel my mind running aheadof my body and guiding it forward. I also felt that my life’s moment had come.The world did not exist. The only reality were those 200yds under my feet. Thefinish line meant the end, perhaps the extinction of myself ”.The finish line signalled his glory: 3:59.4. All those who came after him, thefirst being John Landy, did nothing but follow in his footsteps, just like thosewho climbed Everest after Edmond Hillary.



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From far away, the athletes don’t seem to be running fast, but as

they move closer they get bigger very quickly. We hear their

breath, their feet pounding the track. Then they run round the

bend and like coloured balls they turn together, one behind the

other, emerging as a confused group at the opening of the home

strait. Peace, calm and rest come after the race. Memories are

what help us to live our daily lives, even though sometimes these

memories escape us. Fortunately there will always be a photo to

take us back in time to what once was.

With his wife beside him, Elliot wears his Gold medal around his

neck from Rome’s Olympic games in 1960.



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Lonely manAs soon as we fear being tired, it’s suddenlyhappens. And to recover from this fatiguewe must just forget about it. Via dei Fori Imperiali



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A fresh rush, fresh and lively like the flapping of wings of a flock ofbirds taking to flight. This is the powerful ritual of fatigue that willtransform itself, sooner or later, into sufferance. The race of vigour, theresult of youth yet to be consumed, the pureness of competition andstrength. All this without forgetting that if we are running to win,we must reason with our legs and run with our head.

1954



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Once you take your first step

towards your goals, no one can

stop you!



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Concentration and control : the adrenaline tenaciously kept to a minimum.Determination and the decision to get the best result: seeing only the obstacleyou must overcome for success to be yours.

Ovett

Cram

Coe



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The good, the bad and the ugly (the champion, the athlete, the amateur…)


DicembreDecemberDécembreDezemberDiciembreDezembro1

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The glory of those moments.

It was cold, a bitter winter cold. Under my white

vest, I needed a heavy long-sleeved shirt. It was the

year 1964, and we were all kids together and

together we defending the colours of Rome.

To the bottoms of our shoes we had fixed 1mm spikes

because the grass was high and there was a lot of

mud. Little flags marked the course. Our breaths

matched the tiring rhythm of the “challenge” and

in our heads burnt the courage and desire of he who

had trained hard and well all winter long. In our

hearts we felt the fear of competition and of con-

fronting adversaries. The fear that strikes from

within like an untamed beast. The fear that must

be expelled: it’s a wild horse that I must absolutely

tame.



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In Act III of As you Like it, Shakespeare wrote that

time travels at different speeds according to the per-

son; with some it remains still, with others it trots

and with others still, it gallops. To win a race you

need good legs, solid nerves cold blood, hardly any

fear and a fixed thought: to never be satisfied. This

is the only way you can be the best, run faster than all

the others, be stronger than your adversaries, and

ultimately be the first to touch that ribbon.



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What is time? In Switzerland, they make it; in Italy we wasteit; in England it is respected; in America, it is money; in India,it doesn’t exist. For me, time is an elusion: 31 December, 1971,New Year’s eve marathon. This Roman portrait “painted” nearthe Tiber river takes us back in time. The athletes withtheir retro shoes and their non-technical clothing date theimage like the Carbon 14 used by scientists. The same photograph without those athletes with the fatigue intheir legs and that cap worn back to front, could easily havebeen last week.

Time is an elusion.

Time dissolves, evaporates, vanishes



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I know the champion of defeats.

The fatigue and tension of a race do not always succeedinvolving you completely. And so you are able to ask your-self why do you push so hard? Why do you get up onSundays and travel as far as 200km for a race and only tolose? But while in life a defeat leaves its mark and nega-tive consequences, in sport, the bitterness of a defeat ispart of the game. I know the champion of defeats, whononetheless remains, while others in life tire and give upwithout understanding that in learning to lose youmiraculously learn to win.



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42.195

A marathon runnerthinks with his body

A marathon runner thinks with hisbody and his predominant thought isto resist for 42,195 meter at a fasterpace than even before, imagining hispersonal best as his only adversary:this is a marathon runner’s obsession.



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The patient sitting in thedentist’s chair and theaudience listening to aBeethoven’ symphony perceivean identical interval of timein very different ways. In the same way, there wasonce a time when queueing toget to the finish line, wasn’tsuch a tragedy; it was becamea way of socialising, laughingand resting ones feet a bit.

Queu

e up

!



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In the past, you were

allowed to be accompanied

during the race by your

personal trainer.

Even Dorando Pietri

during the 1908 Olympic

Marathon had personal

assistant with sponge in

hand; but nonetheless it

brings a smile to your face...

The flask, we hope at least

for this occasion, is filled

with water to help quench

his thirst. The athlete is on

the right.



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1965

1968

Do you want to feel the sensationof freedom that is born from knowing

you can solely rely on your own legs? Every dependence is a tie and toomany ties lead to a life of drudge and slavery. Who knows why it isn’t con-sidered normal for the human animal to decide to move from one place toanother running? The Alfa Romeo, “Coda di rondine”, the “Giulia” or the“600” would only be something extravagant to use during the holidays.



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A fraction of a second ago the starting pistolfired, it’s smoke “shading” the sprint race inthe colours and time of what once was.



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Time flies by too quickly, and only if we make good use of it we can fly along with it.

graphic project and optimisation

translator

draft supervisor:

pictures

authors

a warm thanks to Vincenzo Bruni

Flavia Aliverti

Claudia C. Marcus

Marysia Zapasnik,Alessandra Ercolani

Archivio Adidas, Archivio Alinari, Archivio Fidal, Archivio Coni, Archivio RivistaTartan, Biblioteca Sportiva Nazionale Coni Servizi Spa, Archivio Vasari, LegaAtletica UISP, Polisportiva Colli Aniene, Polisportiva Roma 6 Villa Gordiani,Massimo Alegiani, Mario Biagini, Massimo Boiardi, Maurizio Bruni, Sergio Bux,Antonio Camodeca, Roberto Casale, Sergio Celli, Angelo Ciccone, LucianoCiccone,Vincenzo Ciurleo, Luciano Duchi,Antonio Favale, Franca Fiacconi, FabioFiaschi,Vincenzo Grenga, Massimo Iannuccelli, Michele Ieva,Valeria Intilla, MauroLattanzi, Renato Lattanzi, Giorgio Lo Giudice, Maurizio Longega, Giovanni Lupi,Gabriele Maniccia, Filippo Monteforte, Dario Nenni, Gustavo Pallica, MauroPascolini, Giuseppe Pavia, Claudio Petrucci,Valerio Piccioni, Marco Pintus, EnricoPitti, Rocco Priore, Giuliano Proni,Antonio Rea, Mario Romagnoli,Angelo Scalise,Gilmar Signori, Gabriella Stramaccioni, Vittorino Testa, Gianfranco Timpano,Antonio Trabucco, Mario Vaiani Lisi

Emanuela Audisio, Richard Bach, Sergio Bambaren, Alfred A. Blazer, DanielaCanalini, Manlio Cancogni, Mauro Covacich, Daniela Daniele, Gabrieled’Annunzio, Paul Davies,Alessandro Di Priamo, Gustave Flaubert, Johann WolfangGoethe, Hermann Hesse, Giacomo Leopardi, Claudio Macario, Richard Mayer,Luigi Malerba, Melania Mazzucco, Luciano Minerva, Napoleone, Pablo Neruda,Alberto Oliverio, Ezra Pound, Steve Prefontaine, Marcel Proust, Gianni Rodari,William Shakespeare, Ian Thompson,Armando Torno, Oscar Wilde

Dvd realiziation by Matteo Romagnoli

A warm thanks to Roberto Luigi Quercetani

Send photographic material for a following reprint to:viale B. Bardanzellu, 61 00155 Rome or [email protected]

phrases, sayings and verses freelytranslated from works of:

Running above

cloudsfrom Rome to London

A very special thanks to Roberto Fitness for the realization of this bookwww.robertofitness.com

running above clouds

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