Kyanji, after 3 weeks here (books finish, labels of all clothes read, also all the stickers in the windows) they open the bakery of the village. More than for the cakes (they have chocolate and apple pie) we're happy to read some books they have from tourist than leave there. In between Murakamis, English classicals, one Italian book and Nepal trekking books it was one American Alpine Journal (from 2004 I thinks) In between all the articles of this year greatest ascensions it was some mail correspondence between some of the greatest climbers (Mark Twight, Steve House, Will Gad, Valery Babanov…) under the subject if high level in mix climbing want to increase the level in high mountains ascents. This was a interesting discussion about what's alpinism, what's the elite in alpinism, where we go…

One of my peers there, Jordi Corominas has in his website a interesting “Alpinist dictionary” (http://www.jordicorominas.es/actualidad/diccionario-alpinismo ) and this is the K:


What defines an alpinist? Or does it have to be defined? What are his skills and his masters? What do he leave behind? Currently we are in a world where we being totally dismembered humans to know our parts, see how it Works in every corner of the body machine. Today there are sports facilities, training programs and programs to find all kinds of new promises from earliest childhood. As in other sports in the mountains also seek the fundamentalingredients of the athlete. A mountaineer future possibility could be:
First he will need to be a good rock climber. For example to open pathways and climbing to a level around 8a/8a +. As anyone who deviates from the standard left a stamp sport which aims therefore undertake a pathway in solo (without cord) of 7c +, of course a long distance way and where the difficulty is not in the first meters. This climber also demonstrate that has a broad vision bringing something new to the sport, such as a new graduate of rock climbing. In their native mountains, or closer to their place of residence, have he pitch to put into practice all the techniques of the Alpine world. Open new paths of VI/A3, or free climbing. After that, the winter ascents comes, then first repeating, and then opening a route. Always making a difference to the routes are negligible: the excessively or poorly equipped, the difficulty of repeating, the materials made with long timings or excessive equipement, and retouch the crossing routes and variants, etc. And eventually he will repeat some great European routes, for example in the Troll (Romsdal, Norway). But as always innovating in this case could make the first winter ascent. Then moving to open new routes in the Alps mythical walls as in the north face of the Grandes Jorasses or Dru. With this knowledge acquired should be devoted to cross the mountain ranges of the world, mainly Himalaya and Karakorum. Their premises will be as clear and straight as railways: open routes, always in alpine style, with minimalism in terms of equipment, and small groups and without external support. No matter the size of the mountain that the route will be sought "the mountain route" to tell him, since you have already written an article as, "shining wall" or "The art of suffering." He climb with French, Swiss, Japanese, Italian, Polish, English, Germans, Americans ... to climb routes in mountains of six, seven and eight thousand feet. Since the inauguration of two-way to two eight thousand different peaks in the same season. Pass, for example, thirty years and no one will repeat its routes. That future elite will be unable to keep up with him, let alone any of the media who are only famous shadow players. And of course he will have to perform an activity of this magnitude and charisma that will remain in the annals as one of the ten key routes in the history of mountaineering. The future member of the elite of the mountains, possess a strict ethics never neglect to not fall into the temptation of the banal and easy, unlimited honesty never added anything to not have not done, and humility enough to neglect the fame, and speak and write it right: "The essence of the adventure is placed in an unknown position from which we know will happen." This futuristic project that we are currently talking about is sixty-eight years, and his name is Wojciech Kurtyka.

Kurtyka generation was really inspiring; climb not for the difficulty but for elegance and style. Mountain is the place where everybody can found his place to search his happiness, running in easy trails, climbing hard sportsclimbing routes, walking in normal routes to reach summits, climbing alpine routes, paragliding, skiing… at the end we're there to take pleasure, to enjoy, to complete our life. But the alpinist is the one who go to the unknown, to discover, a place of no one was before, that see in the rock, not just a rock, but also a line. Alpinism level maybe is not about the numbers you can reach, they're just the tools to paint what his mind can imagine. The true strength (or the stupidity) of great alpinists is to say in front of the white paper “why we can't do this like this?” and go, go to the unknown without fear to fail, because with success you can't found the strength to grow.

They're today not conforming to the success of repetitions, of doing well. They're today finding the fail, finding to look mountains different. Lluis Claret, a famous violoncellist from spain tells me one time “In our sound we can found the voice of many of people, our sound, our voice, is also the testimony of the people we have loved and admired, who have taught us and influenced.

I want to present you 5 alpinist, athletes, climbers, tell as you want, than I follow to keep inspired:

Ueli Steck – speed climbing, hight technical level now going to himalayas
https://www.facebook.com/ueli.steck
@UeliSteck

Alex Honnold – free solo climbing, climb the most awesome walls in solo
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Alex-Honnold/132274126826898
@AlexHonnold

Mark Twight – alpine style forever and punk style
http://www.marktwight.com
@mark_twight

Steve House – alpine style around all the world
@stevehouse10

Pierre Tardivel – more tan 100 first extreme ski descents, imagination and technique
http://pierretardivel.blogspot.com

Us presentem el Calendari de Trail de la temporada 2013.
Os presentamos el calendario de Trail de la temporada 2013.
We announce to you, the 2013 Trail Season
On vous annonce le Calendrier des Trails 2013


07/05/2013 - VERTICAL KILOMETER ELBRUS – RUSSIA - http://www.elbrus.redfox.ru/english/news/

11/05/2013 – TRANSVULCANIA – SPAIN - http://transvulcania13.com/index.php/en/

26/05/2013 – ZEGAMA AIZKORRI – SPAIN - http://www.zegama-aizkorri.com/

09/06/2013 – CERDANYA ULTRAFONS – SPAIN - http://www.ultrafons.com/

28/06/2013 - VERTICAL KILOMETER CHAMONIX – FRANCE - http://www.montblancmarathon.net/fr/

30/06/2013 - MARATON CHAMONIX – FRANCE - http://www.montblancmarathon.net/fr/

06/07/2013-07/07/2013 – KILIAN'S CLASSIK – FRANCE - http://www.traildefontromeu.com

14/07/2013 – ICE TRAIL TARANTAISE – FRANCE - http://www.icetrailtarentaise.fr/

19/07/2013-21/07/2013 - EUROPEAN SKYRUNNING CHAMPIONSHIP – ITALY - http://www.dolomiteskyrace.com/portali.asp

27/07/2013 - ULTRA SKYRUNNING DOLOMITI – ITALY - http://www.transdhavet.it/

24/08/2013 - MATTERHORN ULTAKS – SWITZERLAND - http://www.ultraks.com/

01/09/2013 – MEET YOU MAKER – CANADA - http://www.meetyourmaker50.com/

28/09/2013 – UROC – USA - http://www.ultraroc.com

11/10/2013-13/10/2013 – LIMONE – ITALY - http://www.skybikextreme.com/

25/10/2013-27/10/2013 - GRAND RAID REUNION - REUNION ISLAND -
http://www.grandraid-reunion.com


Kilian's Team

Temps de canviar rellotges, Temps de parar-lo i transportar-lo a una altre dimensió, ni més ràpida ni més lenta, una dimensió, el temps dels gegants.
Després d'uns Campionats del món plens d'alegríes i bons moments es temps de canviar maletes, agafar un altre material i marxar, amb dos amics lluny.

D'una conversa durant l'estiu va neixer un somni, d'anar a descobrir les muntanyes que enlluernen els alpinistes, de anar a descobrir les muntanyes de l'Himalaya del Nepal amb esquís.

Serà temps d'allunyar-se de tot el que ens deixa sense temps (internet, els mitjans socials, telèfons, entrenaments, curses...) per poder centrar-se en els moviments, del cos i del que ens envolta. Demà marxem amb el Jordi Tosas i el Jordi Corominas cap a Katmandù fins a finals de març amb tant sols una motxilla, uns esquís, una tenda i molta molta il·lusió, i per part meva, ganes d'aprendre d'aquests dos mestres i aquestes muntanyes.

------------------ ESP

Tiempo de cambiar relojes, Tiempo de pararlo y transportarlo a otra dimensión, ni más rápida ni más lenta, una dimensión, el tiempo de los gigantes.
Después de unos Campeonatos del mundo llena de alegría y buenos momentos es tiempo de cambiar maletas, coger otro material y marcharse, con dos amigos lejos.

De una conversación durante el verano nació un sueño, ir a descubrir las montañas que deslumbran los alpinistas, de ir a descubrir las montañas del Himalaya de Nepal con esquís.

Será tiempo de alejarse de todo lo que nos deja sin tiempo (internet, los medios sociales, teléfonos, entrenamientos, carreras ...) para poder centrarse en los movimientos, del cuerpo y de lo que nos rodea. Mañana nos vamos con Jordi Tosas y Jordi Corominas hacia Katmandú hasta finales de marzo con tan solo una mochila, unos esquís, una tienda y mucha mucha ilusión, y por mi parte, ganas de aprender de estos dos maestros y estas montañas.

------------------ ENG

Time to change clocks, time to stop it and transport it to another dimension, not faster or slower, but another dimension, the time of the giants.
After World Championships full of joy and good times is time to change bags, and take another material with two friends away.

In a conversation during the summer was born a dream, to go explore the mountains that dazzle climbers from going to explore the mountains of the Himalayas of Nepal with skis.

It will be time to get away from all that leaves us time (internet, social media, mobile, training, races ...) to focus on the movements of the body and around us. Tomorrow we go with Jordi Tosas and Jordi Corominas to Kathmandu until the end of March with only a backpack, skis, a tent and a lot of motivation, and personally, I want to learn a lot from these two masters and these mountains.

"La muntanya no es com els homes, la muntanya es sincera" Aquesta frase del Walter Bonatti s'apareix avui quan una cuasualitat temporal ha fet coincidir l'Operacó Puerto i el cas Bárcenas. Consequencies: molt de soroll però per una banda no han sortit els esportistes dopats i per l'altre, en els cassos de corrupció política, ningú dimiteix, demana disculpes...Tothom s'amaga fins que la tempesta haigui afluixat, perquè encara que siguin llargues el sol acava sortint i ningú s'enrecorda de la pluja d'ahir.

La muntanya no es així, encara que existeixi la trampa, el dopatge... No pensem que la muntanya es només el costat romàntic, sinó que des de les expedicions pesades, l'Oxígen, els antinflamatoris per el dolor, falsejar informacions...també hi és als cims, però el jutge no és una part implicada, no es un tribunal, una societat, una empresa, uns votants... El jutge es la muntanya, que hi era avans i hi serà després, i tant se li enrefot el que fem o deixem de fer. Es per això què es terriblement sincera. No admet cap error no admet disculpes, no interpreta. I tard o dora, a la muntanya, als fantasmes els fa desapareixer.

------

"la montaña no es como los hombres, la montaña es sincera" Esta frase de Walter Bonatti aparece hoy cuando una casualidad temporal ha hecho coincidir la operación Puerto y el caso Bárcenas. Consecuencias: mucho ruido pero por un lado no han salido los deportistas dopados y por el otro, en los casos de corrupción política, nadie dimite, nadie pide disculpas ... Todo el mundo se esconde hasta que la tormenta afloje, porque aunque las tormentas sean largas, el sol acaba saliendo y nadie se acuerda de la lluvia de ayer.

La montaña no es así, aunque también exista la trampa, el dopaje ... No podemos pensar que la montaña es sólo el lado romántico, sino que desde las expediciones pesadas, el Oxígeno, los antinflamatorios para el dolor, falsear informaciones ... también está en las cumbres, pero el juez no es una parte implicada, no es un tribunal, una sociedad, una empresa, unos votantes ... El juez es la montaña, que estaba antes y estará después, y tanto le da lo que hacemos o dejamos de hacer. Es por ello que se terriblemente sincera. No admite ningún error no admite disculpas, no interpreta. Y tarde o temprano, en la montaña, los fantasmas les hace desaparecer.


-----

"The mountain is not like men, the mountain is sincere" This Walter Bonatti phrase appears today when a temporal coincidence has matched the Operation Puerto and the case Barcenas. Consequences: noisy side but not out doped athletes and on the other, in cases of political corruption, nobody resigns, apologizes anyone ... Everyone hides until the storm loosen, because although storms are long, the sun is just coming out and nobody remembers the rain of yesterday.

The mountain does not, although there is cheating, doping ... We can not think that the mountain is only the romantic side, but also from the expeditions heavy, oxygen, take anti-inflammatory for pain, distort information ... is also on the peaks, but the judge is not a party involved, not a court, a partnership, a company, a voter ... The judge is the mountain that was before and will be after, and therefore gives what we do or fail to do. That is why we are terribly sincere. It supports not excuse any errors, not interpreted. And sooner or later, in the mountains, ghosts makes them disappear.

Avui segurament guanyarà l'Artur Mas les eleccions a Catalunya. Es sens dubte el millor polític dels que es presenten. Bona preséncia, Dó de paraula, Un dels pocs que ha sapigut tranmetre les seves idees amb claredat i sel·leccionar quines idees emocionaríen al poble. Es un polític que coneix el joc de la política a la perfecció i que sap escollir les millors estratégies. Sap idiomes i es mou amb facilitat en el món d'avui en dia. Com Obama ha aconseguit amb el poble americà. Es el do de la paraula.

La paraula es l'espasa de la nostra era. Qui guanya les batalles d'avui en dia es qui sap emocionar, i aquest es segurament el que té més mitjans. El millor polític es moltes vegades el que millor parla i convença més gent, no el que més idees i visió global té.

La gran quantitat d'informació que ens arriba a cada moment (internet, tv, facebook, twitter, al carrer...) ens impossibilita de l'assimilar, car quan sería temps de pair-ho, ja forma part d'un passat llunyà, vistes les noves informacions que estem processant. Informacions banals, informacions interessants, informacions transcendentals es barregen sense que puguem dedicar-hi el temps necessari per formar-ne una opinió. Vivim en un capitalisme d'idees i valors on el que es compra i es ven no són objectes sinó idees i amb elles les persones. A vegades la velocitat en la que vivim ens fa centrar-nos sobre un espai temps molt reduït, nosaltres, el nostre voltant i la nostra vida, com a molt la pròxima generació.

No m'ha agradat que una campanya electoral només es centres en un sol pensament (Independéncia si-independéncia no) Jo no crec en els països, la meva utopia (com deia Eduardo Galeano, les utopies són com l'horitzó, a cada pas que fas endavant, l'horitzó retrocedeix, però serveixen precisament per això, per caminar) es un món sense fronteres, sense etiquetes. No crec en la política perquè no crec en el sistema en el que es funciona. No crec en el funcionament del món si no es fa d'una forma global. Qui s'ha llegit un programa electoral complet? El vot, com la majoria de les decisions que prenem a la vida es basa més en l'emoció. Quan votem pensem en com viurem els pròxims anys, en com educaran els nostres fills i en com serà el nostre salari i les nostres cobertures socials. No pensem en com viuran els països que importen els aliments que menjarem, que extreuen la energia que consumirem, no pensem en el que es avui i aquí llunyà.

Es lògic que cadascú tiri cap a casa seva, i des d'un principi, els que votem, els que decidim som els homes, votarem per viure millor nosaltres i el nostre cercle, no la resta, no d'homes ni d'espècies. Si demà vingués un cérvol a casa teva amb un certificat diguent que aquell terreny es propietat seva, que pensaries? Que està boig! Es que potser no ho estem nosaltres...

Com es que en aquesta campanya ningú ha parlat de decreixement? Si tots sabem que la demografia actual amb els recursos naturals i el consum energètic es no només inviable sinó un homicidi per el reste d'espècies que cohabiten en el planeta, com es que ningú ha sabut dir que hem de consumir menys, que a l'hivern ens hem d'abrigar en comptes de posar la calefacció o que per viure no es necessari tenir ipad, 1 portàtil, telèfon, 5 mudes de roba, una casa de 100m2, menjar 3 cops al dia... ( i aqui em tiro pedres al taulat perquè jo tinc cotxe diesel, iphone...i visc del marketing) Fa anys que vivim per sobre de les nostres possibilitats, no econòmiques (ja que l'economia només es un joc que ens hem inventat els homes per sentir-nos superiors) sinó per sobre de les possibilitats naturals del planeta. De terra només n'hi ha una. Per molta merda que li fotem nosaltres viurem bé, els nostres fills també. Però com deia el proverbi indi, La terra no es un heretatge dels nostres pares sinó un préstec dels nostres fills.

Quin sentit té fer polítiques econòmiques, socials i energètiques oposades en dos països fronterers? Si un país vol ser ecològic i treballar les energies renovables i al costat s'explota i contamina amb petroli? La terra no n'entén de fronteres, l'home es el que les ha inventat, els països, les banderes. No ens equivoquem, som homes, animals, amb sentiments i emocions, amb una cultura diferent, però homes, animals que necessitem també de la terra per viure.

M'agrada anar a la muntanya, obrir traça i contemplar com les muntanyes es mantenen serenes mentre tot al seu voltant es mou a gran velocitat, amb presa, “per arribar a on?” Es deuen demanar, si el que busquen està aquí, a fora i a dintre seu. M'agrada contemplar els animals, que només caçen el que necessiten per alimentar-se, sense la vanitat de posseir, m'agrada contemplar les fruites, que neixen sabent que tindran una mort segura, però que alimentaran el pas del temps. M'agrada sentir que la vida es molt mes senzilla del que pensem, es menjar, beure, dormir, i sobretot sentir.

Aqui he trobat un bon article, que explica com l'home ha perdut la humanitat: http://patiblasco.desnivel.com/blogs/2012/11/21/cuando-eras-invisible/

CAT - ESP - ENG

CAT:

Avui s'ha acabat la meva temporada 2012, ha sigut sens dubte la més gran en emocions, de les millors a les més dures. Llàgrimes d'alegría i també de dolor i incomprensió.

Ha sigut una temporada on he corregut més hores i km que mai, que he esquiat més, que he escalat més, que he fet més muntanya i també la que m'he sentit més fresc, més descansat. Ara, que toquen 2 semanes de descans es hora de fer recomptes:

1100h / 621.000m,
amb esquís de muntanya 494h - 346.000m
córrent 535h - 265.000m
10h de bici
37h d'altres esports (escalada esportiva-paret)
moltes hores intentant progressar en slackline ;)

En cursa, ha sigut la més abundant i també la més qualitativa:

49 curses

30 curses d'esquí de muntanya: 15 victóries i 6 segones posicions.

19 curses trail (3 ultres, 4 Kilometres Verticals, 12 skyraces) amb 17 victóries i 2 terceres posicions.

També ha sigut la temporada d'arrencar el projecte "Summits of my life" amb les 2 travesses al Massís del Mont Blanc. Records, emocions, els millors de la meva vida a la muntanya i també els mes cruels.

Molts números per dir que ha sigut la temporada on he pogut compartir amb més gent aquestes hores a la muntanya, Gràcies a tota la gent del meu equip, Jordi...a l'Equip de la FEEC i la FEDME, l'Oriol, el Fernando, el Wein, Arnau, Alex...l'Equip de salomon, Joan, Pau, Greg, Serge, Patrick, Aude...El Guru Arnaud. Els companys d'hivern; Marc, Matheo, William...Els que han inmortalitzat tots els moments, Seb, Dean, Greg... La familia que sempre ha estat allà. Els amics que han vingut a les curses, amb els que hem compartit hores de viatge i d'hotel. Mireia, Poma, Miguel, Anna, Emelie, Iker, Nerea, Zhanna, Silvia, Tom, Dakota, Tony, Joe... I a tots els que m'heu estat seguint i donant forçes als camins i des de casa. MOLTES GRÀCIES


ESP:

Hoy se ha terminado mi temporada 2012, ha sido sin duda la más grande en emociones, de las mejores en las más duras. Lágrimas de alegría y también de dolor e incomprensión.

Ha sido una temporada donde he corrido más horas y kilómetros que nunca, que he esquiado más, que he escalado más, que he hecho más montaña y también la que me he sentido más fresco, más descansado. Ahora, que tocan 2 semanas de descanso es hora de recuentos:

1100h / 621.000m,
con esquís de montaña 494h - 346.000m
Corriendo 535h - 265.000m
10h de bici
37h de otros deportes (escalada deportiva-pared)
muchas horas intentando progresar en Slackline;)

En carrera, ha sido la más abundante y también la más cualitativa:

49 carreras

30 carreras de esquí de montaña: 15 victorias y 6 segundas posiciones.

19 carreras trail (3 ultras, 4 Kilometros Verticales, 12 skyraces) con 17 victorias y 2 terceras posiciones.

También ha sido la temporada de arrancar el proyecto "Summits of my life" con las 2 traviesas al Macizo del Mont Blanc. Recuerdos, emociones, los mejores de mi vida en la montaña y también los más crueles.

Muchos números para decir que ha sido la temporada donde he podido compartir con más gente estas horas en la montaña, Gracias a toda la gente de mi equipo, Jordi ... al Equipo de la FEEC y la FEDME, Oriol, Fernando, el Wein, Arnau, Alex ... el Equipo de salomon, Joan, Pau, Greg, Serge, Patrick, Aude ... El Guru Arnaud. Los compañeros de invierno; Marcos, Matheo, William ... Los que han inmortalizado todos los momentos, Seb, Dean, Greg ... La familia que siempre ha estado allí. Los amigos que han venido a las carreras, con los que hemos compartido horas de viaje y de hotel. Mireia, Poma, Miguel, Ana, Emelie, Iker, Nerea, Zhanna, Silvia, Tom, Dakota, Tony, Joe ... Y a todos los que me habéis estado siguiendo y dando fuerzas desde los caminos y desde casa. GRACIAS!

ENG:

Today I finished my 2012 season, was certainly the largest in emotions, the best and the toughest. Tears of joy and pain and misunderstanding.

It was a season where I have run more miles and more hours than ever, I skied more, I climbed more mountains and I've also felt that fresh and relax. Now I need 2 weeks of rest, it is time to count:

1100H / 621.000m,
ski mountainering 494h - 346.000m
Trail running 535h - 265.000m
10h cycle
37h of other sports (climbing-wall)
many hours trying to progress in Slackline;)

Race, was the most abundant and most qualitative:

49 races

30 ski races: 15 wins, 6 second positions.

19 trail races (3 ultras, 4 vertical kilometers, 12 skyraces) with 17 victories and 2 third places.

He has also been the season to start the "Summit of my life" with 2 crossings of the Mont Blanc massif. Memories, emotions, best of my life in the mountains and the most cruel.

Many numbers that season where I was able to share this time with more people on the mountain, thanks to all the people on my team ... the Team Jordi FEEC and FEDME, Oriol, Fernando, Wein, Arnau, Alex ... Team Salomon, Joan, Pau, Greg, Serge, Patrick, Aude ... The Guru Arnaud. Winter teammate, Marc, Matheo, William... Those who have immortalized all times, Seb, Dean, Greg ... The family has always been there. Friends who came to the races with the times we shared travel and hotel. Mireia, Poma, Miguel, Mitch, Anna, Emelie, Iker, Nerea, Zhanna, Silvia, Tom, Dakota, Tony, Joe... And all what have been following and giving strength from the trails and from home. THANKS!

Je me souviens de ce cahier ou il y avait ta photo, devant mes cours du lycée. Je me souviens de te chercher avec timidité pour te demander une photo lors des grands championnats. Je me souviens de tes mots toujours amiables aux jeunes coureurs comme moi. Je me souviens de ta facilité dans les descentes, toujours facile dans toutes les neiges. Je me souviens de ta sécurité, de ton pas facile dans le plus difficile. Je me souviens de ton sourire, lors que t'étais en montagne.

J'ai appris a tes cotés a sentir la montagne plus que des techniques. J'ai appris a tes cotés a vivre avec passion nos passions, dans l'effort, dans la montagne, mais aussi dans l'amitié et dans la famille. J'ai appris avec toi que les victoires ne sont celles des journaux mais celles de nos yeux, et ceux de nos proches. J'ai appris avec toi le valeur de la vie, de vivre et poursuivre nos rêves.

Je t'ai connu comme "le Boss" le meilleur compétiteur de l'histoire du ski alpinisme, celui dont participation était synonyme de victoire. Je t'ai apprécié comme celui qui inaperçu aime son sport et transmet ces connaissances et valeurs aux jeunes plutôt que brille seul. Je t'ai aimé pour ton amour a la vie, a tes proches, pour ta simplicité et vérité.

Je suis heureux d'avoir partagé des moments avec toi, je suis heureux d'avoir connu l'incroyable personne qui étais derrière l'énorme champion.

Quand on partais en montagne c'étais impossible penser que c'allait mal se passer. Ton pas sur, détendu, facile, m'inspirait de la confiance, de la sécurité. A tes cotés on se sentais serein.

T'étais trop fort pour la montagne, Stephane, je t'ai vu descendre des pentes impossibles a grande vitesse, sauter des corniches énormes sans trembler, faire des virages dans des neiges inskiables... Comme disait Messner, "La montagne n'est ni juste ni injuste, elle est dangereuse" T'es parti trop tôt, Stephane.

T'es parti comme tu vivais, avec un sourire, avec de l'amabilité, sans faire du bruit et pourtant dans le plus haut. Sans douleur, tombant comme tombe un arbre doucement.

Adieu Stef. Tu vas rester toujours dans nos coeurs.

Si tuviera que buscar los momentos mas fuertes, mas grandes de este invierno, seguro que uno sería el día de hoy. No había espectadores, no había cámaras (bueno solo los amigos Seb y Viv que se liaron a buscarnos entre las montañas) no había avituallamientos ni asistencia (he comido 5 barrigas y 600cl de agua) solo unos pocos amigos sabían lo que íbamos a hacer, no había salida ni llegada. Solo 3 amigos con ganas de disfrutar de la montaña y hacer realidad sus sueños.

Suena el despertador a las 4 de la madrugada, miramos el cielo, estrellas, no hay nubes, perfecto! Silenciosamente tomamos el desayuno para no despertar a los hijos de Stephane. A las 5, cuando las montañas empiezan a clarear nos ponemos, Matheo Jacquemoud (un joven que dará mucho que hablar en los próximos años, y con quien he corrido este año la PDG y el Rutor) Stephane Brosse ( mi idolo, the boss!) y un servidor, a andar con los esquís a la espalda dirección al Charvin, el primer pico del macizo des Aravis. Una hora mas tarde estavamos llegando a la cima, por una empinada arista al mismo tiempo que salían los primeros rayos de sol por detrás del macizo del Mont Blanc. Una imagen espectacular que nos acompañó en estos preciosos intentes en la cima! Con ya la luz del sol empezamos a bajar el corredor NE (200m 48º) una bonita línea con una nieve dura, helada y los rayos de sol iluminando toda la pared, magnífico! Cambio de pieles rápido y una corta subida a la Goenne, otra bajada divertida (150m 45º) y una subida hasta la Tête de l'Aulp, otra bajadita (150m 45º) y una larga subida en travesía hasta la Mandallaz. Sin darnos cuenta ya hemos hecho una buena parte y vamos mucho más rápidos de lo que pensábamos, la nieve helada hace que podamos avanzar en traza directa y no cansarnos mucho en las bajadas. De allí empieza una de las partes más bonitas del recorrido, una subida directa hasta la arista de l'Etale, una mole de roca que preside el macizo. llegados a la arista nos quedan unos 500m por una afilada arista, avanzamos rápidos, corriendo y andando y disfrutando del sol y de la espectacular vista del Mont Blanc al Este y la Tournette al Oeste. Llegados a la cima nos viene la bajada más dura de la travesía, el Couloir Combaz, una corredor con un resalte a esquivar de 200m (45-50º) Stephane va delante, como siempre en las bajadas, y nos demuestra porqué es el Boss. Nunca he visto a nadie esquiar con tanta seguridad y fluidez. Aunque lleva una talonera que no cierra, baja el corredor con tranquilidad, llega al resalte y como si fuera lo mas fácil del mundo da un giro y pasa el resalte. Llego al paso, la nieve está muy dura, hace 2 días bajamos este corredor con nieve profunda sin ningún problema, pero con el hielo, una caída sería bastante dolorosa ;) hago una vuelta maría para orientarme y salto el resalte. Matheo llega detrás para darnos el susto del día, cuando al intentar dar la vuelta resbala unos metros antes de agarrarse a unas rocas. Susto pasado, seguimos bajando y una corta subida antes de descender al Col des Aravis, que divide el macizo en dos.
Aprovechamos para beber un poco y empezar a subir tranquilamente los 1000m de hierva (eso si muy inclinada!) para llegar a la Porte des Aravis, donde empieza la 2a parte de la travesía, les Combes. Durante la subida un rebaño de Chamois (rebecos) nos deleita la vista con constantes exhibiciones de lo que es correr por la montaña. Bajando a velocidades fuera de la imaginación. A partir de aquí nos queda una larga travesía subiendo y bajando les Combes (valles y aristas)...un total de 10 subidas y bajadas cortas (entre 200 y 400m) por bonitos corredores y valles. las horas van pasando y el cansancio parece ir llegando poco a poco al mismo tiempo que las tormentas se acercan del oeste. El sol ya no brilla y todas las cimas están dentro las nubes. Es al llegar al inicio de la última (y más larga) subida hacia la Pointe Percée, que empieza a nevar ligeramente. Hay algunos momentos de duda, sobretodo por el cansancio, pero entre los 3 nos motivamos, estamos ya muy cerca de terminar la primera travesia nos stop! Vamos subiendo a medida que la metro va empeorando. Solo nos quedan 300m, una canal estrecha y una arista de roca hasta llegar a unir los 2 extremos de esta cordillera! Llegamos, más o menos cansados, "sec! sec!" como se dice en Francia, pero muy, muy felices de estar entre la tormenta a 2700m, sin ninguna de las espectaculares vistas que normalmente se disfrutan desde este pico, con frio, viento, nieve, cansancio, pero con todas las vistas que necesitamos dentro de nosotros. Nuestras miradas lo dicen todo. Somos felices. Ya "solo" nos queda una ultima larga bajada. La nieve se ha ido calentando durante el día y el hielo de la mañana es ahora una nieve pesada pero que en pendientes fuertes deja esquiar bien, así, la cara N (200m 45-50º) nos parece mucho más fácil que todo lo anterior. Bajamos con la lluvia, el frio se convierte en calor y humedad a medida que bajamos hasta llegar al final de la cordillera, donde solo está Viv. Esperamos debajo la lluvia y a los 5 minutos llega la esposa de Stephane con el coche, nos subimos para volver a casa, sin ruido, sin luces. Porqué todo lo que necesitamos está guardado dentro de cada uno de los tres.

Hello!!

here is a sample translation of the Skyrunner manifiesto and 1st chapitre of book...for the rest we expect some English publisher who is willing to publish...

CORRER O MORIR by Kilian Jornet Sample translation

Translated by Alan Moore

Contact:

Marina Penalva mpenalva@arallibres.cat
Sònia Herrera
sherrera@arallibres.cat


The Skyrunner Manifesto

Kiss or kill. Kiss the glory or die trying. Losing is death, winning means breathing. The struggle is what makes a victory, a winner.How many times have you cried of rage and pain? How many times have you lost your memory, your voice and your judgment because of your tiredness? And in this situation, how many times have you been thinking: Try again! A couple of hours more! Another hill! Pain does not exist, it is only in your head! Control it, destroy it, delete it, carry on! Make your opponents suffer, kill them. I am selfish, am I not? Sport is selfish because one has to be selfish to be able to fight and suffer, to love loneliness and hell. To stop, to cough, to be freezing, not feeling one's legs, to feel nauseous, to vomit, have headache, a shock, blood running down your body... Have you got something better to offer me?
The secret is not in the legs. It is to find enough courage to go out and run when it's raining, windy, when it's snowing. When flashes of lightning hit the trees. When snowballs or ice rain hit your legs, your body and make you cry. To continue, you have to dry the tears from your face to be able to see the stones, the obstacles, the sky. Forget some hours of party, face tens of reproaches, say no to a girl, to the warmth of the blanket covering your face... Send everything to hell and go out in the rain until your legs bleed after having fallen down and risen again to keep running up... Until your legs shout: ENOUGH! And leave you alone in the middle of a storm in unknown mountains... until death.
Shorts drenched by the snow, brought by the wind that slaps you face and freezes your sweat. Light body, light legs. Feel the way the pressure of your legs and the weight of your body are concentrated on the metatarsus of your feet's fingers, exerting a pressure capable of breaking stones, destroying planets and moving continents. With both legs in the air, flying like an eagle and running faster than a cheetah. Or when you are going downhill, when your legs sink in snow or mud, just before pushing
forward, and make you feel free to fly, scream of rage, of hatred and love in the heart of the mountain, where only the bravest rodents or birds can become your confessors, hidden in their nest under the rocks.. They are the only ones who know your secrets and your fears. Because losing means dying. And you cannot die without giving your best, everything, without crying because of pain and injuries, you cannot give up. You have to fight until death. Glory is the greatest thing, you cannot reach it without giving everything you have. You have to fight, suffer and die. Without that, nothing is worth it. The time to suffer has come, the time to fight has come, the time to win has come. Kiss or die.

Those were the words that, in those times, I had pinned onto the door of an old apartment and would read every morning before going out to train.

1 What do you want to be when you grow up?

—A lake counter. When I grow up, I want to be a lake counter!— The teacher took her eyes from the board, where she was writing a list of the professions that the children in the class wanted to be when they grew up, and gazed over at my desk.
—That's right, a lake counter. But I won't only count how many there are. I'll go up into the mountains and when I find a lake I'll see how deep it is by throwing a stone into the middle of the water, tied to a rope, and I'll see how many paces long and wide it is. Where the rivers that flow into it come from. And where the ones that flow out of it go. I'll see whether there are any fish, or frogs, or tadpoles. And whether the water is clean or not. —Rosa looked at me in even greater surprise: it was not the job that most five-year-olds wish for, but I was quite sure of myself. It was my destiny.

What with this anecdote and the fact that, on all the climbs and hikes that I went on since I had use of reason, I had always brought at least one stone from the peak or highest point we reached home, a custom I still preserve even now (I collect stones of all types and colours: volcanic stones from Kilimanjaro, granite from the Pyrenees and the Alps, ochre stones from Morocco and Cappadocia, blue ones from Erciyes, slabs from Cerro Plata...), it all makes me believe that I was predestined to become a geologist or similar. Predestined to discover the entrails of the Earth by finding stones on all its peaks, in all its caves, studying its landscapes and revealing how it had been able to build such complex constructions, with its mountain ranges, valleys, lakes... And how all this, somehow or other, works perfectly, like a Swiss watch, and how nothing and no one, not even the most powerful men and women, can halt its vital rhythm.

I think that was one of the few times I have said “I want to be”. I have always been more one of those people who say “I'll try...”. I have always been a shy person, and I have always thought it was best to let things take their course, that everything would be alright in the end. So I let things take their course, and my destiny made everything alright in the end.

My childhood was that of a normal kid. I spent my time outside class playing near my parents' house, on my own, with my sister or with school friends come to spend the afternoon with me. We played hide-and-seek and tag games, we built cabins and castles, we turned our surroundings into imaginary scenes from comics or films. I have never been one of those people who lock themselves away in their houses, and I was lucky enough to have parents who lived in a mountain refuge, where my father worked as a ranger. Our home stood at an altitude of 2,000 metres, on the northern slopes of La Cerdanya country, amid the peaks along the border with France and Andorra. My playground was never a street or a yard, but the forests of Cap del Rec, the cross- country ski slopes and the peaks of La Tossa Plana, La Muga, Perafita... That was where I began to discover the fascinating world of nature. When we came home from school, we would quickly drop our satchels in the dining room and charge out to climb the rocks, or swing from the branches of a tree in summer, or to race across snow- covered fields in our cross-country skis in winter.

Every night, before going to bed, in our pyjamas, my mother would take my sister and I for a walk in the forest, in the dark without a torch. We avoided the paths and, little by little, once our eyes got used to the dark and our ears to the silence, we could hear the wood breathing and sense the ground under our feet. We overestimate the sense of sight and, when unable to use it, we feel vulnerable, defenceless against the world and its dangers. But, what danger can there be in a Pyrenean forest at night? The truth is that the only natural predators, wolves and bears, have been rare for years now. As for the other animals, what danger can there be in meeting a fox or a hare for an animal ten or fifteen times larger than they? And the trees? You learn to hear how the wind brushes their leaves, allowing you to “see” them. And the earth? Your feet tell you where there are branches, grass, mud or water, whether the terrain is sloping upwards or downwards or if there is a sudden dip.

And so the years went by quickly, with games around the refuge and hikes at weekends and during the holidays. Whenever we had a couple of days free, we would be off to explore a new mountain. As soon as we could walk, we began by climbing up the mountains nearest to home, the peaks around the refuge. But, gradually, we began to seek out new adventures further afield. By the age of three I had already climbed Tossa Plana, Perafita and Muga. And as for the peaks of Aneto, I had done my first 4.000m by the age of six, and when I was ten I crossed the Pyrenees in forty-two days... But we never followed in our parents' footsteps on these excursions. True, they took us to the summit and guided us, but it was up to us to find the path, to spot the signs and understand why our route took us in one direction and not another. We were not mere observers of what was going on around us; rather, the mountains took on a deeper meaning for us than just as a place for leisure activities. This was a living terrain that we needed to understand in order to move around it in safety, interpreting and taking steps to avoid any danger. In short, we needed to adapt to the terrain where we had been born. And it was in this way that our parents taught us to love the mountains, by making us feel part of them. Because, at heart, a mountain is like a person: to love them, you first have to understand them, and once you understand them, you know when they are angry and when they are happy, how to treat them, how to play with them, to look after them when they are hurt, when it is best not to bother them... but the difference is that, unlike another person, a mountain, nature, the earth, is enormously bigger than you. You should never forget that you are just a tiny speck, a dot in space, in infinity, and that it is the mountain that can decide at any time whether or not to erase that dot.

When I was eight, I went on a trip that I will never forget, and which I often remember when I am out running.
We reached La Coruña, in Galicia. The train stopped and we got off. The weather was cool and, although it wasn't raining, it seemed that the first drops might start to fall at any moment. We got our bikes out and starting cycling. I was riding my mother's mountain bike. It was quite new and, although I could hardly reach the pedals, I always wanted to ride it because of the coloured decorations on the spokes of both wheels. My sister was seven and she had had her bike for the last three years. Although it was still in perfect condition, she had grown much taller in that time and had to pedal madly to keep up. My mother rode an old Peugeot racing bike with the gear lever on the frame. Over the back she had shopped huge rucksack with everything the three of use
needed to spend a week cycling and camping in Galicia. We set off southwards and made good progress, easily adopting a reasonable
rhythm together. I went first on my huge bike, my sister followed me, pedalling away madly and my mother moved back and forth making sure we were both alright. In the midst of the drizzle, which made us damp all day, we reached Santiago de Compostela. During one of our rest stops, looking at an old Michelin road map, my mother said to me:
—Kilian, follow this line —pointing to the white line that ran beside the road — and keep to it at all times, even when you come to crossroads, as you will come to a road that leads off to the right, OK?
I understood perfectly and started off again, concentrating on keeping to the white line, even where it was broken at certain points, while my mother followed me at a distance with my sister. We began to come to crossroads, then there were cars overtaking me on the right and on the left, and the drivers of coaches and lorries shouting at me. But I followed my instructions to the letter and stuck to the line. Suddenly I saw my mother running along, pushing her bike, on the extreme left-hand side of the road. She was screaming at me to get out of the middle of the road:
—Kilian! What are you doing? Get off the dual carriageway!
By sheer bad luck, the line I was following led straight to the fast lane on the dual carriageway into Santiago. But I, following my mother's orders to the letter, had stuck to it like glue. Now I left it and went back to where my mother was. Perspiring from the effort, she hugged me and then mended the puncture she had had while chasing after me.
The next three days were a fierce battle against the north wind. We took the winding roads along the coast as the wind tried to blow us back. My sister found it hard work climbing the hills on her little bike, and my mother had to look after both of us, me speeding along, my sister making slower progress. In spite of all the difficulties, a breezy afternoon with light clouds skipping through the skies saw us reach Cape Finisterre to watch a beautiful sunset over the horizon out to sea.
We had forgotten that, once the sun goes down, there is no light. As always, when we turned to go back in the same direction we had come, all I could think about was what my mother had told me to do: “Stop at the campsite with the green gates and two flags outside. I'll come up with Naila”.
I took off on my bike, and my strong legs took me for mile after mile. To my right, the beaches began to disappear from view and the mountains began to loom towards me once more. “How strange, I thought the campsite was closer than this”, I said to myself, as it got darker and darker and the road became steeper and steeper. I reached the mountain pass and started to charge down the other side. Ahead and to the right, no light or any sign that I was coming to a campsite. I sped up in order to get there quicker. I was getting cold and I was tired. Suddenly, as I turned a bend, a small red car overtook me and stopped just in front of my bike. A short, stout man got out, laughing his head off. He was followed by my mother, who got out from the other door, still in her cycling boots.
—Didn't you see the campsite?—she asked me, annoyed.
—Mmm... No, it wasn't there. I saw beaches, then mountains—I replied, remembering everything I had seen since I started out.
—What about on your left?—she asked, looking at me in amazement.
I felt so stupid. There was a fifty-fifty chance that the campsite was on the left- hand side of the road, but I never thought of that. I smiled, laughing at myself, and got into the car with the campsite owner, who drove us to our tent, where my sister was cooking dinner.
Next day, we got up early so as to reach La Coruña that afternoon, as the train back to Puigcerdà left first thing the following day. This time, we all went together to avoid any more incidents, but on the last slope before entering the city my mother's bike broke down. It had taken a lot of wear and tear over the years, and the chain and gears had become jammed. As we had not put any bicycle repair equipment in our twenty-kilo rucksack, we had to go to a little shop in a village nearby to buy oil.
After trying again and again with our hands, pulling everything we could find, we managed to free the chain, but the bike remained stuck in a low gear. As my mother could not now leave her feet on the pedals to go downhill, unless she wanted her legs to go round nineteen to the dozen, she went first with her legs on the handlebars and we followed to make sure no accidents occurred.
That night we slept in a hostel in the city centre, and the next morning we got up early to catch the train. On the outward journey we had had problems getting the bikes on the train with us, but this time we were better prepared, and packed them before leaving the hotel. We didn't have any covers or boxes, so we had to pack them in our sleeping bags. This carefully-planned solution had just one problem: getting the bikes to
the station. As neither my sister nor I could carry those packages, which were bigger than us. The system we decided on was as follows: my mother and I would go halfway to the station carrying the first bicycle, and I would wait there with the package. She would then go back to get the second and then the third, and on this last journey she would also bring my sister Naila. This done, we then repeated the whole operation, this time finally getting to the station.
My sister and I were so good that we lost the chance to earn our first bit of pocket money. Passers-by, seeing two children on their own, looking tired after days of hard cycling and wearing clothes made dirty by the bike chain, sitting beside a huge sleeping bag, were moved and offered us money to buy food. We just looked at the people in amazement. We couldn't understand why they thought we were so thin, for we'd just had breakfast and, of course, we refused to take their money.
We finally got to the train station, where the guard ordered us to take the bicycles out of the sleeping bags and stay near the doors, where we had to move them from left to right and back again to allow passengers to get off at the different stations. After some hours of this, a hostess finally felt sorry for us and allowed us to leave the bikes in the carriage they used to store the equipment needed on the train, and at last we could sleep until we got home.

Our trips went from being games to being activities, and from activities to sport. I began taking part in competitions when I started going to college, as I had also enrolled at the mountain skiing technical centre as a way of using up some of my surplus energy. Then training began, and I had to travel to compete races: at first all over the Pyrenees, later all over Europe. I got my first results, and that made we want to improve even more. With help from Maite Hernández, Jordi Canals and the whole team at the technical centre, not forgetting my mother, who took me all over the place so that I could train in the morning before school, my career seemed to be taking off and my greatest successes were still to come, even though I had won everything in all the lower categories.

However, life is always placing obstacles in our paths: on 22 December 2006, just the day after I had beaten Agustí Roc, my own personal reference point, for the first time, I was running home from the driving school and, leaping from one street to the next as I had done before on so many occasions, my feet got tangled up and I fell to the ground, hard. I felt a terrible pain in my left knee and right hand.
Well, I dragged myself home somehow and sat down on the sofa to wait for the swelling to go down and the pain to go away. Quite the opposite occurred, however, and by the early hours of the night my knee was so swollen that, despite my protests, they took me to hospital.
—You've broken your kneecap and the metatarsal bone in your hand—the doctor informed me, and my world fell to pieces as I listened.—The best thing we can do is to operate as soon as possible and put in a cerclage. That should get you right.
It was a difficult decision to take, and I was unable to think clearly at that moment. Things were going better and better for me in my sporting career, and at just eighteen years old I could not see anyway out of this. Was my career over? Would I recover from this injury? I would probably be able to do sport again, but could I get back to the levels that it had taken me so much hard work to achieve? I wanted to know it, and quickly. I could not bear the thought of a year without competition, training, sport. What would I do? My head was full of these questions as they operated on me to place a cerclage on my knee.
I needed to find other alternatives. If I could not return to high-level competition, I needed other motivations and goals to work towards. As a result, I used the three months I spent with my leg in plaster to find as much information as I could about mountain skiing. I searched out studies and technical tests that had been carried out on cross-country skiers in order to apply the knowledge to my sport. I learned how to improve tactically by reading psychology books. I spent whole nights in front of the computer, surfing sites on physiology and sports strategy in order to gain a more in- depth understanding of my body. This was also a way of avoiding sleepless nights with so many unanswered questions running around in my head.
In March I went into hospital to have the plaster removed. I was aghast when I first saw my leg after such a long time. No, that could not be my leg! It was impossible! My leg was strong, full of muscle. That strip of wire with fur growing on it could not be mine! Oh God! Then things really did look black to me. To console myself, I thought that, at least, with all that I had learned during my three months of intensive study, I would be able to maintain some kind of connection with sport.
My first sessions with the physiotherapist were horrible. I couldn't even drag my leg along without electrostimulation. I couldn't stand without the support of a crutch. How would I ever run again if I could not even stand? However, little by little, I got better and my leg began to put on some flesh. After a week I could stand without the
help of a walking stick, and if I could stand, then I could ski, couldn't I? I tried. I went to the slopes and put on my ski boots for the first time in four months. I was pretty sure that the doctors wouldn't be very happy about me skiing, but, really, all I was doing was standing up, and the boots supported my feet. It was the same thing as being at home and doing exercises... I started by climbing up the slopes and, though I was in pathetic shape physically, I saw that I really could do it, that I might be able to be myself again, and I felt as if the adrenalin was starting to flow through my veins once more. When I got to the top of the slopes I was as excited as if I had just won the Olympics. I sang, danced and shouted as if I were alone in the world. The other skiers all around look at me as if I were mad. In fact, after so many months of doing nothing, I must have lost a lot of neurons. Then, after the adrenalin rush, I became sensible again and asked myself the basic question: “How on earth am I going to get down the slope again?”
I had been so excited at seeing that I could ski again that I had not thought about the fact that, having got up, I would naturally have to get back down again. I started going down on the back of a friend who offered his help. Halfway down, though, we realised that this was not the best solution and I went down the rest of the way on one ski, supported my weight on one leg, the good one, whilst bending the bad one so that it did not touch the ground.
From then on, I had only one aim in mind: to persuade the doctors and physiotherapists to let me start training again. It was hard at first. When, grinning from ear to ear, I told the doctor that I had been skiing and it had not gone so badly, she replied loud and clear:
—I'll put you back in plaster!
—No, no, no, please! I'll do everything I need to do. Gym, swimming pool, physio... but not plaster, please!
Seeing that there was no hope of getting anywhere with the doctors, I tried my physiotherapist. He told me that when I could bend my knee ninety degrees I could begin working on the exercise bike and that, meanwhile, I could go to the pool to walk under water. I then started to do everything I could in order to bend my leg: I sat on it to put pressure on, I lifted ever-heavier weights to gradually increase mobility in the joint and, little by little, I made progress. As for the swimming pool, I went one day, but it was obvious that walking under water, going up and down, surrounded by senior citizens was not much fun, and it occurred to me that I could reinterpret what my physiotherapist had said. He had talked about walking under water. Well, what is a pool
but water, and water and snow are the same thing, only in different states... It wasn't my fault if physics was so capricious. So I started walking, skis on my feet, on snow until, three weeks later, I could bend my leg the famous ninety degrees, and then I started work on the exercise bike. The first session wasn't a complete disaster, and my physiotherapist told me I could go to the gym in Puigcerdà to continue working on the bike.
Well, I did go to the gym, but I could only bear about fifteen minutes watching music videos on the TV screen in front of me, and the thought struck me that, when you get down to it, ninety degrees are ninety degrees, whether you are on an exercise bicycle or a racing bike. I looked out of the window. The sun was shining and the temperature was good. I went home, got out my bike and went for a ride: one port, another port, and that is how I started to combine skiing with cycling. Really, I was only doing what they told me: to walk in water and to ride a bicycle. It was just better not to tell them exactly how I was following their orders as long as they didn't ask. The problem came when my doctor saw the classifications for the Catalan Mountain Ski Championship.
—Well, it was near my home... so I went along to watch, and as I had done well last year, it turns out they had a bib number for me, and I can never say no to anyone, so I took them up on it. I took it easy at first, I didn't think I would even finish, but in the end it was easier to finish than to go up there by car, because the roads are terrible... But I only went down on one leg, you know. I was really careful and didn't push things too hard... —that was my defence, but I couldn't repress a smile as I told my story.
—Alright, anyway, there's nothing we can do about it now—she replied—But at least be careful not to fall until we've taken the iron screws out of your knee.
And so, having been given carte blanche, I began to train like mad and, little by little, returned to my form before my unfortunate injury, even improving on earlier levels.
** *
There comes a time in everyone's life when you have to decide which path to take and, once you have decided, it is no good wondering what would have happened if you had chosen a different route. You just have to enjoy what you find along the way as much as you can. We cannot know what lies along other paths, even though we often wake up at night dreaming that they were better. The truth is, perfection only exists in our interior,
in what we believe is perfect. All paths lead to different places, but only our own steps can enable us to find sparks of happiness along the way.
The decision has been made: it is at the age of eighteen that you have to start choosing the life you want, a job, a career, a family, the food in the fridge, a car, a home, a bank account, whether you want to keep a pet, the bedspread, the kitchen furnishings, your cutlery and table linen, the TV channel you want to watch, what you want for lunch, how to kill time on a Sunday afternoon, your future, your life. No, I did not choose all that. I chose a different life.
I lived in an eighteen-square-metre studio flat in the Grand Hotel in Font-romeu. I shared it with a friend, though there were usually also five or six other people sleeping on the floor. It was on the ground floor of an enormous early-twentieth-century building that overlooks the town of Font-romeu. The room lay to the right of the great hall, whose huge spiral staircases with marble banisters evoked the splendour of the site's bourgeois French origins. Now, though, dark and empty, it looked more like an imitation of the hotel in the film The Shining. The door to the room was made of thick wood covered by a coat of paint in some anonymous colour that was beginning to flake. The only things that distinguished it from the more than fifty doors on this wing of the building were the keyhole and a small gilt aluminium plaque on which you could read the number “18” written over in felt-tip pen. Once inside, on the left was a lavatory partitioned off by a sliding door and on the right was a bathroom with mirror and a small hip-bath. The room was, as I have mentioned, around eighteen square metres in size, and had just one window, though this covered the entire north side. It was often left half-open as a provision for those not-infrequent days when we would return home to find the doors locked and the keys lost, who knows where. The floor was covered by a thick blue wall-to-wall carpet, which we had cut ourselves, and the only real furniture were two bunk beds beside the left-hand wall. To the right was the cooker, with three rings and an oven, in which we kept two pans, a frying pan and a grill. Beside it was a pile of food: a packet of chocolate-flavoured cereals, five packets of biscuits, two half- kilo packets of spaghetti, packets of salt and oregano, a bottle of olive oil (the tiny fridge was rarely full), two cans of fried tomato, a kilo pack of grated cheese and a three-kilo slab of Beaufort cheese: this was our diet. In fact, we usually made a pot of pasta with tomato sauce, which we warmed up when we came back from training, when our strength was failing, before going on again until, once more, we began to weaken.
The thing was to take in as many calories as possible so as to be able to keep going for as long as we could endure.
Facing the bunk beds, on a chair, was a small television set which always played the same DVD: La tecnica dei campioni, featuring footage and technical analyses of the greatest mountain skiers of the time. Before training, a video session helped to motivate us to give our all as we attempted to imitate the skiing style of Stéphane Brosse and the way Guido Giacomelli used his ski poles.
Our clothes were piled on the floor, under the window, in two heaps. At the back were our uniform trousers, shirts and jerseys, in the front, our training kit: ski suits, thermal undershirts, trousers and tights, gloves, caps.... Next to our clothes was the material workshop, the iron, the wax for our skis, scissors, cutters, bits of cloth of all kinds, a radial arm saw, rope and string, which we used to make and destroy, to construct and dismantle, all the material we possessed. The rest of the room was covered by what we called “our best girlfriends”: bicycles, trainers, boots and skis, which received preferential treatment. On the wall hung a poster of the twentieth Pierra Menta, a four-day race mountaineering race for teams of two people, known as the mountain skiing Tour de France. This was the race that had been won by the greatest skiers in history, the race you had to take part in at least once in your life, the one we dreamed of every day, at training, when eating, when sleeping. Behind the entrance door we had pinned up the Skyrunner Manifesto, the text that gave us strength to keep running for as long as we could, even in adverse weather conditions.
That is how, between these four walls, joined by our deep desire to destroy our bodies through hours and hours of training, Fuenri's Factory came into being. A group of friends with just two thoughts in their heads: metres and more metres. Nothing else mattered. Where or how you slept, what you ate or, if necessary did not eat. What mattered was to train and to compete to the maximum.
I remember leaving home on my bike, my skis tied to my rucksack, cycling 60 kilometres to reach the snow, skiing until it got dark and returning home at night, by the light of my head lantern, freezing cold. I remember putting up my tent in the car park in Astún the night before a race and getting up at minus fifteen degrees, unable to take the tent down again because it had become frozen to the ice on the ground, before taking part in the Spanish Championships. I remember countless Saturday nights sleeping on the seat of a car or even in the trunk, in a sleeping bag, ready to compete on the Sunday.
Our whole lives revolved around competing. We slept and ate just enough so that we could train, and we gave our all in training so that we could compete and obtain the best results we were capable of achieving. All our income, which was reduced only to grants based on results and race prizes, went to pay for the flat and to buy the best equipment, which we then destroyed in our workshop in order to make it as light as possible, with the obvious consequences. We bought our boots from different shops, as we were embarrassed to go in and buy a new pair for the fourth consecutive week. The culmination came one day in March when, with no light in the studio, as it was more important to have a good pair of carbon ski poles than electricity, one Wednesday, I was with Álvaro, my flat-mate and race companion. We were lying on the floor, with the 200 euros rent money for the month scattered all over the carpet, and we were trying to decide whether it was more important to give the money to the owner, Madame Levy, or to leave that afternoon for Arêches Beaufort, the centre of the world for us in those days, and the place where the Pierra Menta would start the next day.
Needless to say, the result of our deliberations was a foregone conclusion, and a few minutes later we were loading the white Peugeot Partner with our cases and skis. We picked up Naila, my sister, and Mireia, my best friend, who formed a team together, and set off on the A9 motorway to reach Arêches seven hours later. That is where our Odyssey began, as we tried to persuade the organisers to let us take part. Of course, registrations for the race were like gold dust and even though we were in the junior category, places were limited and entries had closed long before. But we did not give up hope and, after hours of running all over the place, talking to all the organisers, we finally obtained a starting number. A starting number for the Pierra Menta. That was where our dream began. We slept in the girls' room, since we had spent the 200 euros on the entry fees and couldn't afford any more money for a hotel.
The race was great: fantastic atmosphere, good vibrations, a win on the Sunday and second place in the overall standings of the junior category. And, above all, lots and lots of adrenalin as we got up in the morning in the knowledge that only one thing mattered that day: to compete.

Au départ de St-Martin, la 12e édition de la patrouille de la Maya s'est courue dans des conditions optimales. L'équipe Franco-espagnole de Valentin Favre, Alexis Sévennec et Kilian Jornet gagne avec un temps canon de 1h59'44''.

Quelle belle matinée! Quelle belle course! Après l'annulation d'une épreuve de coupe du monde en Italie, le gratin du ski mondial s'est donné rendez-vous dans le Val d'Hérens pour avaler 1'860 mètres de dénivelé sur une distance de 21,2km.

Record en 1h59'44''

Invité de dernière minute, Kilian Jornet a rejoint ses coéquipiers Valentin Favre et Alexis Sévennec la veille de la course. "Notre coéquipier Didier Blanc est tombé malade en début de semaine", raconte Alexis Sévennec. "Lorsque j'ai appelé Kilian hier, il a répondu tout de suite positivement." Ce trio de choc établit un nouveau record du tracé en 1h59'44''. Déjà vainqueur du trophée du Muveran et de la PdG entre Arolla et Verbier en 2010, la paire Française Sévennec - Favre accroche une nouvelle victoire prestigieuse sur sol Suisse.

Le Swiss Team avec Martin Anthamatten, Florent Troillet et Yannick Ecoeur prend une magnifique 2e place en 2h01'16''. "Devant nous, c'est une superbe équipe qui s'impose aujourd'hui", commente dans l'aire d'arrivée Martin Anthamatten. "J'étais un peu limite dans la première ascension", poursuit le Zermattois. "Notre équipe est toutefois très performante. Nous serons prêts pour la PdG."

Détenteur du record du tracé depuis 2000, le team MJD.ch de Jean-Yves Rey, Jean-Daniel Masserey et Rico Elmer prend une belle 3e place en 2h13'11'', (1er vétérans 2). "J'ai souffert durant toute la course", confie Jean-Yves Rey. "Au départ, j'ai rencontré un problème avec une fixation. J'ai perdu un ski. J'ai serré les dents pour rejoindre mes coéquipiers. Je suis motivé pour la PdG."

Le team la Trace (2h18'46'') avec Alain Darbellay, Antoine Jean et Alain Rey termine au 4e rang. Le team Valerette Altisiki 2 (2h19'49''), avec Emmanuel Vaudan, Eric Dussex et Idris Hirsch prend le 5e rang, le 2e chez les seniors 2.

Retour réussi

Chez les dames, le team "Les Enfants du Sourire" (2h27'17'', nouveau record du parcours) avec Séverine Pont Combe, Laetitia Roux et Mireia Miro devance le Swiss Team (2h34'26'') composé de Marie Troillet, Nathalie Etzensperger et Gabrielle Gachet. Pour la Haut-Valaisanne Nathalie Etzensperger, c'était le retour à la compétition, un retour réussi. "J'ai souffert dans la première partie", commente-t-elle. "Je suis toutefois satisfaite de ma forme actuelle. Elle va aller crescendo." Sa coéquipière Marie Troillet rajoute: "J'ai pris beaucoup de plaisir de courir avec Gabrielle et Nathalie. Notre entente est très bonne. Je suis en train de finir une formation. Ensuite, je poursuit ma saison en coupe de monde et je vais me préparer au mieux pour la Patrouille des Glaciers."

La jeune formation Franco-suisse avec Emilie Favre, Axelle Mollaret et Jennifer Fiechter prend une 3e place prometteuse avec un chrono de 2h45'15''.

Le team La Trace-Ice Breaker de Mary-Jérôme Vaudan, Véronique Ançay (toutes deux anciennes détentrices du record en 2h58'57'') et Lucia Naefen termine au pied du podium en 2h51'22''. Le team Chansimarco de Chantal Daucourt, Simone Delamorclaz et Caroline Kilchenmann finit au 5e rang en 2h56'13''.

Par Bernard MAYENCOURT

Esta es una historia de ilusión y de amor... Una historia mágica y sencilla. Delicada y profunda. Una historia que regala un precioso e inmenso mensaje. Un regalo de esperanza y deseos. Miles de sonrrisas y ganas por seguir siendo como somos, de seguir buscando, de no cansarnos en cada uno de nuestros pasos...y mucho más...
No hay nada que detenga nuestros sueños . Gracias, Ann, por recordárnoslo y por dejarme compartir vuestra-nuestra historia...



THE SKY IS THE LIMIT

En octubre de 2010 empecé a dar clases a un grupo de personas extraordinarias. Todos eran muy diferentes entre sí pero tenían en común la búsqueda de la felicidad y la plenitud en sus vidas.

Como ejercicio de aprender a escuchar en inglés les contaba historias de coincidencias y les expliqué la teoría de la ley de la atracción. Les conté lo importante que es tener sueños, creer en los milagros y nunca perder la fe en la vida, ni siquiera cuando te dicen que sólo te quedan unas semanas de vida.

Valentín, normalmente un muchacho callado y reservado, dijo que su hermano Antonio había sido diagnosticado con cáncer terminal. Le dije que nadie, ni el mejor de los médicos, podía predecir la muerte de nadie y que mientras respiremos tenemos que disfrutar al máximo de cada aliento de nuestra vida.
Nos contó Valentín que su hermano era muy optimista, algo que siempre ayuda. A lo largo del curso la salud de Antonio se fue manteniendo estable. Incluso dejó de tomar las pastillas de morfina porque se sentía mejor.

A David, el corredor de maratón de la clase, le fue difícil al principio seguir mis historias pero no se dio por vencido y no se perdió ni una sola clase. Su comprensión del inglés y su expresión verbal mejoraron tanto en esos pocos meses que apenas me lo puedo creer yo.
Acostumbrado a ‘chocar contra el muro de los 30 km' al correr una maratón, no tenía miedo de los obstáculos que se presentaban en su camino. Empezó a experimentar coincidencias por todas partes y esta historia es el resultado de una de ellas.

Antes de seguir escribiendo quiero decirles que si hablo de la importancia de disfrutar de cada momento en la vida, es porque un día me dijeron que sólo me quedaban 3 semanas para disfrutar de ella. Esto fue en el 2004. A finales de 2005, mi hijo Lucas fue diagnosticado con leucemia. Después de dos años de quimioterapia, los médicos nos dijeron que su cuerpo tendría que volver a funcionar sin ayuda de la medicina y que el 2008 sería el año de una posible recaída. Sólo pensar en tener que vivir con semejante espada de Damocles por encima de nuestras cabezas me hacia temblar de miedo. Cada vez que Lucas tenía el más mínimo dolor de cabeza, mi marido y yo salíamos corriendo hacia el hospital.
A fin de no pensar en la enfermedad de Lucas, me puse a pintar piedras y más adelante a venderlas, pero cómo surgió esto es otra historia...
David dijo que estaba harto de correr y que le hacia falta un reto. Un día compró tres de mis piedras con el mensaje “The sky is the limit” (El cielo es el límite). Explicó en clase que los escaladores establecen un relación muy especial con las montañas y que, cuando alcanzan la cima, hacen un deseo. Algunos picos de montaña hasta tienen un buzón en el cual la gente puede depositar sus deseos. A David le parecía injusto hacia las montañas ya que la gente les pide que sus sueños se cumplan sin dar nada a cambio. Decidió que dejaría las tres piedras en las cimas de tres montañas altas para así convertir la tradición de pedir en dar.

La idea le llenó de energía. Escaló el Monte Perdido, la tercera montaña más alta de los Pirineos. Desafortunadamente las condiciones meteorológicas adversas aquel día no le permitieron llegar hasta la cima, así que dejó la primera piedra en el punto más alto que logró alcanzar, cerca de la cima.

En abril de 2011 David recibió un libro escrito por Kilian Jornet, el campeón del mundo de ‘sky running', un deporte que consiste en correr en montañas que tienen una altitud superior a 2000 m.
Después de leer el libro, David le mandó un correo electrónico a Kilian para ver si sería tan amble de hacerle un pequeño favor…dejar la segunda piedra en la cima de una montaña.

Durante el curso todos nos intercambiamos las direcciones de mail para montar una red de buenas vibraciones. Cualquier cosa positiva que merecía la pena ser compartida se mandaba.

Mientras esperaba la respuesta de Kilian, David decidió asistir a una conferencia titulada “Aprendizaje en las empresas: el reto de subir montañas y cruzar desiertos”. Su empresa se enfrentaba a varios problemas y las similitudes entre escalar una montaña y dirigir una empresa le llamarón la atención. La invitación para la conferencia se la había mandado Valentín.

Uno de los ponentes de la conferencia habló del libro que acababa de publicar titulado “La Cumbre Infinita”. Mencionó que había escalado el K2, la segunda montaña más alta de la tierra después del Everest. Para la sorpresa de David, el hombre en cuestión era Valentín Giró, un conocido escalador que participó en la expedición que escaló el K2 en el año 2004. Manel de la Mata, uno de sus compañeros escaladores, murió en aquella expedición. Valentín Giró aprendió de él lo que llegaría a ser su lección de vida más importante: ”Lo que importa es el camino, no (sólo) el destino”.

Después de la conferencia, David, quien llevaba encima la piedra que quería entregar a Kilian Jornet, se acercó a Valentín con una idea en mente…
Su encuentro resultó en la siguiente nota dedicada a mi familia por el autor de “La Cumbre Infinita”, el libro que David me regaló después de asistir a la conferencia.

“Lucas, Claudio y Ann
Les prometo que dejaré esta piedra en la cima de una montaña muy alta.
Con mucho cariño y mucha admiración
Valentín Giró”

A principios de junio de este año David quedó con el manager de Kilian Jornet y tras explicarle la historia, David le dio la última de las 3 piedras.

En julio, Kilian se puso en contacto con David para decir que después de escalar varias cimas poco inspiradoras, dejó la piedra en la cima de ‘La Jonction' en los Alpes franceses, una montaña que, según él, transmite mucha fuerza y belleza.

El último día de agosto recibí un correo electrónico de David. Se trataba de una foto en el blog de una chica llamada Amara. Resulta ser la chica que encontró la piedra que David había dejado en el Monte perdido. ¡Colgó la foto de la piedra en su blog!

A mediados de septiembre me esperó otra sorpresa: una hermosa foto de Valentín Giró sosteniendo la tercera piedra…en los Andes!

Ayer me contactó Valentín, mi alumno. Antonio sigue estable. Ésta es la mejor de todas las sorpresas.

Realmente, el cielo es el límite.

Ann

in English down

Voy a hacer solo un parentesis càlido en esta fria temporada de invierno, para presentaros el que serà mi calendario de carreras de Trail running definitivo para este 2012 (definitivo si no hay lesiones, accidentes...que en la montaña nunca se sabe!)

Este año me apetecía hacer cosas distintas, ya llevava años haciendo las mismas carreras y tenía ganas de buscar nuevos objetivos, nuevas descubiertas.

Vamos allá!

12 Mayo: TRANSVULCANIA 83km. (Canarias- España) km http://www.transvulcania.com/ una carrera de la que tenía ganas de competir, en una isla de paraíso! y este año con un nivel excepcional...aunque llevaré solo 1 semana de correr después de la PDG!!

20 Mayo: ZEGAMA 42km. (Euskadi - España) zegama-aizkorri.com/ Una clàssica, serà la 4a vez que participo. Sin duda Una de las imprescindibles (a mi entender junto a Giir di Mont i Sierre Zinal) Gran Ambiente!!!

23 Junio: Western States 100. 100M (California USA) http://ws100.com/ La 3a participación, a pesar de ser una carrera que no se adapte a mis condiciones quiero volver por el ambiente y para quedarme luego a conocer un poco mas las montañas Californianas.

7-8 Julio: Kilian's Classik: (Font Romeu- Pirineos) http://traildefontromeu.com/ mas que una carrera, una fiesta del Trail running, con amigos corredores, una oportunidad para enseñaros mí país.

20-22 Julio: Dolomites VK y Skyrace. 2 km y 21km (Dolomites - Italia) http://www.dolomiteskyrace.com/ Corrí hace 3 años y me dejo un muy buen sabor de boca, una region espectacular y una carrera preciosa.

28 Julio: Speedgoat. 50 km. (Utah - USA) http://karlmeltzer.com/speedgoat-50k/ volver a estados unidos para pasarme un mes allí a descubrir y correr por sus montañas, Utah, Colorado, New Mexico, Nevada...y aprovechar para hacer algunas carreras

19 Agosto: Pikes Peak Marathon, 42km (Colorado - USA) http://www.pikespeakmarathon.org/ Un classico del Trail Running americano, la 3a maratón mas antigua de los USA y la 1a carrera por montaña. Una de las que tenía ganas desde hace mucho tiempo.

26 Agosto: KIMA, 50km (Valtellina - Italia) http://trofeokima.org/ Una de las grandes, de las primeras Skyraces y una de las más técnicas, Puro skyrunning!

14 Octubre: Climbathon Kinabalu 21km (Borneo - Malasia) http://climbathon.sabahtourism.com/2011/ Corta pero de las mas duras, 2300m de subida y bajada por senderos técnicos. Este año vuelvo a Asia para esta preciosa carrera.

19 Octubre: Grand Raid Reunión, 170km (Reunion Island) http://www.grandraid-reunion.com/ el 20 aniversario seguro que nos depara muchas sorpresas. Como describir esta carrera? Impossible, gente, ambiente, paisages, naturaleza, dureza...un sueño

Y cerramos este parentesis, pues ahora las zapatillas quedan muy lejos, de momento no me voy a quitar los esquís hasta principios de mayo. Proxima parada, Copa del Mundo en Sicilia, en las nieves del Etna la semana que viene!

More km...More fun!!!


ENGLISH


I will make only a parenthesis warm in this cold winter season, to present what will be my race calendar for this permanent running Trail 2012 (final if there are no injuries, accidents on the mountain ... you never know!)

This year I wanted to do different things, and llevava years doing the same races and wanted to seek new goals, new discoveries.

Here we go!

May 12: TRANSVULCANIA 83km. (Canary Islands-Spain) km http://www.transvulcania.com/ a career that I wanted to compete, on an island paradise! and this year with an exceptional level ... but take only 1 week after the PDG run!

May 20: Zegama 42km. (Euskadi - Spain) Zegama-aizkorri.com / A Classica, will be the 4th time I have participated. Without doubt one of the essential (in my opinion with di Mont Giir Sierre Zinal i) Great Environment!

June 23: Western States 100. 100M (California USA) http://ws100.com/ The 3rd participation, despite being a career that suits my conditions I want to return for the environment and to stay after a little known Californian mountains.

July 8: Kilian's Classik: (Font Romeu Pyrenees) http://traildefontromeu.com/ more than a race, a party of Trail running, with running friends, a chance to show you my country.

July 20 to 22: VK and SkyRace Dolomites. 2 km and 21km (Dolomites - Italy) http://www.dolomiteskyrace.com/ ran 3 years ago and left me a very good taste, a spectacular region and a beautiful career.

July 28: Speedgoat. 50 km. (Utah - USA) United States http://karlmeltzer.com/speedgoat-50k/ again to spend a month there to discover and run by its mountains, Utah, Colorado, New Mexico, Nevada ... and leverage to make some racing

August 19: Pikes Peak Marathon, 42km (Colorado - USA) http://www.pikespeakmarathon.org/ Trail Running A Classic of American, 3rd oldest marathon on the USA and the 1st mountain race. One that felt like a long time.

August 26: KIMA, 50km (Valtellina - Italy) http://trofeokima.org/ One of the great, the first Skyraces and one of the more technical, Pure Skyrunning!

October 14: Kinabalu Climbathon 21km (Borneo - Malaysia) Short http://climbathon.sabahtourism.com/2011/ but the hardest, 2300m up and down technical trails. This year I return to Asia for this beautiful race.

Oct. 19: Grand Raid Reunion, 170km (Reunion Island) http://www.grandraid-reunion.com/ the 20th anniversary certainly holds many surprises us. How to describe this race? Impossible, people, environment, landscapes, nature, hardness ... a dream

And we close this parenthesis, now the shoes are too far away, for now I will not remove the skis until early May. Next stop, the World Cup in Sicily, in the snows of Mount Etna next week!

More km...more fun!!

La cima es el lugar donde aprendes tu insignificancia.

Que es lo que buscamos cuando subimos a una cima? que es lo que esperamos encontrar? a quien esperamos encontrarnos?

Hoy leía el blog de Carlos Chamorro una entrevista aquí a una (o la) persona que más me ha influenciado durante toda mi vida. La educación no consiste en enseñanzas, en valores, en ideas ni lanzaderas a el mundo que nos espera. La enseñanza son piedras para empezar a construir un camino, son manos a las que agarrarte cuando has caído al tomar un riesgo, son lazos que se abren para dejarte volar.

No hay nada más maravilloso que darse cuenta que no somos nadie, que somos insignificantes. Entonces, sin ataduras a la eternidad, podremos vivir. vivir nuestra vida, con amor, para las personas que queremos, para los momentos que amamos y para las cosas que aprendamos cada instante.

Donde están los sueños? cerca, lejos? Quizás el imposible no sea alcanzar lo más lejano sino vivir lo mas cercano. No será que el sentirse insignificante te hará sentirte el todo?

Después de unos días bien ajetreados, después de un buen entrenamiento esta mañana en Arinsal, esta tarde hemos bajado a Andorra para comprar cuatro cosas que me faltaban para las próximas carreras (montar unas fijaciones, unos crampones, una sonda y cola para pieles). Ha sido pasar el túnel de la Massana y al entrar a l'Avinguda Meritxell he quedado cegado. Las luces de neón de los supermercados y los paneles publicitarios, los ostentosos aparadores rellenos de material, la gente entrando y saliendo. Imposible de pasearse por allí sin caer en la tentación de comprarse unos vaqueros, unas gafas, unos guantes, una cámara... Le encuentras un uso, te dicen que porqué no tenerlo. Porqué no tenerlo todo.
Me ha hecho pensar en una situación alucinante que viví hace tres días cuando estaba cenando en el hotel de Saalbach (Austria) antes de la Mountain Attack. Una familia rica, muy rica, estaba instalandose en la mesa y al llegar el padre de familia llamó (perdón, gritó) a la camarera, que eso era impresentable, que no era posible que un hotel de su categoría hiciera esto. Que un plato de la mesa estaba situado en una posición distinta del día anterior y exigía un cambio inmediato. Me quedé atónito. Sin comprender como la prepotencia y arrogancia podía vivir en ellos. Sin duda no son los billetes los que nos aprenden la felicidad. Ellos permiten comprar un mundo, una identidad, la imagen de una vida, pero una vida no se puede comprar, se tiene que construir. Como una casa, un día estirados decidimos que queremos vivir allí, allanaremos el terreno con una pala, picaremos las piedras con un pico y untaremos nuestras manos en el cemento para llegar, tiempo después, a entrar por la puerta. Como decía Louis Audobert, ´Por mucho que recorramos el mundo detrás de la belleza, nunca la encontraremos si no la llevamos con nosotros´

He pensado entonces en la frase que había escrito mi antiguo profesor de violoncelo Lluís Claret cuando nos ofreció un concierto en una pequeña iglesia románica el día después de abandonar en Cavalls del Vent. La frase hablaba de la música de Bach: "Nuestro sonido, nuestra voz, es también el testimonio de todas las personas que hemos admirado i querido, que nos han enseñado e influenciado"

Y sobre estos últimos quiero compartir con vosotros algunas voces de las que me han influenciado para construir mi casa:

"Por la mañana todo ha pasado y me encuentro bien; el largo que ayer dejé a medias es una belleza. ¿ Qué ha cambiado ? Es uno de tantos enigmas sin respuesta, como porqué escalas o qué haces aquí" Miriam García

"Recuerda: si llevas material de vivac, vivaquearás..." Yvon Chouinard

"Un ocho mil no sólo te pertenece cuando has vuelta a abajo, mientras tanto tú le perteneces a él" Kurt Diemberger

"Mi corazón permanecerá donde mi cuerpo no podrá volver nunca más" John Forbes

"El alpinista es quién conduce su cuerpo allá dónde un día sus ojos lo soñaron"
Gaston Rébuffat

"La vida no se define por las veces que respiras, sino por las que te quedas sin aliento"

"Hasta que punto las dificultades son tan extremas que justifican el uso de materiales extremos?" W.Bonatti

"Aquel que solo está preocupado por vivir, olvida fácilmente disfrutar de la vida" Max Stirner

"Las montañas no son justas o injustas" R. Messner

Pero como decía Lluís hablando de Bach, solo deben ser testimonio de nuestras palabras, no nuestra voz, y parafraseando a Krishnamurti "Libertad significa no seguir a nadie... La libertad implica que uno debe tener capacidad para cuestionar, no lo que dice otro, sino a uno mismo. Libertad para escuchar, no solo las palabras, sino el significado de las palabras, no aceptar o negar lo que dice quien las habla. Solo escuchar para descubrir" Y añado, para formar los cimientos de la casa que construyamos.