Chapter VI – The race

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”

“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”

“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

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”

“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,

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.

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.

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)