Two wheels the road diabetes

Luca Gregorio

BREAKAWAY Two wheels, the road, diabetes

The author fully allocates all proceeds from the book to support the Cycling & Diabetes activities

Luca Gregorio, born in Milan in 1981, is a freelance journalist since 2005. He began his career in 2000 as a running commentator (and then with television reporting), and later he dealt with many other sports such as basketball, football, volleyball and skiing. He worked with Sportitalia, Mediaset, FoxSports and Bike Channel. He also works with Infront and most notably he is the cycling commentator, together with Riccardo Magrini, for Eurosport.

With his colleague he even published in 2009 “Fagianate, scatti e scie.

Dizionario sentimentale del ciclismo” (Rizzoli).

When you cross the finish line everything will end. They have already done the award ceremony and no one has thought of you whilst you were struggling with the sole aim to get to the end of the race. Now is the moment to celebrate the winners, not the cyclists who have sprinted ahead.

And when you are exhausted and motionless, in a hot shower without even the strength to wash yourself, your legs cramping painfully with fatigue and tension, when you realize that you haven’t accomplished anything, when you regret that you have fooled yourself once again, like a child - In that moment you will ask yourself if it was worth it. And you will tell yourself it’s been the best seven hours of your life.

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ISBN 978-88-98250-12-7 Editor Agapantos srls – Roma www.agapantos.org Progetto grafico Creativa

“Taking the offensive or running away are both part of the fight. What doesn’t belong to the fight is being paralyzed by fear” (Paulo Coelho)

Fausto Coppi and Gino Bartali, Cyclism’ heroes

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For a cyclist the most exciting moment is not when he crosses the finish line as winner.

But is the decision, when he decides to accelerate, when he decides to take the head of the group and continue even if the finish line is far away.

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Fausto Coppi

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Luca Gregorio

BREAKAWAY Two wheels, the road, diabetes

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INDEX Pag. Prologue Introduction The Milan-Sanremo as a symbol Milan-Sanremo and I Colnago’s legend Why breaking away Chapter I – Alcide’s book Chapter II – Two old friends Chapter III – Andrea’s breakaway Chapter IV – Umberto’s breakaway Chapter V – Carlo’s house Chapter VI – The race Chapter VII – Luisa changes her mind Chapter VIII – The musician doctor Chapter IX – Alfio, the Coach Chapter X – Months later “Castello d’Oro di Valdengo Gran Galà del Ciclismo” Award Credits “Lino and Diabetes” and Team Novo Nordisk Last kilometer Andrea Peron Umberto Poli

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11 13 19 25 31 39 45 53 61 87 111 115 125 131 137 143 149 151 153 154 157 159

Paolo Bellino Chief Executive Officer and RCS General Manager

Preface

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Stubbornness, strength and spirit of sacrifice. I would like to choose these three concepts to define what I have always seen in Team Novo Nordisk, from managers to runners. RCS has worked very hard in recent years to try to give the right visibility and importance to this team, which in fact has participated in several editions of the Milan-Sanremo and the races in the Emirates. Runners, but also all other high-level athletes called to live with type-1 diabetes, are the best example of how science and personal commitment can allow you to practice an endurance sport such as high-level cycling. Their strength is to feel "normal" and to make us feel almost inadequate in their presence, but also to live everyday life as if nothing had happened, relegating diabetes to a simple travel companion, to always be kept under control. In this the contribution of doctors and science, which has made great strides, has been fundamental in giving further light and vigor to this project. And since Team Novo Nordisk conveys such an important message globally, this book is another splendid sign to tell us where they are going and what their intentions are. My wish is to be able to collaborate together again in the future and to see them, in a few years, also on the roads of the Giro or the Tour, which I know is one of their great dreams. But with their stubbornness, everything is possible.

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Phil Southerland CEO and Co-Founder Team Novo Nordisk

Introduction

“Winning is not important, it’s all that matters”. It’s a famous quote by Giampiero Boniperti, a historic Juventus manager, to set the philosophy that has always lead the team. A catchphrase, captivating and exciting for the supporters and which reflects the ruling logic inside professional sports.

Winning is essential, no one can deny it. Winning is the goal of months or years of hard work, in any sport or practice. Winning is essential to please the sponsor and attract new ones. But this is not a book about sports marketing or to judge the goodness or not of this aspect.

Boniperti’s quote serves as a guideline because for cycling it’s not always like that. Beyond the beauty of winners who inflame the audience and the streets there is another soul (among the many which cycling owns) which always arises during the races. That of those who sprint ahead. And those who enter the sprint of the day, win.

So as one may be born (or become) a sprinter and climber, supporting rider and champion, so it’s a form of art being able to become a “breakaway”. If you analyze the numerous cycling eras, you will notice that each era has its own specialists of sprinting ahead.

Which are the characteristics of a “breakaway”? There is no default list, but one must be reactive, have strong legs, be able to seize the right moment and study the road correctly. As well as this, one must figure out who one can sprint with.

In cycling there is a script which repeats itself, despite this being unplanned. Whether it’s an in-line race of 1 day or a leg inside a big Tour, the development of a race is predictable. Ready, GO! and start the sprint. In some cases, 1 is enough. In other cases the competition is more intense and to see someone able to run away may need from 10 to 50km. I repeat, there is no written rule and it depends upon the mood and the will of the group.

The sprint ahead, most of the time, is recouped. When? Even here, there is no fixed pattern. Generally,

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if it’s a leg for sprinters, the breakaway may take a margin (between 2 and 4 minutes) from the group which closes 20km from the finish line (even less). If it’s a leg with many climbs then the catching up might take less time.

The key point is to figure out if the breakaway is going to be successful or not - no one has a crystal ball.

For this reason the sprinters who are ahead offer the audience and commentator a story to talk about, wondering how it will end.

Breakaway specialists often are cyclists of Professional or Continental teams (not World Tour) which have interest in placing their men inside the breakaway of the day, for “advertising” reasons. They are cyclists who wouldn’t have many chances to win and decide to use the first three quarters of the race to show off.

Often the breakaway is useful for the audience to find new cyclists, new faces and stories that otherwise would be confined, or even hidden.

The Team Novo Nordisk is one of those teams which have to sprint ahead. Unable to participate, by regulation, in all the most important races of the world calendar (because it doesn’t belong to the World Tour circuit), the American team must make most out of the invitations that they receive from some important international races. Among these the Milan-Sanremo, but also the UAE Tour, Tour of Poland or the Tour of California - Races which have international appeal and attraction, with prominent TV and media coverage.

Born with the name Team Type 1 at amateur level in 2005, thanks to Phil Southerland and Joe Eldridge, the team of guys all suffering from type 1 diabetes has switched to professional in 2008. The turning point was in 2011, when they entered the Professional-Continental teams and their consequent attendance to the Tour de Suisse or the Tour of Turkey. Since 2013, the team is named Team Novo Nordisk and in 2015 the first invitation to participate the Milan-Sanremo arrived. The Super Classic Spring has become the pride of the team in the last few seasons, with its cyclists able to enter in the breakaway of the day. The dream, not hidden, is to participate to a big Tour, like the Tour de France, but in the meantime the small steps policy has paid off.

Sprinting ahead, for those guys, takes on even more value. They bring their ambitions and dreams with them, but they also spread a very important message all over the world: Even with type 1 diabetes one is able to play sport and can even do it at the highest level.

One needs commitment, dedication, focus, a good diet and meticulousness. But what seemed impossible or unreachable until a few years ago, is real today.

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To sprint ahead, for Team Novo Nordisk, has become a goal and a mission and their goal is to enjoy the journey. Inside this book we are going to discover the stories and direct testimonies of some of the team members, which will help us to understand the history of the team as well as the goals they wish to accomplish.

For a commentator, stories like these are essential. It helps to have different viewpoints. It helps to gain perspective in the valuation of the relationship between sport, life and success. It helps to go back to the deep and indispensable values of cycling and sport in general. It helps to understand that behind the apparently easy pedaling which repeats itself millions of times, there is a one-of-a-kind world to be discovered and discussed.

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Although, from personal experience, I knew that something like that would hardly have risen, seeing many cyclists of Novo Nordisk, among whom there are two Italians Poli and Peron, thinking about their stories and their desire to prove that even with diabetes, one is able to race at high levels and to be protagonists, is something which excited me. As long as the breakaway lasted, I cheered for them.

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Sport is a testimony. It has always been, from the times of Olympia to modern days.

Sports champions are models, an example for everyone. When they hand down positive values, they realize one of the missions of sport: teaching. Inside sport and doing sport, one develops and informs those who are around us. For this reason, the story of the guys of Novo Nordisk is a perfect example of sport.

Renato Di Rocco President of Italian Cyclists Federation

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The Milan-Sanremo as a symbol

If you talk with those working in the sector, they’ll tell you that Milan-Sanremo, from a technical point of view, is an easy race. There are no rough stones of the Roubaix, with its infernal sectors. There are no walls of people which are present at the Tour of Flanders. There are no cotes of the Liège–Bastogne– Liège. There isn’t even the 4000 meters of difference in height of the Tour of Lombardy, with its iconic passages of Ghisallo or Muro of Sormano.

Yet the Milan-Sanremo is unique. It’s a monumental classic which, actually, opens the cycling season. People look forward to it. The spring is lit by the Super Classic even if sometimes, it’s still cold and you can still find snow on the Turchino.

300km without great emotions. First Po valley, and then the Aurelia from Genova to Sanremo. The Turchino is a small hill, a small climb - It’s nothing to those cyclists. In the last 30km, there are the Cipressa and Poggio. They are not the Stelvio and Gavia, but after 270km of cycling their not so much difficult slopes may become very hard to deal with. The Milan-Sanremo is so fascinating because it’s unpredictable.

On paper everyone can win it. It’s not a race just for sprinters. It’s not just for finisher or tough sprinters.

It shouldn’t be for climbers, but Claudio Chiappucci won this race in 1991, Vincenzo Nibali in 2018 and Marco Pantani got close to it.

Every cyclist who starts from Milan has a chance. There is someone who can’t endure the 300km of the race. A distance from the early twentieth century. A race which wears out the cyclists and might be made, by the weather, very hard.

If one takes a look to the roll of honour, one may figure out that all the greatest have won it. From the unmatchable Eddy Merckx (7 victories!) to Costante Giradengo (6 victories); from the 4 triumphs of Bartali and Zabel to the 3-peat of Coppi and De Vlaeminck. We cannot forget that cyclists like Francesco Moser, Giuseppe Saronni, Laurent Fignon, Raymond Poulidor, Felice Gimondi, Sean Kelly and Gianni Bugno, have won the Milan-Sanremo. Up to the most recent Paolo Bettini, Mario Cipollini, Fabian Cancellara, Oscar Freire (3 victories), Alessandro Petacchi and Mark Cavendish.

Vincenzo Nibali, winner in 2018, despite having already won the big three Tour, Giro and Vuelta on the 19

finish line of Via Roma understood what it means to win a monumental classic. He has joined the elite winners and his fame has grown dramatically. Because the Milan-Sanremo is unique. Charming in its apparent simplicity. Un- predictable like no other races inside the calendar.The eyes of cycling world, in midMarch, are all focused on Ligurian Riviera. A race which has great impact and attracts so much media interest - The best way to “show off ”. For this reason, the boys of Team Novo Nordisk have always played it by attacking. With Andrea Peron in 2015 and 2016, with Umberto Poli in 2017, with Charles Planet in 2018 and even with 4 cyclists in 2019 edition: Peron, Poli, Planet with the addition of Jonas Henttala. A little record.

Guys who sprint ahead. Guys on a mission to tell the world that though they’re seemingly different because they have type 1 diabetes, they can still be protagonists in one of the world's most popular and glorious race. In these pages we will look at their stories and their emotions. They didn’t win the Milan- Sanremo, but for 150-200km they were at the head of the group. This book will make their story known and carry their message so that it’s received with clarity. Also thanks to the charm of Milan-Sanremo…

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Every team sets goals during the most important events. There are great and well-organized teams which aim for victory, and maybe the Team Novo Nordisk doesn’t have a cyclist able to win the Milan-Sanremo. But the goal which they set had great exposure, appearing on television broadcasts worldwide. This Is another type of victory.

The boys of the team, whose manager I personally know, have always shown exemplary behavior and their message is powerful: sport, even if cannot stop the disease, still helps one to lead a normal life.

Mauro Vegni Director of the Milan-Sanremo

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Milan-Sanremo and I Riccardo Magrini, the "Skinny”, arrives at my house on time at 6.15, perhaps even a few minutes before.

The Sanremo is the race to which he is most connected. He raced the Sanremo ten times during his career and though he never won, he raced alongside Eddy Merckx there for the first time. He was stuck to Merckx up to the Turchino, trying to understand how come the Belgian champ had such an amazing strength.

The Cannibal for sure, but also monsieur Sanremo, considering his seven triumphs. Sheer madness. Indeed, prodigal stuff.

The Milan-Sanremo is a race which enchants and captivates. Riccardo can’t sleep at night if he thinks about it. Today we have to provide the commentary of the race, at the finish line of Via Roma. A historic first time for me, and the same for Riccardo, who in 15 years of career as television commentator, has commentated the World Cup and the Tour of Flanders, but never the Super Classic. If I feel like a child on the carousel of an amusement park, he’s not far off. He couldn’t sleep. It even happened last year, in 2018, when Nibali won. It was a stormy day. At least in Milan there was heavy rain. It was cold and grey with a dark sky. We were at Castello square to test the atmosphere and the face of cyclists.The Belgian cyclists, born and raised with the rain and wind, seemed to be as comfortable as they where enjoying a coffee at a bar. The others were more worried and afraid. It’s not an ideal beginning, starting off with these conditions and thinking about having to face 300km ahead. I hate bad weather and can only imagine what a cyclist would think of that. I considered them heroes. Despite those who criticize them for doping or other nonsense, it’s clear that whoever does this job is a great athlete. That's it!

Riccardo and I went toward the bus of teams and suddenly we saw Vincenzo Nibali looking ready and super focused. We tried to say Hi to him but he just passed by, already in a tense and competitive mood.

A race such as this is not, on paper, his ‘thing’. But the beauty of the Milan-Sanremo is precisely this: At the start everyone has a chance to win it because it’s unpredictable. Then, usually, super champions win.

But predicting correctly is one of the most difficult things to do.

Shortly Nibali “The Shark” went away. “The Skinny” turned around to me and said: “Oh, did you see his face?! Oh my God...”. I nodded, but I remained skeptical about Vincenzo’s chances. We went toward the start, talked with Cavendish and Gilbert and then we went home, because we would commentate from the editorial office.

Obviously 2018's Sanremo was won by Vincenzo Nibali. What great proof of his talent which allowed him to finish the race all alone, with arms raised, in Via Roma. A Champion.

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After all, “the old dog knows”. “The Skinny” understood then that Vincenzo’s expression in Castello square, was a winning one.

A year later we are ready to talk about the race from the TV station of Via Roma in Sanremo - This is a dream for us. We arrived before 10.00 and enjoy the sun. It is still too early for the race and the live broadcast (at 2pm). I walk through the barricaded zone, and while I pass in front of the finish line, I feel a shiver. On these streets, history was made. Actually, cycling legend was made on these streets. Today it is my turn as I will be shouting the name of this year's winner from here. I don’t know who to imagine standing there on the stage of the awards which I can see from our workstation. I would like Viviano or ‘The Prophet’, as I nicknamed him. We will see.

I take another walk through the streets of the city of flowers and later I get into the race mood. When I put the headphones and microphone on, I find myself in a parallel world which is fantastic and unique.

One cannot do this job without living every race as If it’s a mystical, transcendental experience. I’m feeling privileged and want to enjoy every commentary like it’s my last, experiencing it with all possible emotion.

It’s obvious that even for me, a race may be more emotionally “difficult” than another. Today is my second on the ground transfer , after the Tour of Lombardy of 2018. But here, at Sanremo, the season opens.

Everyone waits for it. It’s like spring. “five, four, three, two, one...” the countdown of the direction coming from Paris is clear. We are broadcasting live. The show begins.

“It’s the race that everyone dreams of, that everyone loves, that everyone wants to win but only few cyclists can win and enter the myth. Cycling lovers welcome to the Milan-Sanremo, the first monumental classic of the season…for Eurosport, we are Luca Gregorio and Riccardo Magrini…”

The ice is broken. Now we must convey to cycling lovers, who follow us from home, all the emotion of this race. “as expected as expected, my dear Skinny, a bunch is sprinting ahead, with ten cyclists who have taken almost ten minutes’ lead. We are talking about Fausto Masnada of the Androni Giocattoli-Sidermec team, Mirco Maestri and Alessandro Tonelli of the Bardiani-Csf team, Guy Sagiv of the Israel Cycling Academy team, Luca Raggio and Se- bastian Schonberger of the Neri Sottoli-Selle Italia-Ktm team and then there are 4 cyclists of the Team Novo Nordisk: Joonas Henttala, Charles Planet, Andrea Peron and Umberto Poli...Skinny: “Luca we must congratulate those guys. It’s true that we are used to seeing a breakaway in these situations, but in days like this it’s harder to choose the right one, because there are many cyclists who want to win this race. To see Italian cyclists among those ten cyclists makes me happy. In addition, I have to underline the ability of the guys of the Team Novo Nordisk, because to be able to place 4 cyclists

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inside the breakaway of the day is something very uncommon and so it means that they were very skilful” Luca: “besides, talking about them, the project behind this team is fantastic, because let’s not forget that inside this team there are only guys who have type 1 diabetes. The message to be able to do sport at high level despite this problem, is the kind of message the team want to spread all over the world by introducing the stories of these athletes. I would say that the Milan-Sanremo is the best way to do so. Actually we must say that is the showcase which they always choose, since even in the last edition of this race they always had cyclists in the breakaway of the day and so today the guys of Team Novo Nordisk fulfill this tradition…”

The kilometers go by, the lead goes down, the pack push. Cipressa and Poggio, the key points of the race, are coming up. The breakaway slowly crumbles. Masnada is the last one who is caught. On the Poggio begin the race between the best cyclists. In the pack, there are also top dogs like Nibali, Trentin Sagan, Valverde, Alaphilippe, Kwiatkowski, Van Aert and Naesen. Trentin tries to surprise everyone, breaking away from the pack, at about 1 km from the finish line. Nice try, but nullified. The cyclists will try to win during the final sprint. My heart is pounding. I see them running like the wind… “we are at the end of a fantastic race. Almost everyone we expected to win the race are here trying to do so. Attention here we are… without further ado, Mohoric try the final sprint. Right behind him Alaphilippe, with Kiato and Naesen… Alaphilippe easily overtook Mohoric and run toward the finish line. They can’t reach him, can’t reach him anymoreeeeeee. Julian Alaphilippe!!!!!!!! The musketeer jabs everyone on the finish line of Via Roma!!!”

I don’t know how far away they heard me shouting. I just remember that I was in a trance and I got up on the chair whilst my heart went crazy. Maybe I exaggerated, maybe not. I don’t really care. I lived that moment as it came to me. Like I wanted to live it. As my instinct told me to. And I enjoyed it.

The final sprints on the finish line are the most exciting. Because you don’t know how it’s going to end.

The emotional escalation is crazy. In addition, if it happens during a Milan-Sanremo and you are there commenting it, you can understand that everything is amplified. Moreover, if a cyclist you love wins the race, the step toward madness is very short.

The lasts minutes of the commentary are useful to tone down the many emotions. There is the winner’s interview, there is the award ceremony and then the final farewell and appointment to the next race.

The day comes to an end. A dinner by the sea to talk about the things and the people that have animated the past hours and then we are en route to Milan. We are going home. Happy. Satisfied. Full of life. Even more in love with this sport. Ready for a new race. And new stories…

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I think the most important thing is awareness. I mean our goals must consider the vast potential of those guys, both as a team and as individuals, but also the fact that they live with a disease. Awareness must help us to evolve with constancy; but without awareness we would lose sight of our real goals which are within our reach.

The breakaway was for sure one of these goals and, from my point of view, it was fully accomplished. Four guys with our shirt up front, it meant so much and I’m very proud of their achievement.

Massimo Podenzana Sport Director of Team Novo Nordisk

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Giuseppe Saronni World Champion and Gold Medal Goodwood 1982

Colnago’s legend

There is a village in Brianza, Cambiago, which is very famous amongst cycling lovers.

A small village of just 7000 people where Ernesto Colnago was born and where developed the “legend” of the bikes that have his name, synonymous of perfection worldwide and that are linked with Umberto and Andrea and to all the athletes of Team Novo Nordisk.

Ernesto Colnago is what we call “a self-made businessman”. He was born in a farming family and at the age of 13, he started to work for bike factory “Gloria”, in Milan. Of that 25 November, 75 years ago, Ernesto can remember even the detail. He falsified his ID card of just 1 year, to be able to begin working as a welder. He wore a military coat, an “inheritance” of the Russian War from his uncle Ambrogio, which his mom had shortened. He remembers ”I couldn’t put my hands in the pockets, because they were too low”. The next day, he learned a life lesson whilst arguing with a guy of his age, Ernesto Formenti who later became an Olympic boxing champion. Colnago walked away from his job to chase him and when he later returned to his workplace his piecework colleague burned his hand with a blowtorch, telling him “when you work you don’t have to get distracted”, a phrase that Ernesto remembered all his life.

Eight years later in 1954, the entrepreneurial history of Colnago was born, inside the small store in Garibaldi street, 10 in Cambiago. But to start the business, money is needed and so he had to make do.

For this reason, his father, cut a mulberry to make a workbench and Ernesto began to think that his bikes should have been the best in the world.

The opportunity came the next year when, during a bike ride, he met Fiorenzo Magni, who complained of a pain in his leg. Ernesto pointed out to him that the cranks are wrongly set up and by fixing them, he could solve the problem. In the same year he left for his first Giro d’Italia as vice engineer in the team of the champion, who then won the pink jersey.

But Ernesto wanted more flexible and modern bikes and so in 1956 he got the idea to cold bend the forks’ pipes in order to keep them more flexible, managing to achieve the desired results by relying on two wood pieces fixed on the work bench.

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By now, Ernesto was on the team cars. He followed the race as an engineer and he discovered a very talented guy, the sixteen years old Gianni Motta. Ernesto understood that Gianni would become a champion of Italian cycling, and so he decided to provide Gianni with a bike and some assistance. Motta, among his many successes with the help of Colnago, won the Tour of Lombardy in 1964. He finished third in the Tour de France in ’65 and won the Giro d’Italia in ’66.

Colnago is someone who really understands bikes and so In 1966 Eddy Merckx (who later would become the “cannibal” but at that time was just at the beginning of his career among the pros) asked him for some reliable and custom built wheels to use in the Milan-Sanremo race that he wanted to win. The work was perfect and so Merckx won his first Milan-Sanremo.

Thus began a professional combination that during the years developed and became stronger. So, in 1972, Ernesto was no longer just an engineer. By this time he was a builder, and building bikes for Merckx, even 20 in just one year, became his final consecration. The real masterpiece was the bike with which the Belgian champion set the hourly record. Now one could understand that Ernesto’s dream to create the best bikes in the world had become reality.

During the ’80s, Ernesto tried to develop the technology of his bikes. Colnago had not only been a technological innovator, but also a great businessman. The technical and commercial collaboration with the Soviet Union was a big advertisement for him, in addition to important successes, like the Olympic win in the team time trial. In 1982 Ernesto Colnago joined the project of the Del Tongo family, to build a worldwide team, and in the same year Saronni won the World Cup in Goodwood. “Keep developing” had become his mantra and he wanted to always invest in the future, in innovation and in quality. He never stopped believing. Ferrari and Colnago have much in common, and not by chance they became friends and this friendship led to many revolutionary projects. The Drake, asking Colnago to collaborate in 1976, immediately clarifies: “I just want beautiful things, up to the Ferrari”.

In 1995, the night before the debut of his carbon bike, the C40, during the hard Paris-Roubaix, Colnago got a call from Giorgio Squinzi, patron of the Mapei “strong team”: “… Ernesto, are you sure that our cyclists tomorrow will have no trouble? The frame will not break? And that straight pipe…”. The C40 won that edition and 4 of the next 5 editions. It represents the triumph of technology.

In 2013, he connected his brand Colnago with the Team Novo Nordisk for the first time and since 2016 this connection has become stable and will continue in the future.

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Enzo and Ernesto Colnago

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I believe in true cycling values and I see in this team the authentic love for cycling.

Those guys instill so much joy and desire to commit, I really wish them a future full of satisfaction and success.

Ernesto Colnago

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BREAKAWAY Two wheels, the road, diabetes

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Why breaking away Breaking away belongs to us in the same way our skin, our personality and our smell belongs to us. We run away from our memories, from a love story, from betrayal, from grief. We run away from the beauty and from bad, we run away because of fear or because of bravery but everyone, at least just once in a lifetime, has tried to escape. When you try to escape you are forced to look back in order not to forget where everything started, to defend yourself from those who try to catch you and to reunite with you. You can even hear their voices “Where are you going? What are you doing? Stay here, stop running away, you will never make it”. These are the voices of those who tried to run away before you, but couldn’t make it, these are the voices of envy, the voices of fear, the fear that someone might make it. The fear that you might make it.

When you feel chased, you have a lot of time to think. You can even feel the sound of your thoughts like steps of someone trying to catch you, to put his hand on your shoulder in order to pull you back and then maybe hug you, like what is usually done for losers. This happens in the ring, when the winner hugs the loser because the hug is not comfort, it’s surrender.

And while you feel chased you are forced to look forward toward your goal, toward what you fled for, toward your dream. Because the escape is this, one look back and one look forward, between ups and downs, between euphoria and discouragement. You will never know if you achieve the feat because the escape never gives you clear answers. The escape is both light and darkness. It is a mystery, uncertainty, doubt and if there isn’t all this, it means it is not a real escape. You already know they will catch you; you already know this is just an attempt.

With escapes you can’t lie. it immediately realizes if you are serious or if you are just kidding. Your escape knows it, others know it, but most importantly you know it. You can even try to lie to yourself when you start to lose strength, slowly but gradually. Here you think “It’s just a moment, now I will recover” but actually you know you have already lost.

But one thing is certain: History has handed down to us some great escapes, but history is made up of the many little getaways of men and women with no name, without a face, sometimes even without hope.

Cycling’s history is rich in great breakaways, all alone or with peloton, breakaways which for their pro39

tagonists have meant glory and great success. But at the Milan-Sanremo is different: here the sprint ahead has some specific boundaries. in this race you sprint ahead at the start and then in six, seven hours, you are a few kilometers from the finish line. It’s a written script, experienced dozens of times: four, five, six cyclists sprint ahead while the rest of the peloton wait. Two different races: in front of the peloton cyclists sprint, struggle, swear. Behind the pack, cyclists keep cycling. And wait.

One might ask themselves “why do It?” Try ask them, these main characters. They will talk about a unique and indescribable emotion, with the cameras from all over the world pointed at you, pointed on the leading group where every 15, 20 seconds one asks the change to put in the wake teammate, in order to take a breath and drink some water.

Try asking the guys of the Team Novo Nordisk, who cycle to yell to the world that even with diabetes one can do everything. You CAN become a cyclist. You can even win and sprint ahead.

The lead goes up: 5, 8, 10 minutes, it seems an eternity. But actually, in the Milan-Sanremo, it isn’t.

Cyclists arrive to the Colli: Here comes Poggio, here it comes Cipressa and those who are behind start to run faster. They are less tired so they reach you because you are very tired. And from first place you suddenly find yourself in ninetieth, hundredth place. While the pack overtakes you, you hope that among those cyclists there is your teammate, someone who can win in the final sprint, someone for whom it was worth sacrificing. Someone who can give meaning to your breakaway.

When you cross the finish line everything will end. They have probably already done the award ceremony and no one has thought of you while you struggled with the sole aim to get to the end of the race. Now is the moment to celebrate the winners, not the cyclists who sprinted ahead.

And when you are exhausted and motionless, taking a hot shower without the strength to soap yourself, when your legs hurt because of cramps, fatigue, tension, when you realize that you haven’t accomplished anything, when you regret to have fooled yourself once again, just like a child..In that moment you will ask yourself if it was worth it. And you will tell yourself it’s been the best seven hours of your life.

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I don’t want to say that every person with diabetes should become an agonist because it is true that any type of physical activity is useful, indeed indispensable, during any therapy. But it’s clear that the media interest which this team is able to attract, all over the world, is very important. It became a reference point for all of the associations and for all of us. .

Marcello Grussu President of National Diabetic Athletes Association

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Chapter I Alcide’s book

He put on his half-lens glasses. He didn’t like doing It so he always did it away from prying eyes - a form of modesty as if it was a defeat, a price to pay to have to do this during old age. For the rest though, apart from this presbyopia which accelerated year after year, Alcide was in good shape. His heart, prostate, and intestine did their duty and even his lungs (taking into account that he was a chain smoker), didn’t cause him problems apart from bronchitis that yearly, between January and February, forced him to rest.

His doctor was an old pro who was very tried and disappointed with life. After his graduation he was expecting some satisfaction from his job which didn’t come. He did his work but he was bored of his patients, especially the elderly who crowded his studio more to spend time with him than for real medical need. His secretary, on the other hand, was very efficient. Throughout the years she gained a competence which allowed her to give pharmacological tips. Anna answered the phone which rang constantly, prepared prescriptions, managed doctor’s appointments with meticulousness: she knew and called everyone by their name, just like a country priest. Actually she was a 45 year old divorced lady, who struggled to surrender to the passing of time and so often she flaunted mini-skirts and fishnet stockings which Alcide considered silly.

That morning, sitting in a bar, isolated from the other elderly of the village who spent their days at that same bar, Alcide was enjoying spring. Mimosa was already in bloom, but this had no meaning for someone who knew weather better than aeronautics. Alcide knew very well that winter wasn’t over yet and so he sat at his table without too many illusions. Others in the bar were drinking or playing cards but he loved to take the time to read a book alone. He wasn’t taciturn or surly, but rather he enjoyed his own company, his own thoughts and memories. In the attic, buried amongst trinkets, he found a book which he remembered reading a few years earlier. The book was about the stories of famous champions from Pelè to Borg, from Thoeni to Cassius Clay. But his favourite chapter, was the one about Fausto Coppi.

Alcide ordered a coffee and began to read. The Heron who flew on his bike

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“It’s a boy…. Domenico …look…it’s a male!!!” yelled Angiolina, thinking that more labour force would help the family’s economic balance. “Bah…- grunted Domenico – He'd weigh a couple of kilos at most– said with disappointment as he picked him up – he’s not good for the countryside!”

Fausto Coppi was born like that, from a radiant mother and a disappointed father. From the first minutes of his life, he managed to divide people. This was his fate: to split people, between those who loved him and those who accused him, between those who identified themselves in his sorrows and those who couldn’t understand them. Between those who were moved by his feelings and those who made fun of them.

When he was young, in order to earn some money, Fausto made deliveries by bike and he ran fast, fast, fast and dreamed of making a career of cycling and becoming a professional cyclist.

He took part in his first Giro d’Italia with the Legnano Team, as supporting rider of Gino Bartali, the star at the time. Coppi was as introverted as Bartali was bold. Coppi didn’t eat or drink much compared to Bartali who was goliardic. Coppi was Piedmontese, Bartali was Tuscan.

Coppi didn’t respect his captain and so at the Abetone he sprinted ahead. He pedaled so naturally that it seemed unnatural. He didn’t sweat or struggle, he simply ran and flew like a heron toward the finish line and toward the pink jersey that he would keep during the entire Giro.

During the Milan-Sanremo of the stage same year, Coppi was in great shape, it seems like he had something more. The radio announcer, who recounted the race, announced: “Fausto Coppi has won the Milan-Sanremo! While waiting for the runner-up, we’ll play dance music” - Coppi won with a 14-minutes lead.

In ’49, at the Giro d’Italia they ran the stage from Cuneo to Pinerolo, 192 kilometers through 5 alpine passes. It was a very hard stage, one of those feared by cyclists, who were afraid not so much of a bad placing but of the chance of not making it and instead surrendering to the street, their true enemy.

When the radio began broadcasting, millions of Italians were waiting to hear the voice of the radio announcer Mario Ferretti, who pronounced the phrase which made him famous “One man is in the lead, his shirt is white and sky-blue, his name is Fausto Coppi”.

In ’53 Fausto became World Champion in Lugano, with a 6-minute lead from the Belgian Derycke. On the podium we saw an unusually glowing Coppi, with the 'white lady' publicly by his side for the first time.

Her name was Giulia Occhini, 27 years old and her husband was a doctor, Enrico Locatelli who was very rich and older than her by 20 years. They had two children. Fausto is married too, with Bruna Ciampolini, and they had a daughter, Marina.

Their love split, once again, a bigoted and puritan Italy between those supporting them and those attacking them.

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The scandal was public knowledge. Coppi was forbidden to see his daughter Marina, and those conditions were very hard for him to find motivation to compete and win.

For a small payment Coppi decided to take part in a commemorative event for the independence of an African Country. He decided to participate because he got the chance to hunt which was his other great passion. He was sleeping in a very humble hotel and was sharing the room with his friend, a cyclist, Raphael Geminiani “We were attacked by mosquitoes” – said Geminiani- “we were tortured. Just after Christmas he called me. Fausto wanted to build a team of French cyclists, to launch his bike, Coppi’s bike.

I told him, I felt sick with a strange fever. He told me he had fever too and that he was going to bed”.

The night of the 27 December, Fausto Coppi, exhausted and yellow as a lemon, went to bed with a fever of 40. Someone called his doctor, Ettore Allegri who diagnosed Asian flu and prescribed Antibiotics. In France, Raphael Geminiani went into a coma. His blood was brought to Pasteur Institute and the response was: malaria. Doctors gave him quinine and saved him. The wife of Raphael called Villa Carla (Coppi’s home) to warn that his husband had malaria and that Fausto, who meanwhile had worsened, had it too for sure. A doctor told her not to meddle and that they would heal Fausto. They had a consult and the diagnosis was bronchopneumonia. The result of that consult was disastrous. To the antibiotics, they added cortisone, and it was like throwing gasoline on the fire. There is nothing worse than cortisone for someone with malaria.

Geminiani’s brother called again to make sure of Fausto’s conditions and yelled “the quinine…you must give him quinine!!”. There was nothing to do, doctors did not want to. Coppi got worse but by this time even the quinine, given to someone who had had so much cortisone, could not have prevented his death.

On January 1, the doctors decided to hospitalize him. When Coppi arrived to the hospital in Tortona, the test results were ready: it was malaria.

On January 2, 1960, at the 8,45, Fausto Coppi, the white heron, closed his wings forever.

A French journalist wrote “This sad death, premature and unfair, will sanctify a hero and will make him a martyr. It made a champion an immortal”.

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In professional cycling you can’t hide, you don’t have time to breathe or change Strategy. But at the end of the day, the right training gives you the right results.

And this is as true in sports as it is in the management of diabetes.

Vassili Davidenko General Manager Team Novo Nordisk

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Chapter II Two old friends Alcide closed the book, looked at the watch and lit a cigarette, the first of the day as the doctor had advised him to “Never smoke before 11 am”. He was slow reader who liked to stop every few pages and think about what he had read. For this reason, he preferred short stories and avoided crime stories of Swedish authors like Stieg Larsen In which he’d get lost with the unpronounceable names of the main characters.

At that time the first mother was arriving to the park with their stroller. For many years he was a perfect grandfather, punctual, loved by his nephew. But during the years even that role had lost meaning, Giulio wasn’t a child anymore, he was going to university, sooner or later he was going to be a lawyer. Sooner or later. Because Giulio was actually a good guy but a little late with his exams. Sure, law is a very difficult department and Giulio was a little distracted by the football match and by his “girl friends”. He called them one-night stands, girl he met on holiday or at a disco. He didn’t see a future with these girls and wanted only the pleasure of few hours together. After all, what’s wrong with that?

Giulio was still very close with his grandfather. He often visited home in his countryside house, in particular after the death of his grandmother Rina. Alcide was left alone in that house which felt too big, too empty, too noisy. He discovered that in a house where you lived and loved, every dish, every piece of furniture, every detail talks to you. It’s the language of silence, of loneliness, of the memory that sometimes can become a noise. For this reason, Alcide left the house every morning and went to that bar, far away from the noise of his countryside house.

The scratchy tongue of Brio reached his hand and made him jump. Carlo, with his Italian bracco, was standing in front of him.

“Oh, Alcide, are you sleeping?”

“So, what’s up?” Carlo took a green plastic chair to sit. “Can I have a coffee?” he said to the barman. “This morning, Brio seemed risen, I took him to the wood and he started to hunt. He must have heard some steps, maybe a pheasant, whatchamacallit…”

“It’s the love of hunting. It’s in his blood” answered Alcide, stroking the long hear of the bracco. Actually

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Brio wasn’t just a great hunter, he was also a great athlete. When he sees Carlo holding the cart to the car he starts to get excited, moaning with joy and spinning around. They usually depart while it’s still dark, toward Tollara, a zone for dog training in the province of Alessandria. There Brio shows all his value as a setter: he usually starts with wide laps, always trotting because the Italian bracco, when they hunt, don’t gallop. The setter is a sprinter, the Italian bracco is a marathoner. It seems like he wants to take his time and enjoy the action knowing that sooner or later, he is going to find that pheasant. Maybe, among the thick brambles, or in a pile of wood, but he is going to find it. When Brio seems to have learned the borders of the area of research, he starts to restrict his field of action. He slows down his gait, sometimes turning around to see if Carlo Is still there, within reach because a good hunting dog knows very well that without his owner, everything would be useless. “I’m going to find the pheasant” – he seems to say – “but then It is your turn”.

Then, suddenly, Brio smells the prey, his body tremoring. Then he freezes in a statuesque position, his foreleg raised from the ground, tail extended and nose up. Many times Carlo would wait and stand still to first admire this splendid roan specimen expressing his hunting characteristics. Then he slowly approaches Brio, who, reassured by his presence, would crouch down and start the “guide”. It’s a very gentle action where the dog must approach the animal: pheasant, partridge, quail or in the right season, woodcock, the queen of the wood. Brio could move, closing every way out till the flap. The rest was done by the Franchi double-barrelled shotgun of Carlo. At that moment Brio ran in order to take slaughtered animal: he held the animal in his mouth without tightening it so as not to damage the meat and deposited it in Carlo’s hands, as though it were precious goods. “This is for you – Brio seems to say – your caresses, congratulations and maybe some dog food as reward would be good enough for me”.

Brio’s skill was absolute and his victories in setter championship brought him to conquer the title of CACIT, the best international award. Brio had become a legend for the sport hunting world and his victories, well paid, had allowed Carlo to buy a new FIAT-Panda.

“Poor animal, he suddenly has aged. Just like the owner”. “No, you’re wrong - said Alcide - you have aged a lot faster”. “And you…what are you reading?”

“Nothing, just a book” “Ah, I thought it was urine analysis”.

“A book, short stories, stories of champions, Coppi” Carlo put half a bag of sugar inside the coffee.

“By the way, my house or your house?”

“It’s a loving proposal?”

“Oh, Alcide, wake up!! The Milan-Sanremo, Sunday… where do we see it?” “Wherever you want. Last 54

year where were we?”

“At my house” “Nibali won, didn’t he? Let’s see it at your house, maybe brings luck”.

“Oh my God, I can’t wait. For me it’s the most beautiful race of the year, better than the Giro d’Italia, the Tour de France, or anything” “There is no comparison. And think that it was born as a foot race”. “What do you mean?”

“That’s right, oh we are talking about many, many years ago. But it was unsuccessful, just a few participants, maybe afraid of the idea to walk all that way, even if the race was split in two laps: from Milan to Acqui and from Acqui to Sanremo. Then the year after they thought try the race with bikes. The idea was of a journalist, Tullio Morgagni, but at the beginning there were just about thirty cyclists. Too cold, too windy, too much struggle”.

“What a story. By the way the Milan-Sanremo must often come to terms with weather conditions. I read that in 1910, during a day from hell, cyclists were trying to take refuge inside the house along the way.

Just try to think how the streets were in those years and those cyclists were knocking to farmers’ houses to ask for shelter, a blanket, a cup of broth, In the end only seven out of sixty cyclists finished the race. A massacre. Not only, but I read that the winner, a French cyclist with the name of Christobal…Christope… well something like this, was convinced that he had gone the wrong way. You know, at that time there wasn’t a great support service along the way, signs were few so this poor man just passed the hill and recognized the beach houses of Sanremo. At that point he realized he was on the right track and he looked around, saw he was alone and thought “I’m going down, then we’ll see”. He jumped downhill, he finished the race and realized to had won”.

“Crazy. Maybe he went a few more miles”.

“Ah, maybe, you know the radio reportages of that time leave much to be desired. And then began Girardengo’s era” “A great man, short, but with a big heart. Six victories in the Milan-Sanremo”. “Did you ever see him cycling?”

“What are you talking about, he’s from the ‘20s” “Go Giradengo, go great champion, no one follows you on that main road…” Alcide looked at his friend raising an eyebrow “It’s a song by De Gregori, stupid! You know nothing about music, do you?”

“Basic stuff. Something classic…”

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“I understand, but we are talking about De Gregori, a star, what the hell…By the way when you were young, you saw the passing of the race, right?”

“Definitely. I even saw Bartali, in ‘39, I was on my father's shoulders. He was very fast. And even the year after, he was unique” “Even if, the true king of the Milan-Sanremo was Eddie Merckx” “We are talking about a true champion “ “In your opinion, do we have any hopes this year?”

“It’s very hard to say. The Milan-Sanremo has no favourites, in fact often the winner is someone out of the odds” “Just like Nibali, last year, I wouldn’t bet a penny on him, and yet…” “Let’s see. All right then. Sunday morning at your house” “Let’s go, Brio, it’s time to go back home” Carlo got up a little unsteady. His hip surgery had succeeded but if he sat for too long, he struggled to get back in motion.

“Will you take care of the coffee?” “Of course, the usual Ligurian” “I’m just a poor pensioner” “Yeah, and I am a member of the royal Windsor family instead!

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I believe that a good doctor, along with the best drugs for diabetes, should always prescribe physical activity, on the prescription pad, according to possibilities and needs of every patient.Of all the sports I practiced, cycling brings the most benefits to glycaemia, to compensate and stabilize the insulin.

The message of the TNN’s pros is exciting from this point of view and strongly encouraging for those like us - diabetic and amateur cyclists. We take from them the inspiration that makes us feel good and desire to chase our dreams. From the beginning we at Ciclismo & Diabete are fans of those guys and we support them in person during all their races in Italy.

Andrea Guerra President of “Ciclismo & Diabete”

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Andrea Peron Professional cyclist Team Novo Nordisk

Chapter III Andrea’s breakaway When I was a child I was afraid of the darkness, of night and of sleep. I didn’t understand why we spend so many hours inside a parallel world, different from the one we know. I had weird dreams which I couldn’t remember as soon as I woke up. Often I dreamt of flying but this is very common. But the other times I dreamt of mysterious people, distressing situations that I had to face alone. In my dreams, loneliness was a constant. That’s why when I had to go to bed, I would try to pass time by reading until late at night. I wanted to sleep with the open door and my mother by my side - this gave me peace. Sometimes I tried to draw her attention: “Mom I’m thirsty”, “Mom I’m cold”. And the poor woman would go to get me a glass of water or a blanket. And then I would hear her going toward her bed where she would rest.

On Sundays In Spring I would wake up earlier. I would leave the shutters half-open so the first light of the day would filter in to my room. I would shower very fast, drink a cup of milk, run to play with my friends, run to buy bread when my mom would ask me to do so, I would run to the tobacco shop or the newsagent. Maybe it was just a childish way to run away. Running was always so fascinating for me, even when I played football with my friends. I wasn’t a good player but I liked running, even with the ball.

“Pass!!! Andrea pass!!!”

But I wouldn’t pass the ball, I would just keep running until I reached the end of the field while my teammates would tell me to go to hell. “This is team play! You must pass the ball, bonehead!!”.

The grass was still soaked with dew, but it dried quickly with the sun. I would run down the street that from the town went up to the hills, taking tight curves and sitting on the grass waiting for the first competitors. It was a race of little importance, to a regional level, but I would still get excited at the sight of cyclists’ jerseys. The elders of the town, with the Gazzetta inside the coat pocket, would comment aloud the passing cyclists: they knew the name of every cyclist, they would encourage cyclists, talk about the lead. “This time Pinin can make it”, “No, he can’t take it anymore, instead it will be Attilio…during the downhill he will catch him, you’ll see”, “What are you talking about, Gregorio is there, with the pack, he’s just waiting 61

for the right moment to break away from them”.

I didn’t know Pinin, Attilio or Gregorio, but it was on those streets, during those Spring days, that I started to love cycling. Even today I can’t explain why, while my friends on Sunday would go to the playground, I would stay there looking those cyclists. And I would stay there until the last cyclist, and then I would start running after him, for a few meters, until I couldn’t see him anymore. The day of my First Communion, on the first Sunday in May, the church was crowded. The priest had a pair of glasses with a golden eyeglass frame and dandruff on his hair. It was a quick ceremony. The girls were dressed like little nuns and the boys wore suits and ties, all bought thanks to many sacrifices of our parents. We spent a lot of time prepping for that day, two years of catechism, but finally we were ready to enter the world of good Christian people. Don Luciano had a speech that probably tried and tried, so many times, but we were distracted: a lot of people, too much going on. A lot of emotions. A lot of doubts, too many, in fact.

My father, Giuliano, was sitting in the front row holding hands with my mother, Cristina. He is a simple man, he lives for his work, he sells spare parts for tractors, he has no vices, or strange ideas in his head.

And just like all the simple people, he is of few words.

Those who talk a lot with complicated vocabulary, like lawyers or politicians, are considered important people. Those who speak little and speak simply, are considered mediocre. But dignity and values are not measured with words, they are measured with facts.

After the ceremony, we got in the car and went to Rustega, a little town 5 km form Camposampiero, where every year, during the first Sunday in May, there is the Zootechnic Fair. It’s an exhibition with 40 years of history you cannot miss: there are agricultural machinery but especially working animals and pets. Horses, cows, donkeys, sheeps. It is really fun for children: they can run freely, something which was very important for me, and pause to listen the birdsong of any kinds. There is even a singing competition dedicated to them.

We ate something in the shed, together with other thousands of people, who arrived from the whole Veneto region, and then we stopped to watch fireworks. I was standing still, watching fireworks, when my father approached.

“Tomorrow in the afternoon you must come with me” he told me, putting his hand on my shoulder. It wasn’t a request, otherwise he would have said “Do you have plans for tomorrow in the afternoon?”. My father in the afternoon always been respectful toward me, my needs, even when I was a child. And so I nodded while I kept watching the fireworks.

The day after we took the road to Castelfranco Veneto and stopped in front of a store on a country road, in a town called Salvatronda. A little town, of just over two thousand people, but a very important town for Italian cycling history.

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Inside the store, behind the counter, a short man was moving, but with a face I cannot forget: two vivid, small, Asian eyes which were the reflection of his character. He came toward us holding in his hand a wrench and welcomed us with kindness.

“So is this the guy?” - he said while squeezing my hand – “my name is Ciano, and yours?”

“My name is Andrea” I answered while I was entranced by the shop. Bikes everywhere, frames, seats, handlebars, rims and then something that I will always remember: the perfume of the grease. For some it’s a stink, for some just a smell, but for me it was the finest perfume. Once I heard an interview with Giulio Borsari, Ferrari’s master mechanic from the ’64 to the ’73, who claimed that the perfume of grease had directed his professional choices.

“Whenever I could, I would go to the mechanic who worked downstairs and I would watch him while he was working. In that way I understood how a carburetor or a distributor worked. But especially the perfume of grease inebriated me, even today I get excited when I smell it”. For me it was the same.

I looked around, stunned, while a guy older than me, tall and strong, was talking with a mechanic about the adjustment of the brakes.

“Yesterday, during the downhill, the back of the bike was slipping. I didn’t feel safe and I couldn’t follow those who broke away”. He was talking about the race of the day before.

“Now we can take a look, but I think the problem is tire pressure” answered the mechanic, a short, fat guy, with a dirty jumpsuit and two big moustaches which may be the envy of Birra Moretti’s testimonial.

“You told me that you have something for him” the voice of my father brought me back to reality. Probably he was feeling out of place. He was an expert of tractors, not of bikes. In addition, this entire scene took place in surreal silence.

One could enter Luciano Rebellato’s shop just like in a vestry and the customers often would gather in small group to quietly talk about their amateur cycling experiences.

“Come with me” answered Luciano and so my father took my hand and we went to the back of the store.

“There it is, it is like a new one” Luciano pointed to a yellow bike suited for a guy of my age. I couldn’t believe my eyes, I was in awe. We got closer to the bike, and I started stroking the frame, where you could see the brand Rebellato, the seat, the handlebars.

“With this bike you can have a lot of fun” - Luciano said – “now it’s up to you” My father put a hand in his pocket and pulled out quite a lot of money. Nowadays I think about his great sacrifice to afford that bike, but in that moment I could just think about that yellow bike.

I don’t know why, but such thoughts come to my mind just today, at the start of the Milan-Sanremo. I

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have in front of me 290 kilometers of race, a single path, very hard, legendary. Along with me 174 other cyclists, people who would be ready to any sacrifice to win this race.

The cyclists are all crazy. And this is the only feature that we have in common. For the rest we are quite different. There are dreamers, the guys who are happy just to be here: they are mostly young, ambitious, gascon. They know they do not have the required experience for a Super classic, but this doesn’t stop them from fantasizing because they know that among them, there is a future champion, predestined, someone who will inflame the crowd. For all the others there is only a dream, which is no small matter.

Then there are hunters. Yeah, because the race is full of traps. They lure you, they fool you, they tempt you. You must watch out because actually, in the end, you may be fooled by their traps or fall into their net. The pros’ teams are full of hunters, their contribution is very important for the victory of the team.

And finally there are champions. You can recognize them because they are surrounded by journalists, photographers and kids asking for their autograph. At the Milan-Sanremo they are all there, glaring at each other. They don’t talk to each other although they are friends. Because here friendship doesn’t matter.

There can only be one winner and the runner-up will be just the first of the last.

We, of Team Novo Nordisk, have another feature: the diabetes, an extra enemy, a sneaky enemy who is able to take away your strength, ideas, strategies and even your dreams. Today my glycaemia is perfect, I won’t have trouble. Actually the diabetes, for me, has never been a problem. We move all together from Piazza Castello toward Chiesa Rossa street. There are 7 kilometers in which you have the time for final checks and some knowing looks with your teammates. Everyone knows what to do, we have been preparing for this, discussing it among ourselves and with the team manager. Now it’s time to put into effect our good resolutions and show the world that with diabetes you can do everything, even take part, as pros, in a very hard race like the Milan-Sanremo. In addition, each of us must prove to everyone that the opportunity that we have been offered and the trust which we have been granted, are the right recognition of our passion.

We don’t have big cards to play for the final victory. One of the many things that cycling taught me is humility and that we must recognize that there are more experienced and stronger teams with more tricks up their sleeves. To win a Milan-Sanremo it takes talent, brain and heart and if you want to be a champion you must have these three skills, you're free to choose the order.

But it is our intention to show ourselves, to show the whole world what the professionals of Team Novo Nordisk are made of, the cyclists with diabetes. We only have one chance: breakaway.

Today is a wonderful day, the ideal day for a nice breakaway. I wake up early, at 5:30, and make a hearty breakfast rich in carbohydrates: bread, butter, jam, cereals. Some people have a plate of pasta but, honestly, 64

at that hour in the morning I get nauseous just thinking about it. I go up to my room for the final preparations, take my backpack and go down to the lobby of the hotel to get on the team bus.

On the way to the starting point we don’t talk. The air can be cut with a knife and we know it will be very difficult race. We are tense, focused, determined to give our best. Words are useless - we need to take action.

Cycling is not like politics where everyone wins and no one ever loses. It’s not like soccer, where you can lose for a denied penalty. Here there are no tricks or mistakes, here one person crosses the finish line with his arms to the sky and the others arrive with their heads bowed.

I look out the window to see a sleepy city: there’s an old man walking with his dachshund, there’s an early runner and also someone who’s coming home on wobbly legs after a night of revelry.

We arrive in Piazza Castello more or less together with the other teams. Everyone approaches their bikes in silence - we are all at the peak of our concentration. Around the big names there is the usual group of people: I see Sagan, the first Slovak cyclist to graduate world champion. He laughs and jokes, but it’s just a way to fight the tension. Then there’s Gaviria, a Colombian nicknamed El misil, even if he doesn’t like it. He’s the kind of guy who can say his piece in a sprint. And then I see Ewan, a tiny little Australian guy, light as a feather: if in the sprint he passes you by a meter then it is quite hard to reach.

We hop on the saddle, one makes the sign of the cross, another touches his testicles. In front of us there are 290 kilometers of asphalt. Some are wondering if they will succeed in winning while others wonder if they will succeed in arriving.

The first stretch in the city is spent practically walking and then, finally, the departure. We know what we have to do and so, a few miles from the start, we sprint. There are ten of us, but the most important is that there are four of us from Novo. With me there is Umberto, the other Italian of the team; and then there are Joonas and Charles. As we push the pace I think of the beginning of this adventure.

The day I came into the world, October 28, 1988, was a Friday and it was pouring rain. Of course I don’t remember anything about that day because I was busy learning to cry and breathe. My birth was not a great event for the country and all in all passed into general indifference, apart from the joy and emotion of my parents.

In reality, in the bars and in the streets of Camposampiero there was talk of other things: Senna and Prost were a few hours from beating each other. On Sunday, in fact, the last grand prix of the Formula 1 season would have been held in Japan with the two McLaren drivers engaged in the record. There was bad blood between the two and only a few weeks before, in Portugal, Senna had pushed Prost against a wall risking compromising the race and both of their seasons. At the end there were accusations and big words and, in short, they swore that they would've fought at the next and last race.

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The country was divided, as is often the case in sport: dualisms allow to sell more “ombre" in bars and more copies of newspapers that naturally wallow in these controversies. Mazzola or Rivera, Coppi or Bartali, Benvenuti or Mazzinghi are names of athletes that I have never known but, even today, inflame the memories of fans.

Just for the record, immediately after the start the engine of Senna went off and the Brazilian managed to reactivate it by taking advantage of a slight slope of the starting grid.

Prost took advantage, taking the lead in the race. Indeed, to enter into the merits of my story, he ran ahead. But Senna was strong, strong indeed; he began to run again, to overcome adversaries, one after the other, inexorably. Spectators shouted at every passing and shouted thirteen times that day. They screamed from the side of the racetrack and screamed in bars all over the world, from Rio de Janeiro to Camposampiero. Until when during the 28th lap, taking advantage of a dubbing, Senna took the lead of the race and became unreachable. He earned that title to the delight of his fans, of those who had bet on his triumph and, let’s face it frankly, of his bank account.

The first years of my life passed in serenity. A very united family, two present and responsible parents. At school I was doing well, nothing sensational, but I never had big problems.

You could say my life changed that day, in Luciano’s shop, when we loaded the yellow Rebellato into my father’s car. On the way home, every now and then I turned to check on her, as if she was sick in an ambulance. “Is everything all right?” I wanted to ask her, “Oh. Are you cold? Are you thirsty?”. In fact, I was practically delirious with joy and I couldn’t wait to try it.

Until that moment the only racing bike I had approached was my father's. I remember it was big. big and untouchable. I was content with my mountain bike with which I threw myself down the fields, especially downhill because the high speed makes me crazy.

But with the Rebellato it was different. With that I felt like another person, unbeatable, ready for the big challenges. My mother, to tell the truth, was a bit worried. I heard her at night, in the kitchen, complaining to my father.

“What were you thinking? A racing bike. He’s a little boy, he’s on the street all day, in the town I was told that he goes downhill like a madman.”.

“Don't worry about it, Cristina, come on, he’s got his head on his shoulders," said my dad while he was setting up the table.

“Not for long. Still, force him to wear a helmet.” “He already has one. Don’t worry about it.”

“I do worry about it, you’re both reckless, the only difference is that he’s a child and you’re a man. Now

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go wash your hands because dinner is ready.”

Within a few weeks another problem arose. I felt that with that bike I had no rivals: climbs, descents, sprints, there was no one there. I wanted to participate in the races.

So, when I saw the poster of a race for very young cyclists, I made my decision. I took advantage of a good grade I took in mathematics, I took a breath and while my mother put pasta in the dish I promptly said: “Today I took seven and a half in mathematics” "Written or oral?" my mother took off her apron “Oral, but I already had a good grade in the written part.

“Good job, you’re making progress.” said my father as he scraped parmesan cheese into his plate. “Next year, you promised me, I can start racing with my bike.”

“Sure thing, as long as you are promoted.”

“And what’s the problem? I’ve got good grades. Yeah.” - I took a breath - “But, in the meantime, on Sunday there will be a race. A race for young cyclists. It’s right near here, in Fiumicello, a couple of kilometers from home” I took a long break grating the parmesan in the plate. “Dad, can I go?”

My mother looked at my father with an air of reproach “I would have sworn. You gave him that toy, and now we’re reaping what we saw.” It was her only comment.

“Come on, Mom, it’s a race for kids, there’s no risk.”

The only thing my father said was “We'll see" but for me, it was a yes. My mother rolled her eyes and this confirmed my hypothesis. I had done it.

The night before the race I could not sleep. I forced my father to accompany me long before the beginning.

I was given a number, my first bib, I wore a helmet. As the other competitors arrived, I realized that some of them were twice my size, someone even with some beard hair on their cheeks, and me, I was just a child, perhaps even smaller than the average for my age.

It was the beginning of September, a typical Autumn day with fog in the early morning hours slowly rising towards the hills. The race included a path of about 5 kilometers, more or less flat. After the start I tried to stay in the first group of the race. “I will sprint past them later” I said to myself while the spectators along the way cheered us loudly. I was mainly watching a couple of kids who had been shown to me as the strongest. And, in fact, they were the ones who made the pace.

“The important thing is to stay here, close to them, and then when we're a hundred meters from the finish line, I stick them like thrushes in the spit.” I kept repeating to myself.

But then, when we arrived at a hundred meters from the finish line they were the ones who sprinted, I 69

tried to react but… there was nothing I could do, they were stronger.

I ranked sixth or maybe seventh, finishing a few meters from the winner. But I was not satisfied because I really wanted to win that race.

“Great job” said my father on the way back.

“Not enough. It would have been great if I won."

“Come on, Andrea, those kids were twice your size. At your age a year or two makes the difference, believe me.”

Yes, those were nice words, but they could not soothe my disappointment. I was heartbroken, disappointed, I was going to start crying and my father told me something that I still remember with great affection.

“In sport, you never lose” - he whispered closing the door of the car – “you either win or learn" Back home I unloaded the bike, I cleaned it thinking that my debut was not what I had imagined, that I was not as strong as I thought and, especially, that the others were way too much older than me. That evening, at dinner, I was silent: my mother had prepared polenta but I was not very hungry “Andrea, it’s so good. I even put mushrooms in it.” “I know, Mom, but I’m not hungry.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” my father said, “you’ll see that next year it will go better. This year the season is practically over, you made this race because it was behind close to our house. Now think about training yourself. So eat this polenta, first.”

Next year. It seemed to me that a century had to go by, months and months without racing. I didn’t know if I could do it.

“OK guys, 4 minutes. You have a 4-minute head start. Come on, come on, keep pushing.” someone from the team car gives us directions on our breakaway. We’re fine. We alternate at the head of the group so we don’t get too tired. We at Novo are collaborating well with the other Italian boys Fausto, Luca, Mirco and Alessandro. But even with foreigners, it only took a look to understand each other.

"What are they doing in the back?" I ask the technicians “For the moment nothing, it seems like they are on a trip – Massimo Podenzana answers me from the window of the team car - But do not worry about what they are doing behind, think about what you are doing. It’s a big thing". Massimo Podenzana, the “Pode”, a Ligurian always with a smile on his face, a real rarity. As a cyclist he is a legend: 30 years of experience, two times national road champion, leader of the Giro d'Italia for nine days in 1988. But above all the stage victory in the Tour de France in 1996 after going on a solitary breakaway at 4 kilometers from the finish line. I mean, he’s an expert about breakaways.

“How’s your blood sugar coming along?” - the doctor asks me – “Are you all right?

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“I do not care about blood sugar. Anyway, yeah, no problem at all!” “What about you, Umberto?”

“Yeah, it’s all right” “Well then, get on with it” We are on the plain, towards Ovada. We pick up the pace. Cameras all over the world are watching and I imagine that in my town they will all be glued to their televisions. My father and mother at home, sitting in the living room, excited. My wife Alessia holding my little Filippo, one eye fixed on him and one fixed on the screen. I wonder if he will have the same passion for cycling as I do, or maybe he will become a doctor, a judge, maybe an architect. I also attended university, after graduating as an IT expert. For a couple of years, I was enrolled in statistics - a difficult faculty. Then I made my choice: the bike. That means that the academic world will learn to deal with it.

Certainly I will not force him. If he has will, ability and spirit of sacrifice, that's good. Otherwise it is better to look for other ways. In short, I will not be one of those fathers who, on Sunday mornings, sit on the side-lines, or along the pools and begin to scream at their children bumpy phrases of incitement, with the only result of terrorizing them. With the result that they, one fine day decide to stop doing everything.

Not to mention mothers who can be even worse than husbands. Once I happened to see a kids’ football match, the kids were at most 10 years old, and there was a 'lady" covered in fur that was shouting unrepeatable phrases to a teammate of her son guilty of not having passed him the ball at the right time. Of course, the mother of the other kid was upset: in short, a struggle has broken out that involved husbands, friends, other parents. Really an unworthy spectacle: the children stopped in the middle of the field and looked at the stands where the parents were screaming and hitting each other with no real reason.

My parents, fortunately, have always remained on the side-lines of my cycling career, even the year after my debut, when I joined the youngest team of GS Fiumicello. There were older kids and others my age.

Among the older ones there was Marco Marcato, a boy from San Donà di Piave, who was really strong. He had a roller skating background because in the province of Venice skating was very popular. His mother had enrolled him in a course and he had obtained good results before the love for cycling convinced him to change sports. Today he is a wingman of Fabio Aru and runs for the UAE Team in the most important races of the season.

I dreamed of going home with a cup to show off, to put on the cupboard, to show friends, relatives. So I wanted a trophy. But it was a long wait, I classified in many places, but that damn first place on the podium was late to arrive.

Today is the ideal day for a Milan-Sanremo. There is a nice sun and calm wind when we go down the Passo del Turchino and we jump downhill towards Genoa. We have a six-minute lead after three hours of com-

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petition. I feel good and the descent has always given me a particular thrill. I like speed, 70-80 kilometers per hour, with peaks over 100. I curl around the bike, I become one with a frame, wheels and pedals as if we were one. I have always had a very physical relationship with my bike, I like to take care of the details, of course together with the mechanics. But when you're going downhill, the main difference is made by your sensitivity: if you touch too much the brake levers, maybe while you are speeding on the wet asphalt, you will find yourself with your legs in the air and you can also get hurt quite badly. Arenzano, Varazze, Albisola, Spotorno. Some say that the Riviera di Ponente is less beautiful than the Riviera di Levante.

Well, of course, the charm of the Cinque Terre is not disputed. Those villages overlooking the sea, the way of love, the low vineyards where to you have to get on your knees and break your back be able to harvest.

And then, as a result, the Sciacchetrà, a fantastic wine, if you can still find a genuine bottle, which is not easy.

With my wife, we went there on a summer holiday and I have some very beautiful memories. You take the train from the station of La Spezia and then you just have to walk around the “carrugi” of Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola with the scent of pesto that keeps you company. The most beautiful memory is that of the marinas with the boats of the fishermen pulled in on dry land. They were there, standing still, seemed to rest after so many miles of effort, but ready to leave.

But the Ponente is just as impressive. I notice it as we pass through Spotorno, in front of the islet of Bergeggi, immediately after Savona: a natural oasis that you can only approach by swimming or by canoeing. An incredible sea that in summer becomes the favourite destination of tourists from all over the world. Even though, in the middle of August it becomes difficult to park not only a car, but even a bicycle.

August 15, a historic day, at least for me. Many years ago, on that day, there was a race for the Minors category. We were all 13, 14 years old and I still was a bit 'little' compared to other guys, but I never gave up and I could count on my speed in the sprint.

In those years I ran with a pearly white Fondriest, a bike that I loved very much: my father kept the frame in the garage, along with that of my other bicycles. Sometimes, when I’m at home, I like to get into that garage, see my bikes again, caress them. Each one of them represents an indelible part of my career and the pearly white Fondriest, well, that’s really special.

That August day we ran in the province of Padua, 30 kilometres, the right distance to stay in the group and play the best cards in the last few meters. Only a few days before I was glued to the television to see Fiona May win the gold in the long jump to the World Championships in Edmonton, in Canada. Fiona May, she's a great athlete. Well, if I had not had this love for cycling, maybe I could have devoted myself

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to athletics: I like individual sports, those where you are responsible for your mistakes, but also the author of your successes. In which specialty? There's no need to think about it, the 100 meters flat. Here there are no tactics, you just have to be quick, keep your head down in the first strides, do not look at your rivals, concentrate only on the yarn because it is your only opponent. You must be a little crazy, maybe a little neurotic to run the 100 meters. Ten seconds, even less, and in those ten seconds you play for everything: years of sacrifices, exhausting training, diets, weights, lengthening, renunciation.

I wonder if in those 10 seconds you have time to think, to remember your life, your beginnings, your first victories. In 10 seconds, you don’t have time to think, breathe or die like Galeazzi screamed in his news reports. But I’m sure that even if you only have 10 seconds at your disposal, life passes you by like a movie: one day I’d like to ask Bolt! Yeah, maybe I will.

So on that day of August 2001, a few days before the tragedy that would forever change the world, I felt that my time had come. I got so many good results, so many sprints, but never the victory. I could never bring that damn cup.

But that’s enough, I was telling myself along the way, today it is my turn. I just need to stay here in the lead group, no, WE need to stay here, me and my pearly white Fondriest. I feel good, I’m not struggling to keep the pace even if there are bigger and bigger guys near me, at least I remember them like that.

There’s a guy from Padua with a white and blue shirt, he’s a strong one, I was told so, one who’s already won.

At 300 meters from the arrival “Rambo" gets up on the pedals and starts pedaling as fast as he can. The others were surprised, but I was not. I had seen a flash in his eyes a few moments before the sprint. I am the first to react, I pick up his pacing. This “Rambo” pushes like an obsessed, but I am right next to him, the others are at around 10 meters from us. He doesn’t turn around, he knows I’m glued to his wheel; he knows that it is me and him that are fighting for the first place.

At the right time, there were around 70-80 meters from the finish line, I move to the right, he sees me with the tail of his eye and tries to block me: but it’s too late, I’m not there anymore. I have passed to the left and I am flying towards the finish line. I am too fast, he cannot reach me anymore, bye bye “Rambo”. It is done… it is done… it is don… what the…

It happens the unthinkable: my foot slips up from the pedal, I risk to lose balance and fall on the finish line, I can no longer push, I see the finish line coming closer and closer but I cannot do anything to accelerate. I can only make use of the momentum, wait and pray, pray and wait. Ten meters, five, two, I raise my arms to the sky. These are just a few seconds, fractions of a second, but for me, it seems like a lifetime.

I won, it is just a matter of a few centimeters, but I won.

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My father is the first one to meet me and he embraces me in silence, with a few tears on his face. He’s happy because he knows well how important this victory was for me, for my morale, for my team.

I walk into the house holding my cup to my chest while my dad dumps my bike out of the car. My mother can’t believe her gleaming eyes as she wipes her hands on her apron. She caresses me, kisses me on my sweaty head.

I put the trophy on the cupboard, then I go take a shower. I stay for a long time under the jet of boiling water, even if the weather is extremely hot. I relive the highlights of the race. I feel unbeatable now and I cannot wait to return to compete. Then I go down to the garage, I go to greet my Fondriest, I caress her as one would do with a dear thing or a loved one. I turn around, my father is there, he smiles - I think he’s proud of me today.

We have a lead of less than 6 minutes when we face the Capi: Capo Mele, Capo Cervo, Capo Berta. These may seem like a lot, but in reality they inform us that they started to close on us. I already know that soon we will find them right behind us.

I never thought I could escape diabetes. In September 2004 I ran for UC Giorgione, the strongest team in Veneto, a company with over 100 years of history. It began to be serious: retreats, 2/3 training per week, the ambition to win in the categories of both beginners and juniors.

I was going strong. From the first races of the season I was noticed because of some placements and some victories. Then, towards the end of the season, I began to feel always tired and, the worst thing is, I started having some cramps after just an hour of training. Until that moment I didn’t even know what they were.

I felt extremely disappointed, the night had become a nightmare. I drank three liters of water, I kept going to the bathroom.

The doctor’s office was modest: plastic seats in the waiting room, a few wrinkled magazines, a one-week old copy of the Tribuna.

"Hello” A child of eight, maybe ten years had approached. “Hello,” I answered him while his mother was watching and making sure that he was not bothering me. She was a sloppy, tired woman, probably took a couple of hours off from her employer. She looked like she got up early and couldn’t wait to go back to sleep. But still had to prepare dinner, bathe the child, wash dishes…

“Do you have to see Dr. Ferraris?” “Yes, I think so” “Do you have diabetes, too?”

“No, I don’t think so.” he seemed disappointed by my answer or maybe he was wondering something like

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"What are you doing here, then?” He kept staring at me in silence, maybe he would have wanted to ask me more questions when suddenly his mom told him “Giacomo, don’t bother him, come and sit down.”

“Don't worry ma'am, he's not bothering me” “Sorry, you know, he’s actually very shy, but here, in Ferraris's studio, he’s always looking for someone to talk to. On the other hand, it is comprehensible since, there's always a little bit of anxiety…”

I still could not understand why I was there because my father was clearly worried, he was trying to distract me, but in reality I read in his eyes the tension accumulated in those weeks. Maybe he had intuited something by reading the blood tests I had done a few days before: he certainly didn’t understand much about glycaemic values, but he had probably talked about it to some friends at the bar more experienced than him, maybe with some doctor.

“You don’t have to worry about it. - He kept telling me. - It’s nothing, maybe it has to do with the age.”

But it was the very fact that he kept telling me these words, like a litany, that made me worry. And then for a few days my mother did not smile at all and this, because I was accustomed to her perennial joy, sounded like a alarm bell. One night, when I got home, I caught them arguing in the living room, but they stopped as soon as they heard my footsteps in the hallway.

“Well, what’s going on?”

“No… nothing…" but they were clearly embarrassed.

A skinny nurse introduced us to Dr Ferraris's room. It was an old doctor, with the lab coat stretched on his belly, the result of a few too many beers with friends. He made us sit down and studied the results of the blood analysis in silence, touching occasionally the tip of his nose. On the wall behind him the diploma of degree, several certificates of participation in congresses, seminars, conferences in Italy and abroad.

And, at the centre of the wall, an image of Padre Pio almost to say that where science cannot reach, it is faith that must give us the right answers.

Then he took off his glasses and looked me right in the eyes. “I have news, both good and bad” At that moment my legs were trembling and my father kept his eyes turned towards the tip of his shoes.

“Andrea, unfortunately, I have to tell you that you have diabetes” I didn’t even know what diabetes was. So I looked at the doctor and looked at my father waiting for explanations.

“No problem, you can keep it under control. At the moment there is no definitive cure, but with proper nutrition and some injections you will be able to live your everyday life without any problem” I was speechless. I had diabetes. And what is diabetes? And why me? “It's just that I, every day, ride a

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bike and with cramps I assure you that…

“And here comes the good news. You can continue cycling and, with proper care, the cramps will remain only a bad memory.”

Those words, to me, sounded like beautiful music, a poem to my ears. I never had any problems with diabetes, even now that I’m running the Milan-Sanremo, diabetes is the last of my concerns, just as the doctor said.

Capo Mele, Capo Cervo, Capo Berta: hard but not impossible routes. It used to be the Turchino Pass that made the selection, but today with modern workouts and the technology of our bikes, the Turchino is not scary anymore.

When I was still an amateur the Milan-Sanremo kept me glued in front of the television; those were the years of Felice Pozzato, a Vicentino who won the 2006 edition with a sprint at the end while being very well protected by his teammates, Bettini and world champion Tom Boonen, who sacrificed themselves for his victory. And the work of the Belgian giant, who actually was over a meter and ninety centimeters high, that emphasizes the value of team play in a tough and selective race like this one.

In just that year I passed as an amateur with a very strong team. The most promising boys were selected between Tuscany and Veneto and I was called to be part of them. I was 18 years old, I really wanted to arrive at the finish line and this first engagement meant a lot to me. First of all, it was concrete recognition after so many sacrifices; and it also meant that even with diabetes I could compete at high levels.

And finally, pecunia non olet, I was starting to earn something, to be independent.

The team was called Veloce Club Breganze and I was its captain. And it’s no small thing: you feel the weight of responsibility as the guys look up to you. They expect answers and they know that your victory will be their victory.

When I arrived at Breganze I was welcomed by the sports director Carlo Finco, a former Bugno wingman of whom I remained very fond.

His first words were: “Now it’s the others who have to be careful of you”. And he was right. Carlo is a great character, a man of few words as we Venetians often are, but with a heart as big as a house. Even today he dedicates himself passionately to cycling for children, amateurs and he does so with a love that serves as an example for all those who have known him.

On September 8, 2010 the Astico-Brenta race was held, a classic race with almost 100 years of history.

That year the edition was particularly interesting because of the presence of the national amateur team from Russia and the technician of the national amateur, Marino Amadori. 182 kilometres with torrential water and a cold that froze your muscles. It is a race that attracts cyclists from all over the world, it is a 76

classic for amateurs, that runs on an impervious territory, between the two rivers Astico and Brenta, with one steep climb after another. My teammates promised me: “Today we take you to the finish line. Then, in the last meters, you are on your own. But rest assured that we do not make anyone run away. You can rest assured about that.

They were of their word and repelled every attack: there was always one with the shirt of Breganze ready to jump in pursuit of who was sprinting.

We ran over the hill in 20 or maybe 30, everybody was ready to go downhill at crazy speeds. The guys from the team did a valuable job and allowed me to stay in the lead group. But, aside from the adversaries, the cold and the rain were my enemies. I was freezing and I asked the team car to hand me a windbreaker to take care of myself.

“What do you want to wear?" Carlo shouted at me from the window “Think about pedaling, it’s your chance, don't worry about the rain, damn…!!"

Yeah, it’s easy to say, but I was on that saddle, thrown on wet asphalt with other crazy people who knew they’d be willing to get their most expensive ones cut to get to the finish line first.

70/80 kilometers per hour, if you touch the brakes you risk finding yourself in a cliff, the audience flows by next to you, they don't have faces, they are just shadows. All your focus is on those two wheels, your entire goal is to stick to the first ones and then sprint past them in the last few meters. Your dream is to ensure a place in eternal glory, to write your name alongside those of the great champions of the past.

I was particularly concerned about the Brazilian Rafael Andriato, who won the Giro del Veneto the previous year and who could count on his teammate Filippo Fortin. And then there’s Davide, Alberto and Sonny from Zalf Desiree Fior. But even I can count on my partner Alex Simoni. I feel that I may have a chance.

The arrival at Rossano Veneto is a sprint, just as I expected. During the breakaway I manage to slip in, to gain that meter that is as precious as a bank account. I’m not giving up that meter anymore, you have to shoot me if you want that meter because, of course, now that I took it, I won’t give it back. I raise my arms to the sky and I scream, I raise my arms to the sky and I scream, I raise my arms to the sky and I scream. A long, excruciating scream mixed with crying: a scream against diabetes, fatigue, the cold. But it’s also a shout of joy for myself, for my parents, for Carlo, for my teammates.

That day, September 8, 2010, with that scream, I realized that my life had changed: I would become a professional.

And now here I am, in the Milan-Sanremo, with this group of reckless people while behind they started

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sprinting again and soon we will have them on our tail. Masnada goes forward about ten meters and starts the climb of the Cipressa. I start to hear a metal noise. It’s an almost imperceptible noise, at the beginning, then closer and closer. They are the reels of change of one hundred, one hundred and fifty cyclists who for almost seven hours ran after you. Some voice, some whispered blasphemy in a dialect you don’t know.

Some call for help from a teammate, some encouragement from a team car. And then there they are, they pass you by, they don’t say anything to you while the crowd along the way cheers them. And you can't do it anymore. They leave a trail, a sour smell of sweat that tastes like a dream for those who, at this point in the race, start a new adventure, that of a possible victory. You step aside, you know you’ve accomplished your part, and you’re ready to receive the compliments of those who believed in you.

For almost seven hours we were at the top of the race, a breakaway that started just after the start. Seven hours is a long time, it is a lot of time to think, to remember. Even if we are a small group, in reality each of us is left alone with his thoughts. During such a long breakaway you have plenty of time to relive the stages of your life, the beautiful ones and the ugly ones. It’s the memories that give you the strength to pedal, the faces of those who have always been close to you.

These are confused memories that overlap as you push on the pedals, as fatigue bites your calves. While you know that now you have only one goal: crossing the finish line.

From this moment another race begins, their race, that for victory. The group remained there, waiting, without hurry. Because the group is never wrong. As they pass by I recognize some faces, that of some favourite champions even if at Milan-Sanremo there are never any favourites. It’s the beauty of this classic: everyone can take home the victory. Certainly not us that made that breakaway because we spent every crumb of energy.

These are the last kilometers of a race where you have nothing more to ask, you just have time to savour the meaning of your breakaway, of what that meant to your team, the Team Novo Nordisk, the team of cyclists with diabetes.

It was my first professional engagement, although after my victory in the Astico Brenta there were opportunities.

“They’ve been looking for you” - Carlo told me - “they’d like to hire you. But your diabetes didn’t help you. They are not sure about it, it’s too big a responsibility” “That's not a new thing". I answered. But I did not give up, I knew that sooner or later the good opportunity would come. Also because that year I was going really strong, seven, eight victories. In short, I was ready for the big jump.

The occasion arrived in 2013. Carlo called me on the phone.

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“Hello Andrea, are you all right? Listen up, Vassili Davidenko called me". “Sorry, I didn’t understand.

Who called you?”

“Vassili Davidenko. He is a Russian champion, he participated in the Olympics in '96, at the Giro d'Italia… in short, he knows his stuff ” “Yes, I think I understand” “In short, Vassili has retired from racing and is putting together a team of professionals. Young people, with the will to step forward. He wants to meet you.”

“Yeah, sure, and after so many nice words, the problem of diabetes comes out and nothing is done” “That's the nice thing. Diabetes will not be a problem, in fact it is the reason why Vassili wants to know you. The team will be composed only of athletes with diabetes” “Everyone with diabetes?”

“Exactly. Guys from all over the world to show that with diabetes you can do anything, maybe even win a Milan-Sanremo. The team will be called Novo Nordisk, a pharmaceutical company that produces insulin.”

“Yes, I know it. Carlo, my legs are shaking, this is wonderful news” “Come on, I'll come and get you, Vassili is waiting for us in Verona” “When?”

“What do you mean when? Today.”

On the road I kept asking Carlo questions, I couldn’t keep quiet, but he couldn’t answer. “Are you sure they are going to choose me?”

“I just told you he wants to meet you” “And how many of us will be there?”

"I don't know, ten, fifteen” “What races are we going to participate in?”

“Andrea, I... don't.... know” he answered impatiently by chanting the words.

We reached the hotel where Vassili was waiting for us. It was a quick meeting, in English, and I had a little trouble expressing myself, but I understood what I had to understand “The team is practically done” Vassili told me while vigorously shaking my hand - “but we will surely find a place for you. I’ll see you in Alicante for the meeting.”

Carlo looked at me without understanding a word we were saying, he was just trying to read my eyes. And my 32-tooth smile was the clearest answer. We signed the contract in a few minutes and I went home with my first professional engagement in my pocket. It was a unique emotion, I wanted to half-jump with joy.

But now I was a professional and I had to be careful not to overdo it. Once I left Vassili’s hotel, away from prying eyes, I jumped on Carlo and embraced him with such strength that he was about to suffocate. “Stop 81

it, Andrea, what are you doing? You are going to strangle me” he shouted happily at me. After all it was a great victory also for him and he deserved it.

A few weeks later, in Alicante, my experience among the pros began. I met the other guys on the team, the doctors, the coaches, the mechanics, the physiotherapists, the staff. I wasn’t used to this, my first feeling was to feel protected, 24 hours a day. And not only with regard to diabetes, which was certainly being monitored carefully, but also my needs, my weaknesses, my rituals. The team is like a big shield under which we athletes shelter from opponents and the outside world, from distrust, from the cliché.

If you have a physical, psychological or personal problems there is always someone on the team ready to help you and protect you. And this, especially for the younger kids who are living away from home, is very important.

The work of these years has given great results: I got excellent placements, but I miss the victory. Certainly it is more difficult among the pros, but I’m sure it will happen sooner or later…

I also had many disappointments, one in particular, in 2017. I had participated in the Tirreno-Adriatico in preparation for the Milan-Sanremo. I fell and my leg swelled up.

On Wednesday night I received a visit from the anti-doping team and I realized that my leg hurt more and more and had become bruised. So I went to the E.R., thinking a couple of anti-inflammatory drugs would solve the problem.

The doctor on duty was very young, but already experienced in trauma of this type “Did you happen to fall?”

“Yes, a few days ago, with the bicycle” “Even I, when I can, hop on my bicycle” “Yeah... Well... Actually it is my job” “Woah, a professional” “Yeah. I have to be in Milan on Sunday. It’s the day of the Milan-Sanremo” “Well... Mr. Peron… I don't know how to tell you this… you have a bad infection here” “Well, give me some pills, maybe some ointment.”

“See Peron, it’s not a problem of pills or ointments, it’s a slightly more serious matter. Actually I don’t think you’re able to run.”

“You are joking, aren't you? Maybe you don’t realize what you're saying, the Milan-Sanremo is one of the most important races of the season. What is the problem with a swollen leg?!”

“The problem isn’t the swelling, it’s what the swelling means. In the next few days, before the therapy starts to kick in, you're going to be in pain, you won't be able to move that leg, let alone pedal for two hundred and more miles”

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The whole world collapsed on my head, months of training wasted, the disappointment of my teammates, the suffering of having to stay at home, in front of the television. And anyway that young doctor was not wrong: I stood still for two months before returning to training and certainly the medical committee would not allow me to take part of that edition of the race.”

I’m a few meters away, I’m exhausted, but happy. I can’t get up on the saddle, but I can spin on the pedals.

I cross the finish line while everyone celebrates the winner, but also we of Team Novo Nordisk, we have a reason to celebrate: the world has heard of us, of our sacrifices, of our diabetes. Of course I look towards the podium and I have a bit of envy for those who will climb the highest step. Alaphilippe is a champion, he deserves success even if he will never know how important this breakaway has been for me, to put in order my memories, my emotions, my hopes.

As so many people hug me, and someone supports me to help me get off my bike, I think about how much I would have liked to take part in that sprint for victory, my specialty. Maybe get to the Sanremo at the top of the form, as I was in the summer. But the human body is not a machine.

I am left with the enormous satisfaction for a result that all of us in the team wanted with strength and determination.

I am left with the emotion of a breakaway, a solitary race towards an imaginary goal, a race that ends where the race begins.

I’m in a hurry to go home to hug Alessia and Filippo.

And then I have the dream. But this, perhaps, will be another story.

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“

For me cycling means competition. I was born with the desire to win. I’ve never hidden from anyone that I have diabetes and I’ve never been ashamed of my sad moments because I have always been able to count on the support of those who are close to me my team, my family and my partner. My best memory is the Most Courageous Rider jersey worn on the Tour of California: It was a great honour for me to wear that jersey for two days and pedal alongside the world’s strongest cyclists.

“

Charles Planet Cyclist of Team Novo Nordisk

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Umberto Poli Professional cyclist Team Novo Nordisk

Chapter IV Umberto’s breakaway He liked to get there early and look around when the room was empty. He had discovered that small details are noticeable when there are no customers, when the tension for service is not yet high. He noticed that there was a rose inside a big vase under the window that had bloomed early and that the petals had assumed a faded colour and would soon fall. Alfredo was meticulous, thorough, and probably for his employees he was a pain in the ass. On the other hand, he was born in September and his character had assumed, for better or worse, the typical characteristics of the sign of the virgo.

When he was not wearing the chef ’s jacket, Alfredo was very careful about his clothing: he almost never wore a tie, apart from formal occasions, but cashmere sweaters and wide-ribbed velvet trousers in winter, Lacoste and fresh wool in summer. On his feet he only wore English model shoes, with laces, never loafers.

He was horrified by a pair of German sandals, those with crossed laces, just to be clear, but in the kitchen he always wore a pair of light blue Crocs, like a surgeon in the emergency room. Perhaps it was a habit or perhaps the need to be comfortable for so many hours, standing in front of the stove. certainly it was a detail that he had learned when he was sous chef in a starred restaurant in Milan.

The role of the sous chef is fundamental for the organization of an important restaurant. First of all, there’s the second chef in command, able to replace the executive chef, the big boss. He must therefore be able to carry out all the tasks of the head chef when he is absent and ensure that the kitchen runs smoothly.

And then the sous chef refers to the different chief cooks (chef saucier, chef poissonier, chef rôtisseur, chef garde-manger, chef pâtissier...), the orders and all the kitchen staff, including the dishwasher.

A gruelling job, six days a week, but it is also the only way to learn how to cook by stealing the secrets of the executive and trying to invent new dishes worthy of the name of the restaurant. In the early days Alfredo was very intimidated: his master was one of those people who have the ability to shake the blood in your veins. A true genius of haute cuisine, acclaimed by critics and the media, but with a despotic, arrogant, presumptuous attitude, comparable only to Vittorio Sgarbi during his best shows. And on the other

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hand Alfredo was at the first important experience.

He had graduated as a cook, worked in some restaurants in Padua and Verona before being called to the court of His Majesty. A great test of trust on his part, but Alfredo understood that that would be the occasion of his life and he could not go wrong.

In the two years he had spent in Milan he had learned a lot, he had also been forced to suffer hardship and heavy humiliations, but he had reckoned them. Then, with the help of his parents and a small local bank, he decided to make the big leap. He opened his own restaurant, “the Fogher”. It was small, with only a few tables, but of very high quality and class. And the results were not long in coming: satisfied customers, excellent reviews, to the point that now, Alfredo, aspired to the first Michelin star. He did not know if and when that star would arrive, but for Alfredo that star represented a concrete goal.

The suppliers' vans began to arrive: Alfredo personally inspected the vegetable boxes, the fish, the meat, he knew that raw material is fundamental for any dish and he had chosen meticulously the best producers, farmers and breeders.

For the wines he had relied on a young but very experienced winemaker: she was a beautiful girl with twometer legs. a former basketball player whose presence was always well received by the staff. Today the Fogher winery could offer customers bottles of different value, white and red wines, sparkling and still, but all of the highest quality.

Alfredo rejected a box of scallops “Take these to the trattoria in front of us,” he told the fisherman that he swore that his fish was extremely fresh. But it only took a gaze from Alfredo to end the discussion and soon the poor old man had to admit that yes, they were fresh, maybe a day or two ago…

Once all the shopping was checked, Alfredo wore the jacket: it was the signal that, from that moment on, his assistants were required to be silent and to respect roles and rules.

It was show time. ********** I’m afraid of two things: wet descents and punctures. Which, for a professional cyclist with diabetes, is not really the best. But when I’m away from the races the problem doesn’t arise.

Today, for example, is the day of the “girobar”, a nice ride with a group of friends: an hour pedalling on our bikes, then we stop at the bar, and we return back home. Of course, in recent times, after the long breakaway at the Milan-Sanremo race, even the girobar has become tiring: everyone asks questions, everyone wants to know. While we’re pedalling or while we’re standing in front of a nice hot cappuccino. “Was it hard?”

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“But, honestly, have you ever thought about winning?"

“And what about now, what are you going to do next year?"

“And this Alaphilippe, how strong is he?”

I try to answer everyone, I would hate to disappoint them, to seem presumptuous, because I really hate presumption.

There are three things I’ve learned from cycling: one is that presumption doesn’t pay because when you’re riding your bike you're either going fast or you’re going slow, there’s no middle ground. And there’s no point in getting off on it, because at the end of the day, it’s the results that matter.

You must be humble, respectful of your tools and your abilities, both physical and mental. And then you have to respect the rules and the opponents: and that’s the second thing I learned, don’t take advantage of situations. If someone has a hole in his wheel or has to stop for physiological needs, the others wait for him, they do not take advantage of it. In cycling you don’t need slow motion because there are no simulators: it’s not like football where you throw yourself on the ground in the penalty area screaming with pain when your scorer has not even touched you.

In cycling, the old runners show you the way of respect, they tell you to step aside when It is needed, they teach you to stay in your place especially if you are a young man with a hot head. There are written rules, but those that count are taught by the road itself and the experience, are taught by the silence of the opponents because you did not behave well, are taught to you by the low look of your comrades because you betrayed them. For all these reasons cycling is a unique sport, an individual sport, but also a team sport, a sport that is not taught, but learned. There is no figure of the master as in tennis, swimming or golf. You learn to ride alone, first on the red tricycle, then on the bike with wheels, in the park, maybe helped by your grandfather: you learn to pedal as you learned to speak, to cry, to walk.

Then, if you’re predestined, you’ll have to learn to suffer. You may have an extremely fit body and a unique talent, but if you do not know how to suffer, everything will be useless, cycling will not notice you and you will always remain an amateur, one that maybe gets up early on Sunday, and either with the sun or with the rain, rides his bike up and down the hills. My coaches have always told me that no matter how strong you may be, you will never choose to become a professional, cycling will choose for you.

And this is the third thing I learned from cycling: I, Umberto Poli, a cyclist with diabetes, was chosen.

Once at home I took a shower and I laid down on the couch with the music of the band Darkness in the background. The house smelled clean, a sign that my mother must have taken advantage of my absence to tidy up the place: since I went to live alone, between us there was an unspoken agreement. She was happy to take care of me again and I pretended not to notice, but I must confess, getting back into a clean house always has a nice effect.

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I like to lie on the couch after a workout, even if the girobar is nothing much more than a walk, and enjoy my free time, my space. I took a candy bar because I felt that my blood sugar was low when suddenly my phone rang.

“Umberto? What are you doing?" it was the voice of my best friend “Hello Lorenzo… nothing… I'm resting. What about you?”

“I'm watching the TV. Soon Verona will play. Do you want to see it together?” “No, you know, football does not interest me.”

“Come on, you used to play well, you were a nice defender". "Those were other times".

“Listen up, do you have plans for tonight?" “No, not really” “Okay then, so, we’re organizing a night out” “With whom?”

“The usual ones. Giulio, Massimiliano and Luca. We thought we’d go out to dinner. They opened a restaurant that everybody is recommending and we would like to try it.”

"Why not?”

“So I’ll pick you up at 8:00” “Yes, but let’s not be late. I have to get up early in the morning.”

“We won't be late. You’re such an old man. You'll be back in bed by 11:00. Well, the match is starting, I’ll see you later.”

"See you later” The restaurant “Il Fogher" was very nice and from the outside it was promising. “Are we sure we won't get plucked here?” someone said “Don't you worry. I’ve read that they have average prices. And even if they aren't, it won't be a problem for once…”

The group of friends entered and took their seats at the table reserved by Lorenzo. A bunch of fresh flowers were at the centre of the table.

“Thank God you called, there's not a single free table” “I told you, you eat well and you spend the right amount” “Well, guys, what do you tell me?”

“What about you! Congratulations for the Milan-Sanremo” “Don't talk about it!”

“No, no, you made a miracle… you and the others on the team" “What do you mean?”

“Four of us in the breakaway were way too many, there should have been two, three at most.”

“I’ll never understand this breakaway story. I know you’ve explained it to me a million times, but I can’t understand it.”

“That's cycling, don’t ask too many questions. Anyway, how are the studies?" “Great, and then, what spe92

cialization will you chose?”

“I thought anaesthesia. It’s a complete branch and then there’s the charm of the O.R.” “Wait, if you like the O.R. so much, why don’t you become a surgeon?”

“It’s too much tension. And then, you know, I’m shy, I have a hard time talking to people, patients who complain and who tell you their stories. I thought that as an anesthesiologist I’d put them to sleep and solve the problem.”

“The important thing is that you can wake them up.” commented Luca, a two-meter high man, the second line of the rugby team Petrarca, the neck slightly recessed between the shoulders and two hands that would strangle a bull. His father had put the oval ball in his cradle because in Padua rugby is followed just like football is in Rio de Janeiro or skiing in Val Badia.

“What did you do to your forehead?”

“Nothing, a scrambled cleat, three or four points. However, we won easily" “The helmet isn't an option?”

“Oh. That's girls' stuff: More importantly, I have some good news. I’ve been summoned to be a part of the national team" “That's awesome. Six Nations?”

“No, I wish, it’s a test match with Argentina. Tough guys. But the real game is next Sunday: the derby with Rovigo. It practically stops the city as if it were the Superbowl. If you lose, in bars they don't even look you in your eyes, but if you win they offer you coffee. And also brioche” “You don’t strike me as the coffee and brioche type. In my opinion, for breakfast, you eat a steak with potatoes” “Or maybe a plate of crickets” said Giulio “Oh my God, that's gross” “Look, it’s the future, the world’s population will soon be eating insects, they’re high in protein, and they don’t cost anything.” Giulio was very prepared on the subject. After graduating in agriculture he dedicated himself to developing a special type of pasta made with cricket flour.

“How’s your project going, by the way?”

“Well, I received a small scholarship and I am in contact with some manufacturers. The problems are the quibbles, the bureaucracy and that this country can’t look past its nose. I’m thinking about going to Great Britain. Just know that a lot of restaurants where you only eat insects opened there” “Whatever, however we settle for the delicacies that the menu offers. You, Giulio, eat your bugs, I’ll go for something more substantial” Giulio shook his head as if to say that it was useless, they would never understand.

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The maître brags a little bit too much, but gave us excellent advice. I took a “sopa coada", a dish that I haven’t eaten in a long time because it is not easy to find in restaurants and requires a long preparation.

The basic ingredient is pigeons but the problem is cooking, at least 5 hours are needed. I must say that it was very good, as well as Lorenzo's Vicentina capon and the risotto with cabbages and luganiga that Giulio, Luca and Massimiliano ordered. But the real surprise was the cake, the rufioli, some puff pastry halfmoons filled with Venetian mustard, very spicy and, strangely, not fried! It was really an unusual thing, extremely tasty. A nice bottle of Bardolino was the right beverage to accompany the whole meal.

“Hello Umberto” I turned back towards that voice and found a guy in a chef ’s hat smiling at me with 32 teeth. “Excuse me, do we know each other?”

“You are Umberto Poli, right? The cyclist” “Mmmhhh…. Yes.” I was intrigued by the fact that someone had recognized me. “I saw you on television, at the Milan-Sanremo. You sprinted away like the wind". “Yep, but at the end...”

“It doesn’t matter. You did a great thing, your breakaway, almost 300 kilometres of breakaway!!”

I didn’t know what to say, I was a bit embarrassed and my friends had started grinning and elbowing.

“Our champion". said Luca to make a fool of me.

“So you just don’t recognize me” I looked at him well, but honestly that face didn’t say anything to me. “I’m Alfredo, we were together at the hotel management school” Suddenly I had an epiphany.

"Sure I remember! Alfredo… of course I remember… You were in the last year and I was starting the specialization as a cook… how are you?”

I got up and we hugged.

“I'm fine. I’m really glad to see you” “Oh, by the way, we ate really well. I’ll surely give you some nice reviews on Tripadvisor” “Thank you, I hope your friends were satisfied too” “Obviously, - said Giulio - even if with insect meal…”

“You’ve really gone crazy. Forget the crickets and the grasshoppers and enjoy this divine food” “But you, Umberto, why did you ended up dropping everything?”

“Maybe cooking wasn’t my way. And then this passion for cycling.”

“Yes, I remember that back in the hotel management school days you had this obsession with cycling. But I thought it was a passion, not a job” “I have to tell you the truth. I didn’t ever think that one day I would become a cook, or even a chef like you.”

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“Listen up, Umberto, I have a little bit of work to do now. But I would like to be together a bit, just to understand a few things, I have a lot of questions to ask you. Tomorrow is my day of rest, but I’m here: I have an appointment with the wine expert who has to let me taste some organic wines. Why don’t you come by in the afternoon? We’ll have coffee.”

“Tomorrow? Yes, why not. Maybe you can introduce me to the wine expert. Is she worth it?" “Is she worth it? She definitely is. But don’t get your hopes up because she’s super-engaged.” “What's the problem? I’m not jealous…”

“All right, so I’ll see you tomorrow. Guys, have a good night.”

As soon as we were alone, Lorenzo broke the silence, “He is stingy, right?" “Who?” “Your friend, the chef. He could at least invite you to lunch instead of coffee: or better yet, make a great impression and say tonight you are all my guests. After all I know that with the great footballers that's how it's done.” “Yeah, but I am not a great footballer. And so this is the bill, take your cash.”

“Holy crap!!! Seventy euros each” “And I’m still hungry. - said Luca getting up from his chair – I think I'll go get some pizza" ********** I almost forgot. I didn’t really want to go to Alfredo’s restaurant, but I had made him a promise.

While I was parking, I noticed a beautiful girl leaving the restaurant and getting on a Fiat 500. Long hair, at least six feet tall, tight jeans.

“Is she the wine expert?”

“Yeah, but I told you. Don’t waste your time. Come on, I’ll make coffee, you start telling me everything,” “What do you want me to say? It was an extraordinary experience, because the Milan-Sanremo is an extraordinary race."

“No, no, let’s start from the beginning, with this passion. I remember that already at the hotel management school you used to be passionate about cycling” “Well, it all started a long time ago. I must have been six years old and my neighbour, Lino, Lino Scapini, had set up a team of kids. My friend Lorenzo, he was here last night at dinner, was part of the team and convinced me to try it out. It was just for a few short races, 50, 100 meters. But I was strong, so strong for my age. Don't forget that it was only a game, way far from being a sport, but Lino believed in me, he had seen some qualities, I don’t know, he always had a keen eye.”

“The point is that he gave me a new bike, a light blue Bianchi, but that’s when the problems started” 95

“What do you mean, you couldn’t win anymore?”

“No, it wasn't that. The main problem was my father, he was never satisfied, if I didn’t win, he scolded me.”

“But why, was he a champion?”

“No, he’s so temperamental, he was all over me, I wasn’t having fun anymore. And if you take the fun out of it for a kid, it’s over.”

Someone once wrote that children first adore their parents, then judge them and then, sometimes, forgive them. It’s a very deep phrase “I understand you very well. When I started this job, my father was against it. This country is full of cooks, he said, you’ll have a hard time looking for a job, it was a whine.

I won’t be a cook, I’ll be a chef, I kept telling him. But he kept saying that there's no difference between a cook or a chef, they're the same thing. And do you know when he convinced himself ? When he started seeing Masterchef on television, when he heard Cracco and Cannavacciuolo, that’s when he understood what haute cuisine means. It’s the power of television. And anyway, if I became what I am, I owe it only to my stubbornness” “And you say that to me? I am more stubborn than a mule! And anyway, in those early years, it was my mother who convinced me to quit. I don’t like to hear you and your father argue, Umberto, do it for me, forget the bike. So I started playing football and then judo, for four years, always with Lorenzo. We were inseparable and we still are.

But every day I walked by Lino’s door and he was there waiting for me. I’d come home from school, with my backpack on my back, and from a distance I’d see his figure, thin as hell, with long hair. And when I was in front of his house, he would point me to the celestial Bianchi and he would tell me: this is where he’s waiting for you, when you want, we’ll change the gears, because you’ve grown up, and it’s ready.”

“He’s also a stubborn one, isn't he?”

“He was very important to me, especially in the early years, I owe him a lot. However, when I was 12 years old, I couldn't handle it anymore. I talked about it with my parents and they realized that, I could not live without my bike, that that was my sport, not tatami or football. I wanted to ride along the streets” “And what about Lino?”

“Happy as a clam. Also because he was putting together a strong team. The head of our team was Attilio Viviani, Elia’s younger brother” “Elia Viviani? The champion?”

“That's him. Attilio always won and we had to work for him because even in the tiny teams made of kids we had to use some strategy. It was a strong team and I stayed with Lino until I was 15.”

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“Then, just at the last race of the season, as I was sprinting, my strength went missing. I even remember the date, October 7, 2012. A sense of exhaustion, I was completely emptied of all energy. I don’t even remember if I managed to finish the race, but at home I kept feeling sick, I was dizzy, I couldn’t stand.”

“Holy crap, it was a nightmare, I can only imagine your parents' concern.”

“You can imagine, I was completely fine until the day before. Anyway they took me to the hospital of Bovolone and from there I was transferred to Legnago. The doctors had no doubts: diabetes, type 1, insulin dependent, the worst one.”

“Did you feel panic?”

“I couldn’t understand. I was stunned, I didn’t know what this diabetes was, but the faces of my parents and of the doctors told me it wasn’t good. Then, you know, I was a kid, I didn’t really realize. Then when I was told about the injections, I almost had a stroke. I am terrified of needles or rather, I was, because now I am accustomed to them” “No, all I had to do was find a team that accepted me for what I was, a diabetic athlete. And I met a man who helped me a lot. But are you really interested in all this stuff ?”

“A lot. And I actually see a lot of similarities between cycling and cooking.” “This, I don't understand” “In cycling, just like in the kitchen you always have to pedal, if you stop, if you lose your rhythm, you are finished. But maybe it's life itself that works like this. Einstein said that life is like a bicycle, you always have to pedal if you want to stay in balance.”

“That's cool, I'm going to use it” “Even I, in my work, have met people who have helped me grow not only professionally, but as a man.

When you’re away from home, away from your affections and you know you’re the only one you can count on, it’s not easy. And then, even the kitchen has its rules, its times, its hierarchies. You cannot slip, otherwise you’re out. Well, you were telling me about this person who helped you” “Yes, his name is Remo Cordioli. He took me to his team, Service 2000 together with Attilio. It was an important team, even Elia had been part of it. Remo was very strict and he treated me like the other guys, he didn’t even think about my diabetes. And that really helped me not to feel any different.

I pushed myself to the limits, I was always sprinting to prove that I was strong, that I could do it. And then it’s during the breakaways that you really train your legs, because in normal training, even if you push yourself to the maximum, you’re in a different condition. Well, Alfredo, breakaways are a hard to explain.”

“Come on, try me, I’m interested” “When you sprint ahead, it’s like you lock a door behind you and bring the key with you. The others, be-

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hind, push, try to break down that door, while you keep sprinting. Imagine a grape squeezed between two fingers with a seed that shoots away. You are that seed.

Almost every time, that door, by force of pushing, opens up and if even you took an advantage of seven, eight, ten minutes, those behind you can easily reach you because they are many, they help each other, they are saving their energy and sharing the effort.

And by the time they’re right next to you, they appreciate you for what you’ve done, there’s never an act of humiliation. No one will ever ask you why you closed that door because everyone knows that breakaways are necessary for you, that you sacrificed yourself and that you needed to show off. But also for them, the speedsters, who know they can now play fair.

Once it was different, other roads, other bikes, other organizations, maybe even other legs. And the escapes often came to an end. But now it is no longer so like that we all have the same stuffs, the same weight, 6 kilos and eight hundred grams, the same gear sets, two in the front and eleven in the back and in the end the strongest always win: Nibali, Elia Viviani or Alaphilippe, just like the last Milan-Sanremo race. But even Andrea could have a good chance, he is really strong and sooner or later he will have a good opportunity.” “Who's Andrea?”

“Andrea Peron, one of my teammates, he is a speedster.” “Also with diabetes, I imagine” “Sure, just like the rest of us at Novo Nordisk. But look, honestly, diabetes is not a problem: look at me , for example, I learned to manage myself, I realize that if I have a drop of my sugar levels, I just need a candy bar to get back on track. However, on the team car there are many doctors and they have some insulin injections ready to go…”

“And if you need them, how do you do then?”

“While pedalling, without any problem. But it never happened to me.” “Tell me more about this Team Novo Nordisk. How did they contact you?”

“So, we were running the Orobica, a three-day stage race. They don’t run it anymore and it is such a shame because a lot of champions started off from there. I really liked that race, I like all stage races. By the way I was always ready to fight, I was feeling good. I told myself “to hell with diabetes, I’ll show you!”

At the end of the race, Remo told me: “There’s somebody who wants to meet you, in Treviso. His name is Vassili, it might be important.”

Vassili is the team manager of Novo Nordisk. We met and he asked me to fly off to the US for 3/4 days, to take some test in Atlanta. I was so excited, I felt like I could fly.

It was an amazing experience: 60 of us, coming from all over the world, all with diabetes and all with cycling in our minds. I, saying it without any presumption, was the best. I was so excited that, as soon as I

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landed back in Italy, I enrolled for a race, I didn’t even care if I was tired or jet-lagged. Then I had to flinch because I was really tired, but that just shows how inebriated I was.”

“I do believe that. So, did they recruit you?”

“Not quite yet, they invited me to the Tour of Wales, as an intern and after that I got a job as under 23.

Then, for a few years I’ve been going back and forward from the US: the training camps in Alpharetta, 20 km from Atlanta, and lots and lots of races across America.

I felt like I was on the edge, I knew I could make it to the pro category, but at the same time I was scared because I knew there’s no coming back from there. And I still needed to graduate high school.

I came back to Italy for my graduation and I took the chance to talk with Elia. I still remember that afternoon and those words: You hang in there, Umberto, win a few more races and it’s done!

The day after my last exam I was on a plane to the US, more determined than ever. I stayed in America for the whole summer and won three races. And they offered me a job as a pro. I called Elia and he told me to sign immediately, ‘don’t even think about it’.”

“So Elia Viviani always stood by your side” “A great man and an absolute champion on the bike. I have not seen many like him, such class, lightness on the saddle, to leave you speechless. He seemed to do it so effortlessly, and he is so selfless, he also introduced me to a lot of people, especially in the first years, when I was a bit scared. You know, I was a kid surrounded by champions.”

“Your first race as a pro?”

“It was in Dubai, and it felt like a dream to me. So many champions, so many faces I knew. We were a bit scared. There was no ace in our team and maybe that was our biggest strength. We just know that if we stick together we can get a good outcome. There’s Andrea, and there’s Charles Planet, there’s Davide Lozano, the climber…”

“He’s a giant bag of muscles!!”

“On the contrary: the climber needs to be light, and can’t have much muscles, as they weight more than fat”.

“I didn’t expect that” “And then I got that call” “Excuse me?”

“It was March 2017, the night before the Milan-Sanremo. Andrea got injured and the team was looking for a replacement for the race. All the other guys were abroad, while I was here, in Verona, having dinner with my parents. Massimo Podenzana, our technical manager, called me.

“Umberto, everything alright?”

‘Yes Pode, I’m training’

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‘Are you in a good shape?’

‘I would say so, not the best, but still quite good’ ‘Then if you are next to a chair, you should sit down.’

My parents were staring at me while I talked on the phone, they knew it had to be something important because I got away from the dining table, and sat on an armchair in the living room.

‘We are coming to pick you up tomorrow, we’re going to Milan, you’re going to do the Milan-Sanremo’ That night I understood how deeply a phone call can change your life, as they say in the Telecom ad; minutes passed and I was there, still sitting, trying to find the courage to deal with reality. I was going to race the Milan-Sanremo, it seemed crazy.

When I got back to the dining room my parents had not moved at all, they still had their forks in their hands, waiting for bad news. They didn’t ask anything, they were waiting for me to tell them. ‘I’m leaving tomorrow. I’m racing the Milan-Sanremo.’

My father jumped off of the chair, my mother sighed in relief for the false alarm. We hugged, kissed, patted shoulders but I was not there, completely dazed. I felt like I had won the lottery or something.

‘I need to go back home, to get some sleep’ ‘Finish your dinner at least’ ‘I’m sorry mom, I’m not hungry anymore’ Actually I just needed to be alone with my thoughts, put the ideas in order and enjoy that moment with such an intensity that only solitude can give you. I was in a trance, I recall nothing of that night, I don’t even know how I packed my bags. There was only one thing in my mind: 290 kilometers, I had never done it before. “Oh Gosh, a shot in the dark. It’d be like asking me to organize a banquet in Buckingham Palace” “Maybe, but having in front of you 290 kilometers surely doesn’t make you calm. It takes months to train for a Milan-Sanremo, with the gym and stretching and fatigue tests, I mean, it’s not something you can approach thinking ‘I’ll try and see how far I can get’. It is the Milan-Sanremo, the spotlights are on you, the whole world is watching. And I was wondering if I’d be able to pull it off or I’d be a disappointment for my team.

And I did not just ask myself, the next morning I was asking the same questions in the car, to Pode. He was amazing.

‘Listen, Umberto’ -he said- ‘I know what you’re thinking. You’re going to be the youngest in the race and you were not even training for this, you got called the day before. I know we’re asking a lot, but you’re stubborn and we all trust you. You’ll be fine, I feel it.

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Then, after a moment of silence, he said ‘Well, if you were to breakaway…’

‘What? Me? Breakaway? At the Milan-Sanremo?’

‘Think about the message it would send: the youngest, diabetic, to speed from the group, it would be amazing!’

So, I thought, that’s what they’re asking me to do. And I decided to make them happy, I was there and I had to give everything I had. So, as soon as we started, one of my teammates gave me some space and I ran away from the pack.

I was at the top for about 7 hours, with other runners, about ten of us. I can’t even describe what I felt.

Then, when we were going uphill the group got us back, and I tried to get back on top downhill, but I was really tired. And the downhill scares me, especially when it’s wet. So I stuck together with a little group and I made it to the finish line. I don’t even recall my position, the only thing that mattered, at that point, was to cross that finish line.”

“What about the team? Were they happy?”

That was the best moment. Everyone was cheering me on. Ultimately I had won too. But all the other runners came to congratulate me, some of them in Italian, some in other unknown languages. I don’t remember any of their names, I was out of my mind. I felt like a blender full of emotions.

I got a ride back home by Viviani, it was 1 am and I found my parents up, waiting for me. They had seen the race on tv, and they were so happy. I think I made them proud.

The next morning Elia called me to say that there were pictures of me on every paper: La Gazzetta, il Corriere, L’Arena, even on Oggi. And from there on, radio interviews, tv, it was a success, it seemed I had won the Paris Roubaix, which, just for the record, is still my dream. Especially because you race on the wet pavé, going downhill. It’s a nightmare.

But the thing that made me the happiest was that I got a lot of messages from parents of type 1 diabetes kids, and they were writing me thank you notes, because they had never thought that with my, our, disease one could be a professional athlete.

“Umberto, this is really great” “And then, we got to the 2018 edition, won by Nibali, but that was different. I fell on the train tracks, and I was hurting so bad. Just think that my parents were there, they came to see me, but I don’t have any good memories of it. Too painful. Anyways, even in that case I managed to get to the end of it”. “And then this year’s challenge” “Yeah, a great day with four of us from Novo running ahead up till a few km from the end. Maybe we were too many, maybe if Andrea had stayed in the group… who knows.”

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“It seems to me you can’t live without it” “Without what?”

“Breakaway, obviously!”

“Well, actually, the reason why I breakaway is because staying in the group wouldn’t make any sense for me, I’m a passer not a sprinter. Moreover, I think that cycling is a metaphor of life, and my breakaways mean that maybe I still need to break away from some things, and I don’t really know where I’m headed.

Of course I’m not breaking away from my responsibilities, more like I run from prejudices, from bad thoughts, from the ignorant chats, rumours, from overprotective moms, doctors who don’t listen, don’t understand or maybe don’t want to.

While I run ahead I hear those voices, it’s like an off-key choir, running to get you, just like the group does. But, whereas the group appreciates what you’re doing, the choir doesn’t, because what you are doing is something they do not understand. And you’re all by yourself, giving everything you have to the race, to get on and leave those voices behind you. The more you speed up on the bike, the further the voices seem to you, ultimately becoming a whisper, and, finally, silence. That’s when you get what you deserve, and you’re happy as an athlete and as a diabetic. At the finish line all you will be hearing is cheering and compliments, but I know that tomorrow everything will go back to the way it was, I will have to start all over again and I will have to breakaway again. That’s what life is, Alfredo, today you’re a hero and tomorrow you’re just reckless. All of us the in the Team Novo Nordisk are neither of these two options, we’re just kids from all over the world, with the same passion and the same disease. The only thing we want is to prove that you can have them both and things will work out anyway.

They tell you, like in Totò’s movie “the patient need to be patient, otherwise what kind of a patient would he be?”

Well, I don’t want to be a patient, I hate the word, it humiliates me and makes me feel shitty. I am not even a patient person, I’ve got fire in me, and a rage against stereotypes, and give vent to all of this when I’m on my Colnago.

I do live with diabetes, but we don’t get along really well. I just ignore it because I feel like that’s the only right thing to do. Ignoring it is my way to get back at it: he tried to betray me, to stab me in my back, to stop me from achieving what I’ve always wanted to do. So now I screw it: I take care of myself, but I ignore it like you would do to people who mean nothing to you or have lost your trust.

It’s easy to take it on a kid who doesn’t even know what diabetes is, who never did anything to prevent it just because he never had any cases in his family. And what does it do? It stabs you in the back, when you least expect it, and not in a violent way, but rather a subtly, silently: you feel a little thirstier, you pee a little more, and you feel a little more tired. What you think, or your parents think, is that it will go away, 106

it’s probably a growing up pain, it will take a few days… Then you hit your first crisis and you’re lucky if you find a doctor in the E.R. who suspects diabetes. On the news you read about many kids, not as lucky, who… never mind.

So I told you why I breakaway, but I want to tell you one last thing: I’m never going to breakaways from diabetes, simply because it would be letting it get to me. I’ll continue to breakaway for my diabetes, and I want to stress this ‘for’, because that choir I was talking about will finally shut up, or at least, find themselves a good director who will turn their whining into a good melody.

The only sure thing is I’m not going to run away from my disease, it will have to run away from me.” Alfredo stayed silent in front of this river of words, and I must say that I was shocked as well because it doesn’t really happen often for me, to be able to express my ideas, and not just with my closest friends, even with my doctors.

“Umberto, I’m truly speechless. You’re a great guy, and I’m not just saying it for flattery. I thought I had accomplished something in my life: this club, success, the first star. But listening to your words, I realized, that’s nothing.”

“No, that’s not true” “I mean it. I did some little breakaways of my own, but today I see that you only achieve some goals when you’re the main character in your own story, in your emotions and your future. I’m really glad I could talk to you” We said goodbye like two old friends, even though we were not. I left the bar while the sun was setting, I got in my car and turned the radio up. Along the way home, I sang to the top of my lungs, alone. And I thought that I would have sucked as a chef.

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“

Cycling has always been my biggest passion. What really fascinates me is the sense of freedom that I feel only when I’m on my bike.

In the beginning I decided to hide the disease from my teammates, I was afraid that my medical checks would have slowed down the growing of our team. But now that I am in a team with people who suffer from the same disease, my management of diabetes has also improved.

“

Joonas Henttala, Cyclist of Team Novo Nordisk

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Chapter V Carlo’s house Two bedrooms, a living room, a bathroom and a kitchen. Carlo had lived in those few squared meters for pretty much his whole life.

The first time they had seen it, Giovanna and him, they immediately fell in love with it and signed a lease, which was basically the only way they could afford to put a roof over their heads, being both high school teachers. That was the place where they lived their love story, where Simone was born, and a few years later, where Giovanna got sick. A rare disease, a tough one, long and painful. That was the place where Carlo stayed, alone.

Before closing her eyes for good, Giovanna whispered “Sorry” in his ear. Carlo spent the rest of his life wondering what for.

One more minute, he would have needed just one more minute with her to know the answer. For that minute Carlo would have traded his life.

With his salary he managed to pay for their son’s education and save something, so he decided to buy those two bedrooms, living room, bathroom and kitchen: he paid half of it, and started a mortgage that he could pay quite easily.

He did not like to talk about his love for Giovanna, simply because he was sure that nobody really cared, but he never thought, not even for a moment, about moving on.

“You’re still young”, “You still have your whole life to live”, “Go travel the world, you might meet somebody like you…” He knew those voices, those encouragements, but maybe for his personality or maybe because he had not been lucky, he did not get any second choice. When you are alone, the memories eat your soul.

It seems just something that people say, but it is true. In all of the memories of those years they lived together, there was one that Carlo loved the most. As soon as he closed his eyes the memory became vivid: them, in the living room, naked. They had just made love, in a violent, angry and sudden way, as it happens to young people. On the table there were two glasses, half full of red wine, a lamp and a pile of homework they had to grade. Numbers and equations for him, Cicero and Seneca for her.

Giovanna ties up her long, blond hair, holding a blue and red pencil, sips gently from her glass. He looks at her. Her full breasts, her nipples still hardened by emotions and pleasure.

It was just a moment, an image that did not fade through the years but, instead, showed new details each time Carlo thought about it. An eyeshadow, the lips slightly open, a hand distractedly playing with a strain of hair, the moon lighting up the window. Like a picture becoming more and more detailed, more alive and was keeping alive the memory of the person he loved the most.

It was still there, that blue and red pencil. After so many years it was still on the table, because he never thought about breaking away from the past.

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“

“

I don’t recall a single day in which I did not want to ride my bike. It was a passion that started when I was only two years old. When I was 14 I started racing and I wanted to go faster and faster, even though I had type 1 diabetes and my doctors advised me I shouldn’t take it too far. But that was when I understood that diabetics can have as bright a future as anyone else. You are the only one who can set your limits.

Brais Dacal Ambassador of Team Novo Nordisk

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Chapter VI The race Standing up, like two kids, Alcide and Carlo were following the last meters of the race. It had been a long day which had started many hours before.

Around 12.00 Alcide arrived with some pastries.

“I went to Trevisiol, I think it’s the best bakery. Don’t put them in the fridge though, please” Brio immediately smelled them, and started wagging his tail and running around.

“Hm, he seems so old but the moment he smells Sicilian Cannoli he comes back to life. Come on, sit down” “How are we going?”

“There is a little group ahead, about ten runners” “As usual” Alcide sat down on an old Frau and Brio started sniffing his hands. He lit up a Marlboro light. “Ever thought about quitting?”

“Of course! As Mark Twain said: I quit smoking every day, it’s not that hard” “Mmh… how cultured” After a few coughs, highlighted by Carlo’s hands clapping, Alcide found his voice again. “Is there any Italian?”

“Yeah, but more importantly there are four diabetics” “What do you mean diabetics?”

“Yeah, it’s true. There’s a team… what’s its name… whatever, it’s hard to remember. Anyways, the guys in this team are all diabetics. Or so the commentator said” “You must have heard something wrong” “No, no, he said it a few times. They have diabetes.”

“Do you really think you could race the Milan-Sanremo with diabetes? And breakaway, too?”

“I’m telling you, it’s true. Four of this diabetic team are here, running ahead. And they’re running like trains. Look at them” The commentator’s voice interrupted their discussion. “Andrea Peron and Umberto Poli are exchanging places ahead of the group. Behind them Planet and Henttala in the smaller group. Again, these guys, the Team Novo Nordisk, all have type 1 diabetes and needless to say this breakaway means something even more special to them.”

“You were right then” 115

“I told you, but you didn’t listen because, as usual, you’re bull-headed. It’s crazy. My nephew has juvenile diabetes and has to take 4-5 shots a day but his mom won’t even let him go to gym, she’s afraid he’ll get sick. He’s type 1, I don’t know maybe this is a lighter, easier kind to deal with.”

“No it’s the same, it’s called Juvenile Diabetes or type 1” “Why would you know?”

“The commentator just said that, and I was the bull-headed one, right?” Carlo stood up from the Frau and said “I’m going to make a call” “Feel free” Alcide said back.

Brio got up off his bed to follow his owner, while Alcide started looking through a newspaper. On the first page the news of an attack foiled by a 12 year old.

The guy driving the bus full of people, a crazy man, drizzled gasoline all over it. He was going towards Linate airport and wanted to kill them all. One of the kids manage to alert the police with his phone and they stopped him.

Fire, smoke, shouting, but everyone was safe. What a terrible adventure.

Carlo was on the landline because he could not find his phone. His son gave it to him, although he would rather not save one of those machines from hell, with its buttons too small for his fingers. And he used to lose it all the time. He left it in some jacket pocket, or in a drawer. Once he even found it, after some days, in the fridge.

“Hi Luisa, it’s Carlo. How are you?” “Hi Carlo, what’s up?”

“Not much, I just wanted to tell you to turn the TV on, watch Eurosport and especially, get Diego to come and watch.”

“Diego is not here, he’s at the park, with your son. We had an argument today because it’s really hot outside and I don’t want him to run, get tired, sweat” “You don’t want him to run? Turn the tv on, Eurosport” “What’s wrong with you today? Ok, here you go… wait… Clerici is on” “Oh gosh, forget about the Clerici.

Go on Eurosport I said” “Wait a second, I don’t really get how this remote works… Football, tennis, Formula 1… here, Eurosport.

It’s a bike race” “It’s not just a bike race, it’s the bike race: the Milan-Sanremo” “Ok, whatever, you know I’m not really a sports person” “Yeah whatever, anyway, do you see the racers? There’s four of them with the same shirt, Team Novo something written on it. Do you see them?”

“Yes I do, so what?”

“So, those four kids are diabetics, just like Diego, type 1” “What are you talking about? With diabetes you can’t do those things maybe you misheard something”

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“Well that’s what you say” “Doctors say so” “Well you should change doctors then, because while you’re scared of Diego running at the park with other kids those guys are racing 290 km, in spite of doctors and diabetes” Luisa was watching and she could not believe her eyes.

“Well, if I must say it, I am scared. Doctors do say that Diego could be doing things normally, like any other kid, even sport. In facts, they say he should be doing sports. But it’s too risky for me. The idea that he could go in hypo…or him running risks, or feeling sick while I’m not there. I don’t even want to think about it.”

“When Diego was diagnosed with diabetes it was a shock. Your son and I couldn’t believe it. Nobody in the family had ever had this disease. And I assure you, it was not easy to deal with. We went through some crisis” “I remember that. Some situations don’t go unnoticed by a father, or a grandfather.”

“We decided to take a break, as they say, I went on a holiday with Diego while Simone stayed in the city.

We needed to put the ideas back in order, we had said some serious things to each other, but we didn’t mean them. We love each other and in a few weeks everything was back to normal.”

“Luckily, also because Simone was starting to feel like it was his fault” “What do you mean?” “Yeah, he told me that since he was sick mommy and daddy wouldn’t stop arguing because of him” “Oh, Carlo, that’s terrible. We had no idea, I’m sorry” “Now don’t blame it all on yourself. It could have happened to anybody, don’t worry. What matters is that you and your husband realize that Diego is a strong kid, and full of energy. Even with diabetes.”

“He could be. But even when he’s in school, for example, I can’t stay calm. Imagine if he was in a gym or a sport field” “Luisa, don’t make him feel different. It would be wrong” “Well maybe he’ll feel different, but alive.”

“You’re exaggerating now. Anyways, I don’t want to get involved, it’s your decision. Just promise you’ll think about it.”

“I’ll try. Thanks for calling. Kiss Alcide for me.” Carlo went back to his armchair.

“Any troubles?” asked Alcide who, in the meantime, had opened a Moretti Baffo d’Oro beer.

“No, nothing. That stubborn daughter in law of mine is sure that Diego can’t do any sports. She used to say the doctors told her so, but now she said she’s scared.”

“Why don’t you talk to your son?”

“I don’t want to get too involved. Diego is their only child, they had been trying for so long, years maybe.

He’s got all the attention and they’re all over him. And now, with the diabetes… I understand but they

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don’t let him breathe. Put a sweater on, don’t sweat, don’t run. What kind of a life is this for a 10 years old?”

“I’m going to start cooking. A friend brought me a piece of guanciale from Amatrice”“Great! Bucatini all’amatriciana!” Alcide was delighted by the idea. “We’re out of bucatini. Spaghettini?”

“Spaghettini all’Amatriciana? What are you talking about? It’s profanity. At least make sure they’re al dente” “Of course. 14 minutes.”

“What is this, a hospital? Ten minutes’ tops, and then you put them in the pan with the sauce. And no garlic and onion” “Not even a little bit?”

“Stay away. If Cannavacciuolo could hear you he’d be sewing you. Cut the guanciale and put it in a pan, without oil - it’s going to melt its own fat. It has to be crunchy. Then put the peeled tomatoes in, not whole, not sauce. I said peeled tomatoes. When it’s ready put the bucatini in, a little bit of cooking water and make the pecorino rain.”

“Whatever. Since you started watching Masterchef you’re unbearable and just to let you know, I don’t have any peeled tomatoes. We have tomato sauce, and there’s no pecorino either. you better like it, or you can go to a restaurant.”

Carlo took a pan from a cabinet and Alcide went back to his armchair.

“I’d rather not watch. Spaghettini all’amatriciana without peeled tomatoes, without pecorino. That’s crazy.” Was his only comment.

“Keep me posted on the race” “There’s not much to say, they’re still ahead and group is quite far but it doesn’t really matter, they’ll get back on the hills.”

“My money is on Viviani, he’s in great shape” “Well he is one of the favoured, even though in the Milan-Sanremo it’s hard to say. During the flight anything can happen. I was looking at those runners though - they’re doing a good job. Who knows, they might make it staying there till the end.”

“Impossible. If you stay ahead for over 200 km in a group of seven, eight, ten people, you’re never going to make it. You have to get to the top of that little group too many times, cut the air and put In twice the effort. When you get to the hills your legs are begging you to stop. I don’t think a breakaway has ever won the Milan-Sanremo” “You’re right, but this one seems different. I was really impressed by the whole diabetes thing. They’re showing some guts. And maybe in the group there’s someone who could have a chance at the sprint”

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“It’s hard. When the group gets you the champions are there. The expert teams close your ways, they only leave enough room to let the captains go through. Winning a Milan-Sanremo changes your life forever.”

“Last year Nibali did some amazing work on Poggio. He didn’t even think about winning, he just wanted to stop the attack. But apparently he felt good, in the last two kilometres on the slight slope he managed to use a high gear, he gained those 10/12 seconds and he decided he was going to make it or break it” “We’re talking about a champion. I remember that especially at the start, there was foul weather, rainy and windy. Today it’s a spring day, look at those images, it makes you want to put a swimming suit on and go to the beach. Just after that turn there’s a place that makes some amazing sandwiches, and they have this beer, made by some monks… You just sit in the sun and have a hell of a day” “I think I know the place, on the same street there’s a restaurant by the beach. The owner is a fisherman, he goes out to the sea every morning and every night he cooks the catch of the day. Undemanding, but the taste is amazing and they do fried fish that’s enough for two, maybe three people. Anyway, come here, lunch’s ready” Alcide suspiciously looked at his plate and started rolling some spaghettini with his fork. “So, what do you think?”

“They’re awful. How long did you cook them for? They feel like glue” “Ten minutes as you said, then 3-4 minutes in the pan with the sauce” “I said ten minutes for the bucatini! Those are spaghettini, it doesn’t take as long! Carlo, let me say it: They’re disgraceful.”

“Well it’s a matter of taste. I really like them, and the sauce too!” “Forget about it. Let’s just watch the race. Next year I’m cooking” With a disgusted look on his face, Alcide got up to put the leftovers in the green bag of compost.

“No, wait, don’t throw them away. I’ll give them to Brio later” “I’m sure not even he will like it. Get the pastries I brought. At least I’ll eat something” Alcide took a Cannolo mumbling in ecstasy. “Don’t give him any, he’ll get sick” “But he’s looking at me with those eyes…”

“I know, he always does, don’t let him fool you. Instead, look at the Aurelia, how beautiful. They’re about to start the hills, Capo Mele, Capo Cervo, Capo Berta: that’s the best part of the race” “The breakaway group is still ahead” “Yes, but not for long, the group is right behind them, minutes away” “I’m afraid so. Who do you think was the best commentator at the Milan-Sanremo?”

“De Zan, and before him maybe Gianni Brera. But the elders will remember a journalist from l’Unità,

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many years ago. He really made you live the race, like nobody else. His name was Attilio Camoriano, he had been a partisan, they used to call him Blondie” “l’Unità was never my family’s newspaper. My name is Alcide, don’t forget it, there must be a reason” “And my name is Carlo, my father used to read Marx. And l’Unità. Anyway, after the war this guy, Camoriano, became a sport journalist, specializing in biking. His style was unique. He used to mix words and the racers’ cries, they’d be panting when they’d go uphill and prey downhill, he was in their minds, their strategies. And, of course, in their breakaways. I mean I don’t even remember him, it was back in the 50’s but I heard he was the best.”

“And then? What happened?”

“He died young, in Genoa’s hospital, in 1974. But he had stopped writing for l’Unità long before that, because he no longer felt represented in the party. He was disappointed and resentful. He published a few books on the partisan war, something on Bartali, but they’re impossible to find.”

“What a shame. Anyway, Masnada got about 10 metres ahead of the group” “Too soon. They’re sure going to get him, they’re 30 seconds away. They still have to go up the Cipressa and then down. Right, I’ll make some coffee” “Not for me, thanks, otherwise I’ll never sleep again. Do you have any barley?” “Barley? No, sorry” “Well, I wouldn’t expect somebody who doesn’t have peeled potatoes and pecorino to have barley. Come sit, we’re almost there” “The Poggio is going to be decisive this time, too” “May be. The group got them, now it’s a shot in the dark” “No, they have to play it like a team. They must block all the ones trying to get through and see what happens in the last metres” “There’s Bonifazi, Trentin and Nibali, even though it’s hard to play it again at the same level” “They’re going uphill and then down before the slight slope in via Roma. Let’s say 6 minutes to go up and 4 to go down, ten minutes’ total” “It’s going to be a great final sprint” “Yeah, they’re all there: Sagan, Nibali, Alaphilippe, go, go go!”

The two friends enjoyed the final metres standing up and when the French made it to the final line they both shouted “I told you so” patting each other’s backs “What a race! And in the end, the best one won” “Yes, he’s in great shape this season” “He pulled ahead on the Poggio, let them get back to him and then did the final sprint. Great race” “Although the diabetics guys… they were impressive” “Amazing! I’m speechless” Alcide and Carlo were still glued to the TV for the interviews, the award ceremony, the commentators.

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Then, when outside had become dark: “Ok, I should get going. Any plans for tomorrow?” “I’m taking Brio to the vet, for a vaccine” “Ok then, I’ll see you at the bar” Alcide got on his Punto, and Carlo started cleaning up.

Peeled tomatoes – he thought – bucatini, pecorino, what a fuss! Pasta is pasta.

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“

The Team Novo Nordisk represents the perfect balance that should be created between doctors and diabetic patients. Especially in kids and young people affected by type 1, it’s important that patients understand that they have the same chances as anybody else of their age, they’re not disadvantaged. Actually, the awareness of the pathology and self-discipline that these kids learn in school fields and other educational activities are an important value that they will carry with them throughout their lives.

“

Agostino Consoli President of Italian Diabetology Society (SID)

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Chapter VII Luisa changes her mind She never thought she’d stick to watching a cycling race on tv, like it was the moon landing. But those guys really got her. Luisa had been sitting there asking herself some questions and when Diego and Simone came back from the park she was quiet. She measured her son’s blood sugar and made lunch following, as usual, the doctor’s instructions. Even during lunch, she was not in her usual mood.

“Breast or wing?” she asked “Wing for me – said Diego “Is everything alright?” Simone asked “Yes, yes, I’m fine” “You seem a bit distant” “No, it’s just that… we’ll talk about it later” For the whole afternoon Simone had been wondering what had happened. He was a caring father and a loving husband - family and job were his whole world. He owned a well established hardware store and he could provide for the family.

Luisa worked as a translator which was a job that she could do from home. This made sure she had some financial independency without taking time off from caring for Diego.

Diabetes aside, the kid was going through a lot: from elementary to middle school, new classmates, some questions that are hard to answer…

After dinner Simone poured himself a bitter and sat on the couch. Diego was sleeping and Luisa sat thoughtful, right beside him.

“So, do you want to talk now?” “Your father called today” “What happened? Is he ok?”

“Don’t panic. Nothing like that. He told me to watch the Milan-Sanremo race on tv. You know I’ve never really been into sports, I barely watch the world cup with you and Diego when Italy is playing. But in the race there was a team of diabetic kids, I mean cyclists, diabetic cyclists.”

“Diabetic cyclists?”

“Yes, a whole team, they’re professionals, racing with the champions. So these guys went spinning ahead, I heard that’s what you call it, and they were at the top for almost the whole race. I don’t know who won in the end, I don’t really care. What really impressed me though, was their strength. Even the commentator 125

said so. So after lunch I went on the internet and found out there’s quite a few diabetics in professional sports: football players, swimmers, volleyball players. I mean, I was wondering if, with Diego, we’re doing the right thing” “Diego has type 1” “Them too, the bikers. All type 1” “They must be supermen” “Not really, they’re normal kids, from all over the world” “And how did they do it? With blood sugar and everything?”

“They didn’t have any problems. If they go hypo they take a little sugar, and when needed they take their insulin, like that, while cycling, like it was normal. And that’s the keyword, the one that stuck in my head: normal” “I don’t see where you’re going with this” “I’m just saying that maybe we should stop considering Diego a special kid. We do it out of love and to protect him. But maybe what he needs is just that: to be normal” “But the doctors always said we should be careful with him and ensure he practices moderation and control” “That’s true but it doesn’t mean deprivation. Diego grew up in a bubble, now it’s time he finds his normality. And sport could be a key factor: he could start maybe playing football in the neighborhood team. He always loved football. Or maybe tennis, basketball, swimming… we’ll let him choose” “And what if he feels sick?”

“Simo, I finally understood this is our problem more than it is his. Diego has grown, he can manage his values, he even knows more about it than we do. He went to all the Young Diabetics Federation summer camps where he learned all he needed to, both medically and psychologically. He did a great job, but he only met kids with his same condition. I want him to get out of his comfort zone a little and let him be normal. I know it’s awful to say, but you get the idea. What could the risks be?”

Simone was puzzled but Luisa’s determination has really impressed him.

“Ok, let’s give it a go. But I think Diego shouldn’t think of it as a concession, sport should be, as you said, something normal which, as you said, is a horrible word, but a great achievement. Let’s talk to doctor Laurenti and see what he thinks about it. And now come here! I missed you, you were sullen all day long”

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“

Sport can be a great way to learn how to deal with diabetes in every situation, especially in the harder ones you face when you’re engaging in some intense activity.

What these guys are doing is extremely useful for them, because they learn and create experiences, which will stay with them their whole life, and important for others too: they’re showing that diabetes is not an obstacle if we don’t put limits on what we can do.

“

Paolo Di Bartolo President of Diabetologists Doctors Association (AMD)

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Chapter VIII The musician doctor Massimo Laurenti, sat at the piano after lunch, as was his habit. He improvised on a ragtime - he was an amazing player and Ms Dorota, who cleaned the house, made lunch for him and ironed his shirts, started dancing while cleaning the stoves. He started studying music when he was 6 years old, thanks to his grandmother who, in her time, had been a great concert performer. At a certain point in his life he had even thought about enrolling at the conservatory, to make that passion a profession.

But his father, an austere and authoritarian cardiologist surgeon, was not going to let him.

“You’ll become a doctor – he said just after his son graduated high school – because the world is always going to need doctors.”

“The world needs musicians too” “May be, but they don’t save lives. And Paolo Borsellino said that there’s only 3 useful jobs: teachers, prosecutors and doctors.”

“Well then let’s add one more: musician” “Don’t even think about it” Of course, Massimo Laurenti could have been a little more assertive - it was his life, after all. But he did not have the guts to face his father and he had no support from his mother. A southern woman who, for culture and traditions, would have never gone against her husband. Only his grandmother could have backed him up, but she was tired and made weaker by her age. Actually, Massimo Laurenti didn’t mind becoming a doctor: the only problem was that he could not really stand the sight of blood, suffering and pain in general.

So, after a brilliant 110 cum laude, with great satisfaction of his father, he chose diabetology as his branch.

“I’d never make a great surgeon, dad – is what he said – I’m sorry but I chose another path” “Is that out of revenge?”

“No, I did it because I think that, being diabetic myself, I could better understand and listen to my patients.

I do it because this could be the only branch in medicine where a doctor can share the patient’s disease. And I do it because I want to” “Well, it’s your decision. But if you wanted to be a surgeon I could have helped you, as a diabetologist I can’t. You’ll have to make it on your own.”

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“So that’s what’s going to happen, I’ll make it on my own” That choice, for Massimo Laurenti, started his breakaway.

He closed the piano and got ready to go out. The Diabetes Center was nearby, and Laurenti could go there on his bike. He was almost 50 years old, and in perfect shape. Tall, 1.90 m, thin, athletic, long grey hair and blue eyes. He never wanted to get married, even though he had some long and intense love stories, because he really high valued his independence. He arrived at the office in a few minutes. That afternoon the waiting room was particularly crowded and his assistant brought him coffee and the list of appointments for the day. Luisa, Simone and the little Diego were the first.

“Here’s my friend, Diego! How are you?”

“Everything’s fine, but we’re here to ask for your advice” “Let’s see the diary first” He studied scrupulously the documentation. “I’d say we’re doing great! Good job Diego, how are the new pens?”

“They’re fine” said the kid, a little embarrassed “So – Laurenti said looking at Luisa and Simone – what were you going to ask?” “About sports. Sunday, at the Milan-Sanremo, there was a team of diabetic cyclists.” “I know, I’ve heard a lot about them” “Well we were just wondering if maybe Diego should be doing some sports, too” “Mrs Luisa, we talked plenty about it. Sport is a part of the therapy, just like insulin and diet. It’s not something more, or extra, it’s the therapy. I told you, I have type 1 myself and I play tennis and go cycling.

You have to get over this, there’s no risks.”

“Then why can’t I play football with Tommaso?” said Diego, who looked distracted, but had been listening very closely to the conversation.

“You can play all you want if you like!” Laurenti put a certain stress on that last verb, while Diego was jumping for joy.

Then, he said to his parents: “Listen, Diego needs sports. He needs to share lockers with kids of his age, share happiness when they win and a little sadness when they lose. He needs to get used to life and diabetes cannot stop him from that. In one word: let him leave, let him have fun. Are we clear?”

“Yes, if you say so.” Luisa whispered as Simone vigorously shook the doctor’s hand. “Ok then. Bye champ, and while we’re at it… what’s your favourite team?” “Sampdoria, and yours?”

“Genoa for life”

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“

“

What’s the best way to have a long healthy life? Acquire good habits In childhood, to help grow a strong body and optimal neuropsychological development, both really important to go through all events in life.

And sport, which is effort, humility, consistency, struggle, joy, delusion - is a necessary activity to achieve this.

Claudio Maffeis President of Italian Society of Endocrinology and Pediatric Diabetology

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Chapter IX Alfio, the Coach Saying it was one thing but doing it was another. Luisa and Simone went looking for a team who would take Diego, but all they found was closed doors.

“Honestly, I don’t think I can take this responsibility, I’m sorry” was the standard answer, a broken record.

To the point that the parents were about to lose all hope.

“Maybe we shouldn’t say it” Said Luisa with rage, after yet another useless attempt “I mean, nobody would even notice.”

“No – said Simone – there’s nothing to hide. And it would seem to me we’re running from reality.

It wouldn’t be fair, especially to Diego.”

Until they met Alfio. He used to play in the Roma Junior, he was born in Primavalle with his heart red and yellow. He was a promising footballer, destined to be a star, before a brutal intervention in the penalty area broke his ligaments and his dreams. Alfio’s breakaway ended there, on that damn tuff field, in the suburbs.

So he started working at his father’s shop, as an electrical mechanic, but his love for football never stopped and he took some courses to become a young team’s trainer. For three days a week he was the coach and he directed the trainings. The kids had great respect and a bit of awe towards him, this big, tall man.

When Luisa and Simone met him, his only words were “No probs. Diego can train with us.”

“Sir, did you hear us? He’s diabetic.”

“Who cares. If he’s good, if he trains, if he commits, he’s gonna play. If he doesn’t, that’s what the bench is for. Those are the rules. Diabetes or no diabetes.”

And so, the next Tuesday, Diego was on the field. He was more excited than he had ever been before. Luisa was going in the lockers room with him, to help, but Alfio stopped her.

“Ma’am, now, here, I’m in charge. Diego, get your bag and come with me.” As soon as he got into the lockers’ room, everyone went quiet.

“Ok kids, silence now. This is Diego and he’s new. Diego has a problem, a disease called diabetes. If I ever see you treating him any differently than all the other, not getting tight while guarding, not pushing him

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or kicking him, or worse, not passing the ball to him, you’re off my field. Are we clear?” “Yes coach” some of them answered.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yes coach” shouted the team.

Luisa watched the whole training session from the stands. The team ran around the field to warm up, practiced some technical skills with the pins, some shoots and then they had a little match - eight versus eight.

Diego was amazing! He followed all the instructions coach Alfio gave him and when somebody in his team scored, he was the first to cheer. At the end of the training session Luisa went over to the lockers room again as she had seen Diego was tired and she wanted to help him get dressed.

“What did I say?” Said Alfio. “This is my reign. Now Diego is going to take a shower and when he’s ready he’s going to come out. Showers are part of the training, is where they bond” Ten minutes went by and Diego came out of fresh and clean. He was radiant. “So, how was it?”

“Good!”

“What did the coach say?”

“Nothing, or maybe he did, but he speaks in a weird way, I don’t really understand him” “Ahò, Diego!” the coach was calling him from the field where he was starting to train the older team.

“Yes?” “You’ve been great. See ya on Friday” At dinner Diego was so excited, he kept telling Simone how fun it was to run around the field with the ball at his feet.

“Didn't you get too tired?”

“No, but for a moment I couldn’t chase Riccardo. He’s so fast!” “And it was your first time. Maybe you didn’t have enough breath.”

“Yeah, now I remember, that’s what the coach said: Diego don’t worry, you’re out of practice, it’s normal.”

And that was the magic word. For the first time, a former promising footballer, an electrical mechanic who spoke in a weird way, understood what Diego needed: he made him feel like an athlete, he pushed him, encouraged him just like he did with anybody else.

And he had told him: “It’s normal”.

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Team Novo Nordisk delegation delivery to Pope Francis the official team jersey

“

The Novo Nordisk Team is proof that diabetes can be managed optimally and should not represent an obstacle for those who have ambitions.

We are proud that we could meet the Pope at such a special event as World Diabetes Day. It’ll be encouraging for the team, it’ll make them race even better and they will be a great example for diabetics everywhere.

“

Phil Southerland CEO of Team Novo Nordisk

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Chapter X Months after Carlo arrived perfectly on time, at 10pm.

“Be careful, Diego is asleep. Tomorrow is his birthday and he’s really excited. We’re throwing a party with his friends, classmates and teammates. Even the coach is coming.”

“Where should I put this?”

“Here, so he’ll see it as soon as he wakes up.”

“He’s going to be shocked. Come on, help me get it off of the car. Today I woke up with my back hurting.

I should change the mattress, maybe get a tougher one”. “And more expensive. If you go looking around for the cheapest, it figures you have back pain. Did you make a deal for this one too?”

“Like hell! It’s a Colnago, just like the ones those diabetic cyclists had.” “Then I think it’s an overdue. He can ride a bike, but it’s not like he’s…”

“Nothing’s ever good enough for you! It’s my present for my grandson and I wanted the best. Cut it out.”

“Did you get a helmet too?”

“Of course, here it is.”

They sat down and Luisa joined them “Hi Carlo, did you bring the monster?” “Here, look at it.”

Luisa nodded in approval, but she didn’t really know anything about bikes. “You promised you’ll let him ride to school, right?”

“Yes, maybe when he’ll get better at it.”

“Don’t joke about that. I’ll take it and get it back on the car. That was our deal. What did the doctor say?

You have to let him live! The school is not even far, there’s no car or danger! Just think about his classmates when they’ll see him riding that fireball!”

“Fireball? Don’t take it too far. He needs to be careful, go slowly, stop at the crossings.” “Whatever, the only important thing is that he enjoys it. Then, if it becomes a passion…”

“Don’t even think about it, dad. This bike is important, but that’s it. For now, he’s playing football and 143

that’s already a huge achievement.”

“Is he good? What’s his role?”

“Defender. He’s not great, especially looking at some kids of his age who are really incredible: dribbling, crossing. There’s one who looks just like Maradona - when you pass him the ball he scores, every time.

Diego is disciplined, keeps his position, listens to the coach, I mean, overall he’s a good player. But what really matters is that he’s bonding with his teammates. When they shower he’s not hiding. If somebody asks, he says he’s got diabetes. It’s a miracle.”

“That’s good. I’m glad you finally let play him. Better late than never. Ok then, I’m heading out. What time is he going to be up tomorrow?”

“It’s Sunday, he should be sleeping, but he will be excited. I’d say if you come around at 8:30 he should be awake.”

At 8:00 Carlo knocked at the door. Luisa opened the door, still in her robe. “Oh gosh, did I wake you up?”

“No, come in, I was about to make coffee.”

“Good, just what I need” Carlo sat down and opened his Gazzetta.

“Hi dad” “Hi Simone, did you sleep well?”

The answer was mumbled “Last night we were up late. Diego stayed with the babysitter and we went to some friends for dinner... too much food, too much wine, too much grappa.”

“I told you, when you need to you can call me. I’d be happy to stay here with Diego, there’s no need to have a babysitter.”

“Thanks dad, you don’t have to” “Talking about Diego, what’s he doing? Still asleep?” “Yes, he’ll be up in a minute though.”

Right then they heard the slippers at the top of the stairs. Diego was out of his room and was coming downstairs. He saw the bike immediately, in front of the fireplace. It was beautiful. Diego stood there, speechless, in his pyjamas, an incredulous gaze on his face and his mouth wide open. There was a long silence before he started laughing. A contagious laugh, while his parents and grandfather sang “happy birthday to you”.

“Is it for me?”

“Of course, it’s all yours!” “Can I ride it?”

“No – said Carlo – you can only look at it.”

Diego was silent and his face became serious.

“I’m kidding, you fool! Of course you can ride it! To school – Luisa made eyes at Carlo – to the park, or 144

out with your friends. Don’t forget the helmet, though.”

Carlo didn’t even finish his sentence and Diego was already running back to his room. He threw on a tshirt and shorts, quickly washed his face and teeth. Then he ran down the stairs again, put his helmet on and took the bike out.

“You know, Diego, there’s a cycling team, they all have diabetes “ - Carlo said –“ they’re professionals, they race, you can watch them on tv…”

But Diego wasn’t listening. He just took the time to say thanks, thank you all. Then he got on his bike and started riding towards the town, while Luisa’s last warnings followed him: “Be careful, there are cars!!!

His first pedalling, his first emotion, the first taste of a reality that was unknown to him. This was real life, away from prejudice. It was a normal person’s life. That, on a sunny morning, on his birthday, was his first breakaway.

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Team Novo Nordisk is awarded in the presence of Eddy Merckx and MP Roberto Pella

“Castello d’Oro di Valdengo Gran Galà del Ciclismo“ Award “An award to merits and perseverance, a sport team devoted to diabetes awareness, a disease so terribly common and debilitating. A team capable of breaking through the walls of indifference, enrolling only athletes who suffer from this disease. A team that will always be winning, regardless of their results. Extraordinarily delivering the message that you can live with diabetes, without putting your dreams aside.”

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Credits A book is like a team. There is a captain who refines the work, but behind it there is the hard work and support of many people. That’s why this book is such a group victory. It couldn’t have been done without the help of people like Federico, Alessandro, Marco and the whole Team Novo Nordisk, which continues in its pursuit of delivering such an important message.

This book wouldn’t have been the same without the stories of Andrea and Umberto, who, with their heart-felt words gave true soul to these pages. They, just like any other diabetic, go through their battles every day, and teach us how to deal with those difficulties and challenges.

Lastly, I want to thank cycling. A world that has now captured my whole life, giving me a different smile and a different emotion every time. A God-sent gift I am not going to waste.

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The Councilor for Sport and Youth of the Lombardy Region Martina Cambiaghi together with Lino, Andrea Peron and Umberto Poli during the press conference of the Milano-Sanremo

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“Lino and Diabetes”AGD Italia and Team Novo Nordisk The project “Lino and Diabetes” was launched with a view to integrate the common tools for sanitary edu- cation and let young people affected by diabetes see themselves as the protagonists of the book. The soft stuffed animal, with its bright coloured bands, is not just a toy but aims to be a tool to teach kids, in a fun and interactive way, in which areas of their bodies they should do the insulin shot. As parents, we have seen for ourselves how kids are affected by a situation that makes them feel the pain and stress of their whole fam- ilies and makes them think it’s their fault.

Lino’s story aims to give an example of the thoughts that, most of the time, kids don’t really know how to express. In the story, the authors, thanks to their own experiences, show how it is possible to answer clearly, spontaneously and reassuringly even the toughest questions. Answers that come in words, but in actions too, building an intimate relation with the kid. Team Novo Nordisk supported the project with their experience and contribution both in sports and life in general.

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Last kilometer Everyone needs role models In June 2012, I first time met Phil Southerland, founder of what was later to become Team Novo Nordisk. He shared a vision that instantly resonated with me since it was very similar to Novo Nordisk’s vision to empower people with diabetes and change their diabetes for the better. It became the start of a partnership that led to the creation of Team Novo Nordisk, the world’s first and only all-diabetes professional cycling team.

It became clear to us that to make something truly unique and special, something that could give hope to people with diabetes, the team had to consist only of people with diabetes. With that decision followed that all in the team could be ambassadors for Changing Diabetes by telling their life stories to people with diabetes, stories of hardship but also stories of hope and inspiration.

When I was diagnosed with diabetes in 1978, there was no Team Novo Nordisk. There was no one that could give me hope, no one that that could be that role model and make me believe that life with diabetes could be like life without it. Somehow, I managed – I was probably just lucky. But personal and professional life has taught me how much it means to be motivated and to believe – we all need role models. The meeting with Phil Southerland made it clear to me that Team Novo Nordisk and these remarkable individuals pursuing the dream of their life could be that catalyst for millions of people with diabetes.

Team Novo Nordisk has given us countless magnificent

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moments. I will only mention two that made a stood out from the many for me. In 2016 in San Jose, as Team Novo Nordisk had finished stage 3 in Tour of California, a small boy named Austin with diabetes and his dad met the exhausted riders of Team Novo Nordisk. Never on a break when people with diabetes want to meet with them despite their physical exhaustion, and the riders invited Austin into the team bus, and Austin gave them high-fives. Austin left the team bus feeling cooler than the other kids – because he has diabetes. And in 2017, in the longest one-day race in the world Milan-San Remo with participation of world’s top riders, the peleton’s youngest rider Umberto Polli from Team Novo Nordisk and then only 20 years old, led a 250km breakaway for most of the race, role modelling that people with diabetes can achieve anything they dream of. Those moments are special.

These magnificent young athletes, who just happen to have diabetes, have created hope, inspiration and motivation for people with diabetes and their families, by showing that they can compete against the very best professional cyclists in the world. Their sports results are remarkable – however, to me the more important part is the message they convey to people with diabetes. They race to show that diabetes is not a barrier to live your dreams.

The team inspires, educates and empowers people affected by diabetes. And that is very important to me and to people with diabetes and their families. Because…

Carl M. Bilbo Corporate Vice President Novo Nordisk

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"At the end of the season, I would be happy if we can reach all the goals that the team and I have in mind both personally and professionally."

Diagnosis : 16 years

Andrea Peron Returning in 2020 for his eighth season with Team Novo Nordisk is Italian fast man Andrea Peron. On the back of a consistent 2019 campaign that was complete with top 10 placings from the Amgen Tour of California in May to the Tour of Taihu Lake in October, Peron rode on the front foot with the highlight being a podium on Stage 3 of the Tour of Estonia and second in the final points classification.

The 31-year-old from Veneto is known for his power and fearlessness in the sprints. In Team Novo Nordisk’s first year, he earned 14 top ten finishes, including podiums at Canada’s Tour de Beauce and the Tour of China. Three times Peron rode in the day’s main breakaway at the iconic one-day Italian race Milan-San Remo for most of the 298-kilometer event, proudly bringing worldwide attention to the Team Novo Nordisk jersey.

Additional highlights over his professional career include nine top 10 finishes throughout the 2019 season, a podium finish on Stage 5 of the Tour de Korea (2015), two top five placings at Brazil’s Volta Ciclística Internacional do Rio Grande do Sul (2016) and fifth place on Stage 1 of the Tour of Estonia (2018).

Peron was drawn to sports at a very early age. He enjoyed motor racing at first, but at 10, his parents found it too risky, and so he switched to cycling and soon began competing. He immediately found success and was already winning races in his first year.

As he continued winning throughout Italy, he realized he might have the talent to be a professional cyclist.

At 16, when Peron was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes, he thought his dream of racing was over. Fortunately, his doctor encouraged him to continue training and to use the bike as a way to manage his condition. After four successful seasons with Cyber TeamVC Breganze, the young sprinter was introduced to Team Novo Nordisk Sport Director, Massimo Podenzana, and joined the team on the following season.

Off the bike, the 31-year-old enjoys relaxing at home with his family. He and his wife are proud parents of a son.

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"You must never stop dreaming of pursuing your dream!"

Diagnosis : 16 years

Umberto Poli 2020 marks Verona native Umberto Poli’s fourth year in the professional ranks with Team Novo Nordisk. A solid year of racing in 2019 saw Poli return to his home monument, MilanSan Remo, and starring in the day’s main breakaway for the second time in his career before embarking on an international program that peaked with ninth in the mountain’s classification at the Tour of Denmark.

Back in 2018, his standout result was sprinting to eighth on Stage 3 of the Tour de Tochigi and in 2017, during his debut season, the Italian instantly made his mark on the pro peloton after receiving a late-race call up for the iconic one-day Italian race, Milan-San Remo.

He started as the youngest rider in the race and rode in the day’s main breakaway for most of the 298-kilometer race, proudly bringing worldwide attention to the Team Novo Nordisk jersey. He also earned his first top 10 result at a UCI 2.HC categorized race when he sprinted to 10th on Stage 4 of the Tour of Hainan (2017).

Poli found his love for the bike when he was a young boy and started competing at six, but as a child he never believed he could race professionally. At the age of 16 and following a bike race, Poli noticed he wasn’t feeling well. He was taken to the hospital where he was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. With the support of his close-knit family, friends, coaches and medical team, he soon returned to training and racing.

By the time Poli turned 18, he had realized that with dedication and commitment he could earn a professional contract. Soon a coach put Poli in touch with Team Novo Nordisk through sport director Massimo Podenzana, who invited him to attend that summer’s Talent ID camp in Georgia.

Based on those results, “Umbe” earned a spot on the 2016 development team. In his first season, he won Stage 2 and Stage 6 of the Georgia Cycling Grand Prix and was runner-up at the Mt. Victory Road Race. Poli credits his time with the development team as helping him to grow as a bike racer and learn to better manage his diabetes.

When he isn’t traveling around the world racing, Poli enjoys spending time with family and friends and exploring his hometown by bike.

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This book was written with unconditioned contribution of the Team Novo Nordisk