#Simone Corso

[velvetures]

Simon is def the type of boyfriend/ husband to adopt a big dog for your anniversary present (even though it's so self serving, he just wants you to have extra protection). He even puts a little bow on the pups collar when he's presenting you with the new edition to the family. (I can see him with a Belgian/ German shepherd, doberman or even a pit mix breed)

Good Boy

Oh my god, there is no way Simon isn't insisting his S/O doesn't have a dog once you've become an established couple.

I think the only difference I have from your HC is that he'd already have the pup trained and nearly at full size when he brings it home for the first time.

Naturally, he's got plenty of experience after having Riley for years. And spent a lot of time sneaking some of your dirty clothes out of the house to put in the dog's kennel while it's being trained. Accustomating it with your scent and connecting your smell with something that isn't used in training unless it's a drill relating your scent to an object needing protection.

Simon isn't particularly attached to the dog emotionally in the way you're going to be. But he's adamant that other than himself, you're the only other person who will know how to command the dog. It's a safety measure that you're going to be a little resistant to at first, but once he explains that it's so you're always safe -even when he's away- you understand that it's for the best. Simon wants a loyal protector for you, and he's not risking you for anything.

In addition to that, Simon really understands and employs "scary dog privilege" tactics often. Even using himself as the warden who follows you around in public and keeps too many eyes from lingering. The dog he brings home is most certainly intimidating, yet impossibly patient and gentle with you. It's designed that way though. Simon trained the pup to think of you as mom essentially, and his only role is to always protect mom.

When he brought your cane corso home, Simon had nothing but pride for the stoic and well-trained guard dog.

The only problem with this is, you're too damn loving for your own good.

Where Simon won't let the dog on the couch, you put your foot down and demand it gets to sleep at the foot of the bed where you can tuck your feet under it to keep warm. He refuses to feed it anything other than its regimental diet, where you love making lick-mats and trialing a bunch of different dog-safe foods almost like your own little cooking show. Simon refuses to pet the dog all the time, but it's almost given he's going to come home and find you curled up with the massive beast on the couch. You -dead asleep- and the guard dog looming over your curled-up form and giving a low, malicious, growl.

Until it realizes Daddy has come home.

Then the big bastard won't leave Simon alone long enough to take his boots off without getting covered in drool and enough hair to make a fur coat.

These are the kinds of pictures you send Simon, utterly destroying his own mental image of the terrifying dog charged with keeping you safe. You're quite amused when he demands you stop making the dog look so pathetic.

[omarfor-orchestra]

Immaginate Domenico che pensava "sì che bello finalmente vado a fare una fiction di RAI1 coi fratt è leggera è divertente è facile da fare" e poi ha dovuto fare le due scene più emotivamente devastanti di tutte e due le stagioni

[ragingbookdragon]

Someday We'll Be All That We Need

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst

Author's Note: I made a new friend so I made that friend a fic. @temeyes <3 -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Other than the shivering, Simon doesn’t so much as twitch in the corner they’re huddled in. She’s cold herself, but nothing feels as terrifying as losing the man wedged in between her thighs, head resting against her chest. The bleeding has stopped though, the bullet wound plugged well enough that him exsanguinating is the least of her worries—it’s the ever-dropping temperature and the broken-down cabin that scares her.

It was thirty degrees Fahrenheit when the mission started; the last reading was ten and dropping. The cabin they’d taken shelter in was worn down, broken windows and missing ceiling allowing streams of frigid winter air and snow to fall in and continue to chill their bones. Simon had sealed his wound and managed to stay awake but with the blood loss he’d suffered and the stress, fatigue had set in, and that’s when she’d found herself curled up in the corner with the emergency blanket from her kit wrapped around his torso, his body wedged up against hers, trying to conserve energy and heat.

The comms had gone down, Simon’s radio busted in a skirmish of hand to hand with an enemy, and she had only managed to get one SOS out before the line cut off. They were alone in the middle of enemy territory, in a temperature-dropping environment, wounded and unable to call for help. Her worst fears were coming alive.

She swallowed thickly, shaking the thoughts away, and readjusted her grip on Simon, jostling him awake in the process. “Alrigh’, love?” he murmured lowly, tongue lazy and slow; he only called her love when they were alone and serious.

“I’m fine,” she whispered. “You?”

“Back’s killin’ me.”

She huffed a laugh. “I bet it is. You’re folded like a pretzel.”

Simon shifted, or tried to, and rested his head on her shoulder. “How long’s it been since I feel asleep?”

“Maybe an hour?” she blinked, looking around the room; snow was beginning to pile up where the holes in the ceiling dropped to the floor. “I haven’t really been paying attention to the time.”

“Hmm.” He breathed into her neck. “I can’t feel my toes.”

Her eyes shifted to his feet, and she let out a breath, a mixture of shock and fear. “How bad is it?”

“Bad,” he admitted. “‘s bad, love. Spreading up.”

“Motherfucker,” she laughed in disbelief and wrapped her arms tighter around him. “Price heard the SOS. He’s coming, okay? Just…just keep it together until then.”

Simon swallowed thickly; his eyes still shut as he nudged her neck with his mask-covered nose. “Got a safety deposit box back in Manchester,” he muttered. “Key’s in my nightstand back at base.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Got ‘bout five-hundred thousand pounds in’it.” He shifted again as if trying to get into her skin to be warmer. “Deed to a property in Herefordshire. Got it a few years ago when I was staying with Price.”

“Simon, stop,” she warned—she knew exactly what he was doing.

“Want you to get out and go live there. You’ve served long enough to get pension. You’ll be set for the rest of your life out there.”

“No. Not without you I won’t.”

He shook his head. “I don’ think I’m comin’ back, love. Not this time.”

“Don’t say that,” she stressed, turning her face to his. “They’re coming. We’ll be okay.”

Simon didn’t bother to open his eyes. “Want you to buy one of those big black Corso’s. Name her Morrigan. Let her take care of you and the land.”

Tears began to gather in her eyes. “You’re a bastard,” she whispered. “Quit it.”

“I want you to listen. I want you to be taken care of. I want—”

“I want you alive,” she cut off. “Now shut up and save some energy.”

Simon cracked an eye open and simply gazed at her. “I love you. I know I didn’ say it enough. ‘m sorry, love.”

She clenched her jaw against the wave eating her chest inside out and inhaled deeply. “Simon, stop and rest. I won’t say it again.”

He let his eyes close and laid his head back down. “Alright, love.”

***

It was at least another two hours before noise echoed outside, and it drew her from a slumber she hadn’t realized she was in; she jolted up, Simon jostling with her. “Simon,” she whispered. “Someone’s outside.” He didn’t respond to her, and she pulled away, looking at him. “Simon?” he was asleep, unresponsive to any of the stimuli around him. “Fuck, Simon?” the noise outside grew louder, and she pushed past her fear and shifted from under him, tucking him against the wall as she grabbed her gun and rose to her feet.

Kneeling down, she put a hand against his face. “I’ll be back, okay? I promise.” She swallowed. “I’m coming right back, Simon.”

She rose again and headed for the door, cracking it open and slipping outside as a vehicle pulled up; tucking behind the railing, she breathed deeply and lifted her head, catching sight of a few men exiting.

Before she could even raise her weapon, she heard, “Contact!”

Ducking again, she cocked her rifle and listened as the others did the same, obviously hiding behind shelter themselves. It had to be the rest of that enemy squad that she failed to take out when Simon got injured. Fuck, she only had one mag left and she was running on fumes herself. She had to be quick. She had to be careful. She had—

“Identify yourself, or we will shoot!”

Wait, that sounded like—

“I will not say it again! Identify yourself or—”

“Price!” she called and peeked over the railing. “Price, it’s me! It’s me!”

Soap and Gaz appeared on the other side of the SUV. “Athena?”

She felt tears gather in her eyes as she stood up and lowered her gun. “Holy shit, I’ve never been so glad to see you guys.”

Price stopped in front of her, pulling her into a quick hug. “Good to see you. Where’s Simon?”

Simon.

Her heart dropped. “Fuck.” She turned on her heel and sprinted back into the cabin and to the corner, the men on her heels; she got to him first and dropped to her knees, shaking him. “Simon! Simon, wake up!”

He didn’t move.

“Simon!” she called again, lifting her cold fingers to his neck. Whether it was her own anxiety or him, she couldn’t feel a thing and she started panicking. “I can’t get a pulse!” she turned to them. “I can’t wake him up!”

Soap pulled her back as Price and Gaz got to work and she thrashed in his arms. “LET GO!”

“Lass, calm down!”

“LET GO! SIMON!” she screamed, her own vision beginning to haze, exhaustion weighing taking its toll.

“We’ve gotta start compressions,” she heard Gaz say and he looked at Price. “He’s not going to make it back if we don’t do something now.”

Price looked back. “Soap, get her in the SUV, we’ll prep Simon for transport.”

“Aye, sir,” Soap said and hefted her up against her thrashing.

“NO! I’M NOT LEAVING HIM BEHIND! LET GO OF ME GODDAMNIT!”

“Lass, you can’t help him even if you wanted to.”

Her body felt like lead and she felt her limbs going numb as her breathing kicked into a wildness, head light and heavy all at the same time. She kept trying to get out of his arms when Price tossed a syringe his way, and a prick to her arm drew blackness into all sides of her gaze, the last thing she saw was Gaz yanking open Simon’s gear to press his hands to his chest.

***

There was an impossibly annoying beeping going off on the side of Simon’s bed and she had half a mind to kick him in his hip and gripe at him to turn it off; she managed to mumble something akin to it but when the beeping didn’t stop, she managed with great effort to crack her eyes open, only to be met with the sterile walls of a medical room.

It all came back in an instant and she sat up straight, yanking the IV out of arm, the oxygen tube from her nose, rolling from the bed. Her knees kissed the floor and pain seared up her legs as she scrambled for the door, only to fall again, but she crawled on her hands and knees to the handle. Lifting herself, she pulled the door open and leaned heavily on the wall of the hallway as she stumbled down, looking in every room for her lover.

“Simon!” she called weakly; the mission had taken its toll on her. She was weak, far beyond her own capacity and she was barely standing as it was. “Simon!” she yelled again, and Soap stuck his head out from a door about five doors down.

“Athena? Holy shite, you shouldn’t be up!” he made it to her, trying to help her, but she pushed past him.

“Where’s Simon?”

“Love, you need to go back to—”

“WHERE IS HE!”

Soap recoiled and recovered, gently wrapping his arm around her. “He’s down here. Still asleep.” His grip was steel. “I’ll take you to him.”

“I can—”

“You either let me help or I take you back to your room.”

She fell silent and let him, that was until she turned the corner of Simon’s room, and darted from his arms, barely managing to avoid face-planting into the hospital bed railing as she clambered onto the bed with the man.

“Simon?” she whispered, grabbing his face in her hands; he was so warm now. Tears seeped down her cheeks. “Simon, sweetheart?” she said again, pressing her head to his chest to feel his steady heartbeat thumping beneath; a choked sound of happiness escaped her, and she looked at Soap. “He’s alive.”

He smiled at her. “Yeah, love, he’s alive.”

“He’s okay?”

“Eh, we’re a little worried about his toes, but so far yeah.”

She buried her face in Simon’s chest, crying into the gown he wore, and grabbed one of his hands; she squeezed it tightly, relief flooding her as his fingers tightened around hers in his sleep.

[lundenloves]

I’m on a roll today. Dad!Simon who gets a giant ass dog to protect the house when he’s away (I’m talking cane corso kinda dog) he’s got it trained to bark whenever someone passes and bark at the mailman and sleep by the door to protect the house. He comes back from deployment to find the dog sitting at the table with his three girls. Playing tea party. Wearing a fucking tutu and a tiara. The dog looks at him with a dumb happy look on his face and Simon’s just like: what the fuck are you doing

“Why’ve you done that then.”

“He looks pretty.”

“He’s a dog, kid.”

cue the dog running over to him and all the stuff falls off, scattering across the living room floor.

elsewhere: the kids asking him if he can lift the dog, which of course he can, with a grunt. lifting this dog who was wagging its tail rapidly as he held it on his shoulder like he did with riley that one time.

[hellodean21]

In un universo giusto, Manuel sarebbe corso da Simone🏃‍♂️

[Scena iniziale tratta dalla 2x10]

[asuddensway]

Raf Simons combined fabric tank top

10 Corso Como Seoul edition

S/S 2010

[shotmrmiller]

okay okay, original pet store Simon anon here, I wanna see simon be so sweet to the biggest dog, scoop up that one pitbull named daisy or princess, cary it around the store like it weighs nothing. + that little devil spawn of a dog is just bitting at his heels as he stocks shit on shelves or feeds the rodents

a mastiff! a big, ol mastiff or an XL pitty because those babies deserve all the love in the world and that NY sewer rat dog of yours is trying to duel him for daisy.

ugh. adorable. simon would own a cane corso in his retirement.

[andromedaspark]

Characters as dogs.. again. Because I'm insatiable.

Gavin: German Shepherd

Nines: Cane Corso

Sixty: Red-Nose Pit Bull

Connor: Blue-Nose Pit Bull

Hank: Great Pyrenees

Markus: Doberman

Simon: Basenji

North: Belgian Malinois

Josh: Chesapeake Bay Retriever

Kara: Border Collie

Luther: Tibetan Mastiff

Alice: Bluetick Coonhound

[sciatu]

LA VARA DI MESSINA – TERZA ED ULTIMA PARTE: PERCHE’? – I devoti si preparano ad un altro strappo. Dovranno farne pochi altri prima di far girare la Vara e portarla da Corso Garibaldi nella quasi perpendicolare via I Settembre. Per la virata della Vara, dispiegheranno le corde per la loro lunghezza e il Capotimoniere li guiderà nella svolta sulla base della sua esperienza. È un punto critico quello della svolta, dove in passato la Vara si è anche ribaltata provocando il ferimento delle comparse e dei bambini che su di essa raffiguravano gli angeli. Per questo, dalla fine del 1800 solo il vescovo e il timoniere della Vara possono stare su di essa. I fischietti incominciano a squillare e i devoti si allineano e si curvano sulla grossa gomena. Si parte di nuovo, ancora una volta. La Vara li segue docile e scivola sulla strada bagnata senza alcun intoppo, seguita dai devoti che non tirano e dal resto della popolazione che l’aveva attesa sul bordo dei marciapiedi. L’accompagneranno così fino di fronte al Duomo. A quel punto le gomene saranno tagliate e ogni Devoto riceverà un pezzo di corda, unica ricompensa per la sua fatica. A vedere la stanchezza dei Devoti quando la strada per la conclusione dei tiri e ancora lunga e sempre più faticosa, ci si chiede perché lo facciano. Perché si impegnano in una estenuante giornata di terribile fatica e non si limitino ad una semplice preghiera, ad un silenzioso attimo di spiritualità. Vi sono moltissime risposte per questa domanda. Risposte culturali, storiche, sociali, religiose ed individuali. L’affidamento al popolo della Vara da parte della chiesa che diventa quasi spettatore marginale dell’evento, affidamento che è comune a tutte le grandi feste siciliane da quella grandissima di Sant’Agata a Catania, a Santa Rosalia, ad i Misteri di Trapani o al Cristo Morto di Enna, implica un rapporto diretto ed individuale dei vari devoti o dei membri delle varie confraternite che quel simulacro Santo e carismatico ricevono. Oltre quindi all’appartenenza ad un gruppo, ad una identità, ad una località, vi è la spiritualità della sofferenza, della fatica, del dolore che ogni devoto prova nel trascinare, sollevare, portare l’oggetto che è unione tra lui e la santità. È la stessa sofferenza, dolore, fatica che i siciliani provano a vivere in una terra dove l’acqua può diventare un lusso, dove il fuoco può scendere dal monte a distruggere, dove la terra, in un istante, si può scollare di dosso case, città e paesi intieri. Sono le stesse sensazioni di chi lascia la Sicilia, di chi si trova in altre terre per diventarne ricchezza e forza. È la spiritualità di chi non ha nulla, quella degli operai, delle madri, dei disoccupati, dei carcerati e di chi pur avendo riconosce che il valore di quanto ha è in difetto, perché è altro quello che conta e che segna la vita. È la spiritualità di chi prega con il sudore, di chi si umilia nella fatica, di chi offre il meglio di quanto è nel silenzio, nella dedizione assoluta. È la spiritualità del buon ladrone che si pente, di Simone da Cirene che porta la croce al posto del Cristo, del buon Samaritano che aiuta uno sconosciuto di un'altra fede. È una spiritualità che richiede forza, coraggio, abbandono di se stessi per seguire quello in cui si crede.

THE VARA OF MESSINA – THIRD AND FINAL PART: WHY? – The devotees prepare for another pull. They will have to make a few more before turning the Vara and taking it from Corso Garibaldi to the almost perpendicular Via I Settembre. To turn the Vara, they will unfold the ropes to their full length and the Chief Helmsman will guide them in the turn based on his experience. The turn is a critical point, where in the past the Vara has also capsized, causing injuries to the extras and children who were portraying angels on it. For this reason, since the end of the 19th century only the bishop and the helmsman of the Vara can stay on it. The whistles begin to sound and the devotees line up and bend over the large hawser. They set off again, once again. The Vara follows them docilely and slides on the wet road without any hitches, followed by the devotees who do not pull and by the rest of the population who had waited for her on the edge of the sidewalks. They will accompany her in this way up to the front of the Cathedral. At that point the ropes will be cut and each Devotee will receive a piece of rope, the only reward for his or her effort. Seeing the tiredness of the Devotees when the road to the conclusion of the pulls is still long and increasingly tiring, one wonders why they do it. Why they commit themselves to an exhausting day of terrible toil and do not limit themselves to a simple prayer, to a silent moment of spirituality. There are many answers to this question. Cultural, historical, social, religious and individual answers. The entrustment of the Vara to the people by the church that becomes almost a marginal spectator of the event, an entrustment that is common to all the great Sicilian celebrations from the very great one of Sant’Agata in Catania, to Santa Rosalia, to the Mysteries of Trapani or to the Dead Christ of Enna, implies a direct and individual relationship of the various devotees or members of the various brotherhoods that receive that Holy and charismatic simulacrum. In addition to belonging to a group, to an identity, to a location, there is the spirituality of suffering, of fatigue, of pain that each devotee feels in dragging, lifting, carrying the object that is the union between him and sanctity. It is the same suffering, pain, fatigue that Sicilians feel in living in a land where water can become a luxury, where fire can descend from the mountain to destroy, where the earth, in an instant, can peel off houses, cities and entire towns. They are the same sensations of those who leave Sicily, of those who find themselves in other lands to become wealth and strength. It is the spirituality of those who have nothing, of workers, mothers, the unemployed, prisoners and of those who, despite having, recognize that the value of what they have is lacking, because it is something else that counts and marks life. It is the spirituality of those who pray with sweat, of those who humble themselves in fatigue, of those who offer the best of what they have in silence, in absolute dedication. It is the spirituality of the good thief who repents, of Simon of Cyrene who carries the cross in place of Christ, of the good Samaritan who helps a stranger of another faith. It is a spirituality that requires strength, courage, abandonment of oneself to follow what one believes in.

[nanukla]

"Solo a te tengo".

Questa scena mi ha fatto commuovere tantissimo. Mimmo è una buona persona che, come spesso capita, ha fatto scelte sbagliate. E per quanto sia incasinata la sua vita, lui si è innamorato di Simone, è corso da lui per dirgli che lo ama in un modo in cui tutti vorremmo essere amati. Vedere Mimmo commuoversi perché si è reso conto che l'unica persona a cui tiene nella sua vita è Simone, mi ha spezzato il cuore.

[heavenbarnes]

Some kind of well groomed spaniel or poodle (my go to Fancy Dog Breeds) and a massive mastiff or doberman (my go to Scary Dog Breeds)

simon is 100% a cane corso with a bite taken out of him

reader is up to personal interpretation but, myself? i’m an afghan hound 😌

[omarfor-orchestra]

You're telling me the real protagonist IS Simobale

[yumethefrostypanda]

HI YUME!! How are you pookie? I hope well❤️

it's me, Sofia! It's been a long time since I didn't liked or write a question for you (it's not that I was busy, it's that I didn't looked up on tumblr for a lot of time. But I still looked the notifications when you published something! 😁😝)

I change my profile ✨️aesthetic✨️ a little, so you maybe don't recognise my old profile 🤓

But, the question that I'm about to ask you, it's something that I saw on tiktok last day...

It was a photo of Simon and König with their dogs!! It was so cute! Simon with a German Shepherd and König with a Cane Corso!

I thought that you might have to say something about it, or if you already did it, maybe I lost that tumblr...😭

But the funny thing it's that it's so cute how Simon's dog it's maybe Riley! (I mean, I think it's pretty obvious 💅🏻) and then König's dog, it's SO BIG my gosh, it's literally perfect for him.

By the way, I think that wasn't a question after all... it was might an observation. But you know... it could be whatever🤭

Today, I'm still wondering in the back of my mind if MWIIII will come out, I really hope it. REALLY HOPE IT PLEASE😭😭

I'm making such a mess but I really have to write a lot of things... but, we will do it slowly

I think that's gonna be all for today, just an observation and still saying that I love your work since I saw the first tumblr that appeared on my home page. I'm gonna give you a BIG KISS from... (you know where I live? Absolutely not, so I'm gonna have to tell you) ITALY!🇮🇹💋

Bye my friend😢

Hey Sofia :D I'm doing good, how are you? I saw you've changed your profile because I still rememberd your name, the greens looks nice! I'm also not too active so no worries, but thank you for having notifs on for my blog Q_Q To be honest I'm never on tiktok :P So I am not really up to speed with whats out there (let alone on tumblr/twitter :")). But if you could send me the link I would be happy to look at it cause you made me curiouss. German Shepherds and Cane Corso's are both very beautiful and loyal dogs *-* The dog breed kind of suits them too, I think. I don't necessarily think they would own dogs rn (because of their job) but it's cool to think about :D I think MW4 will happen, I thought I've read somewhere it's confirmed (no release date yet) but can't say I'm too thrilled :P I didn't think Soap's fate would affect me this much haha.. now imagine Ghost or Price.. NOOPE. I also still hope they'll continue till MW10 because I don't want it to end, but dang.. MW3 was quite a let down (with it being rushed and ALL). And how nice! A fellow European 😄 I would loove to (still) visit Italy someday :)

Take care my friend ♥ Thank you for your kind words and for being around for a long while now :D

[lundenloves]

The Riley Family

Dad Simon: this fuck ass bitch. He spends his days off deployment watching soccer, walking the dog, and sitting around. (He also serves as unspoken entertainment to his girls but no one says that) has so much attitude

The Mom: The only one keeping this family together. Best friend to the eldest daughter and the only sane one

The eldest daughter: she has too much attitude like someone calm her down. Her grades are either shitty or really good. Plays soccer (thanks Simon). Tried to teach the dog to speak Spanish when she was twelve. Most like her father

The middle daughter: I think she’s quiet around people she doesn’t know but with the right people she comes out of her shell. Likes to learn and is artistic. Stays out of drama between Simon and the eldest. She’s like her mother the most

The youngest daughter: drama queen. Has already mastered the side eye. One of those kids who won’t tuck their hair behind their ears but smooths it away and makes it worse. Knows three curse words. Has her moms features but a little of Simon’s attitude

Dog: It either has a dumb name or a decent name (it was gonna be called Dog but mum wasn’t having it). Meant to be scary but is more of a weighted blanket (Born as: 🩷🎀 forced to: 💀⛓️ kinda dog) probably a cane corso

lol

i share this for everyone to observe. my own version isn’t far from this, i must do a decent enough job at portrayal hmh

[filorunsultra]

Le cose che ho imparato scrivendo Pionieri, fino ad ora

Ho sempre avuto un interesse per la storia della corsa, ma non mi è mai interessato sapere che dopo questo c'è stato quello, sarebbe da nerd e non lo sono a questo punto. Sarebbe fine a se stesso, soprattutto. No, quello che mi interessa è la genesi delle cose, perché la genesi spiega, se non tutto, molto. Un esempio. In principio c'erano le Ecomaratone, gare su sentiero di 42 chilometri che venivano affrontate come delle corse su strada, con ristori ogni pochi chilometri e nessun equipaggiamento. Quando poi Simone Brogioni organizzò la prima Lavaredo Ecomarathon, nel 2007, introdusse il concetto di autosufficienza, così come gli era parso fosse declinato nell'ultra-trail francese, sancendo così il passaggio da ecomaratone al trail. A me il concetto di autosufficienza non è mai piaciuto, ho sempre trovato tedioso portarmi appresso cose che con ogni probabilità non avrei mai usato e ho sempre preferito un approccio più americano ed essenziale alla corsa, ma di certo scoprendo che il trail è nato su quel concetto, ora gli do tutto un altro senso. Continuerò a odiare correre una 50 chilometri con lo zaino, ma almeno capisco perché lo sto facendo, e non è per la mia sicurezza, ma per un fatto storico. Non è che se ci piace una cosa deve per forza piacerci anche il modo in cui è nata o devono piacerci i principi su cui è nata, ma non possiamo neanche ignorarli, o cambiare la storia a seconda di come preferiamo.

Il Tor Des Geants. Tutte le persone che ho intervistato, per una ragione o per l'altra, ne hanno parlato male. Male non significa che non dicessero nulla di buono, ma che dicevano sempre almeno una cosa negativa. Fra queste persone molte lo avevano anche corso più volte. Un amico a tal proposito mi ha scritto: "Quelli del Tor, nel bene o nel male, sono riusciti a farsi pubblicità e a far sentire il proprio nome. Purtroppo vedo un accanimento contro questo Tor, che, se a tutti sta sul cazzo, si fa a meno di parlarne e si evita la pubblicità no?" Beh, no. Non ho mai capito il "se non ti piace non ne parli", a parte il fatto che uno ha tanto diritto a parlare delle cose che non gli piacciono esattamente quanto di quelle che gli piacciono, ma a parte questo, la troverei un'opportunità sprecata. Una volta constatato che molte persone ne parlano male, forse varrebbe la pena chiedersi perché, anziché lasciare il discorso a un livello del tutto approssimativo. Io ho conosciuto questo sport attraverso il Tor, anzi, attraverso Francesco che aveva fatto il Tor. Ho sentito parlare del Tor ancora prima di sentir parlare di trail. Ho iniziato a sognarlo, e ho corso il Tot Dret. Quando ho corso il Tot Dret, un po' la mia idea di corsa era ormai cambiata, un po' quello che avevo visto in Val d'Aosta non mi era piaciuto proprio tanto. Ma a parte questo, che è un fatto del tutto personale, ho constato come questa gara e solo questa fosse accompagnata da anni di polemiche, mentre tutte le altre gare non solo non erano toccate da polemiche simili, ma non era mai successo in passato. Alcuni esempi: il fatto di Francesca Canepa e del passaggio in auto, l'annullamento ritardato per il Covid così da tenersi la maggior parte delle quote di iscrizioni, l'interruzione della gara a Saint Remy l'anno della neve, la storia dei ristori abusivi, la gara gemella organizzata dalla regione, eccetera. Mettendo in fila tutte queste cose ho messo più a fuoco la mia antipatia per questa gara, che altrimenti rischiava di essere soltanto epidermica, e quindi prevenuta. No, a me il Tor sta sui coglioni, per questa, quella e quell'altra ragione. La genesi.

Al contrario del Tor, la Lavaredo Ultra Trail mi ha per anni lasciato un po' indifferente (pur essendo iscritto nel 2022), mentre adesso mi è tornata una gran voglia di farla, dopo aver scoperto il ruolo che ha avuto nella formazione della scena dello sport, permettendomi di capire meglio le polemiche che l'avevano coinvolta e quindi di ridimensionarle, smontarle, e insomma di farmi la mia opinione non basata su un sentito dire. Un'altra cosa che ho ridimensionato è l'importanza di internet. Ho sempre saputo dell'importanza che hanno avuto i blog e i forum per la crescita di questo sport non soltanto in Italia ma anche negli Stati Uniti, là già dagli anni Novanta. Ma pensavo fosse stato più che altro un veicolo di crescita, invece è stato quello di nascita. Prima è nato il forum, poi sono nati i TA. Prima è nato il sito ecomarathon.it, poi è nata la Lavaredo Ecomarathon. Prima è nato il sito ultratrail.it, poi è nata la Lavaredo Ultra Trail. Diciamo che con questo peccato originale spiego un po' meglio la dipendenza che abbiamo da questi sistemi di comunicazione, che non si può quindi dire che corrompano la natura di questo sport, tutt'altro, ne sono la natura stessa.

La storia della competizione: mi spiace tanto per tutti gli atleti, ma la competizione nel trail italiano (e anche americano) è arrivata in un secondo momento; dove per competizione non intendo il semplice fare del proprio meglio, ma il puro agonismo. Non è quindi un fattore necessario, ma acquisito. È necessaria invece per lo skyrunning, per la corsa in montagna, ma non per il trail. Il che non deve necessariamente spostare l'asse di qualche discorso, non significa che non sia un argomento legittimo, ma forse va tenuta presente quando si parla di livello, del valore delle gare e di altre cose.

Quello che in generale ho cercato di fare è stato ricercare i tratti di unione tra sport diversi, dove molto spesso si cercano le differenze. Questo non deve essere però un fumo negli occhi. Approfondendo la storia della corsa in montagna mi sono spiegato il motivo della sua scarsa popolarità: spesso il mondo dell'atletica per giustificare la sua situazione ha accusato l'incapacità di chi pratica trail di riconoscere il giusto valore agli atleti e al livello di una gara, quando purtroppo il fallimento mediatico della corsa in montagna va imputato solo alla sua incapacità primigenia di rendersi interessante, da un lato nascendo già come irrigidimento di uno sport anarchico, spontaneo e vitale, dall'altro basando tutto il suo storytelling unicamente sul livello e sulla performance, attribuendogli un valore "in sé" quando invece è ancora una volta acquisito. In altre parole, perché la performance dovrebbe essere oggettivamente più importante dell'esperienza? Chi lo dice? Evidentemente è una questione di priorità personale, ed è quindi relativo. Insomma, se il trail ha avuto più successo è perché è stato in grado di portare messaggi e esperienze più interessanti, o è così, o sono tutti scemi.

Vabbè. Ci sentiamo.

Saturday morning in Val di Tovel da Terres con Roby e Raffa, like in the old days

[fuoridalcloro]

“Lloyd?” “Sì, sir?” “Sono inciampato in un ricordo e ho versato della nostalgia ovunque.” “Può capitare, sir” “Puliamo subito, mi raccomando. Non vorrei che attirasse qualche rimorso” “I rimorsi si nutrono di amarezza, sir. Questa mi pare al contrario una dolce nostalgia” “E quindi?” “Evaporerà senza lasciare traccia nel corso della giornata. Al massimo spanderà per la casa un leggero profumo di sconsideratezza giovanile, sir" “Grazie, Lloyd. Buona giornata” “A lei, sir.”

Simone Tempia - Vita con Lloyd