× Ritorna la 49^ edizione della 100km del Passatore - 25-26 maggio 2024
IMPRESSIONS ON THE 100KM OF PASSATORE - 100 KM del Passatore | Firenze - Faenza



I wanted to make my impressions known about the race that was the first time I had to face it: after 50 km. of Romagna we decided, me and a dear friend, to undertake together a targeted preparation for this great race, dreamed of for many years.

Beyond the advice of many people, too many advice, technical and otherwise, none of those who participated made me part of the great emotion that you feel in this race, that of running at night, in the dark. It was a wonderful surprise to run without any reference point except the darkness in which we were without body, without identity, only a whole with nature, with darkness, with asphalt, inside everything we were part of , essence, substance. These verses are not articulated, rhymed, but they are like many thoughts that came to mind at the moment, sometimes not articulated by fatigue, other times distorted by the sense of bliss, and at that moment captured and made their own. Our time in the end was 13 and 14 hours. This tiring but sublime experience is to be redone to find even more this particular pleasant sensation of freedom from the body, mind and senses. I wanted to thank my running partner for letting me know this “Faentina” road, these places full of affection and become very dear to me, because there is a beauty, a serenity that leads the soul to be satisfied and in peace with oneself, opening the heart to a new, cosmic, universal love that embraces the whole humanity of each one. Impressions that in the end will be both, running together side by side until almost the arrival, when at the 75th km. I had to slow down, ending the race with an hour of difference. PRAISE FOR A RACE

It starts between a cry, a murmur and a chatter here in the Florentine street. Century-old stones that burn in the sun, Apennine green, yellow, Argentine: a pandemonium of colors rise up at a distance and are disarrayed in the breeze of the hills, just outside Florence.

Apric horizon that is lost
in a blessed will to get lost, to get confused, and to fly to the top of the sky, at its limit.

Ethereal places, celestial spaces, I have an angel with me “Good adventure, my angel”, a whisper, a kiss, a hold and go.

Side by side at the beginning
among so many feet and hands and dangling heads that run in front of me and then behind, I lose sight of you and then find myself side by side in a succession of breaths, of footprints, of knowing looks.

Fatigue complicity that begins

it shows itself in wrinkles, in sweat, in the slope, makes itself felt in the hot noon: short stretches, tight curves hand in hand where the effort is greater, to give us strength, courage, a smile just mentioned, fairy, that goes all the way to the heart.

You wrap and protect me, guide of love and tenderness and the eyes that guide the feet and the gaze is lost between asphalt and meadows, trees and shrubs streets and houses, here is a threshing floor, the fireplace that stream, the church, the terraces, “a house for sale”.

I have an angel who looks at me behind his tired shoulder, who can fill my troubles.

And the road goes crazy and becomes difficult, it gets up, climbs, moves forward, rises and tiredness is savored, felt, but sweet is having you nearby.

I waver, I hesitate, with a gritty look of connivance you offer me a lost four-leaf clover, I hold it tight in me, in my heart, and I go up with you in our dripping, in our breath, in our unconscious but beautiful joy, excitement, contentment, drunk with happiness, to be here, to run at the center of this legend, in the depths of this irreverent myth, in the depth of history, in our sigh in which all the air of this Tuscan night that enters between shadows of phosphorescent men, of nocturnal spots, of stars that stand out and stand out as if by magic in a raven sky while chasing the night that is here, seductive, bewitching, here it is enchanting, fascinating there behind the curve, advancing attractive, evocative is here , here she is:

and everything suddenly becomes dark.

And we, with our eyes fixed on each other, not to get lost, not to stop, to give us courage, have disappeared in the darkness of the new, unreal, nocturnal reality.

I sway, I oscillate: wonder of darkness, darkness, darkness of doubt, confused, uncertain.

Glitter of lost shadows, glittering, sparkling ghosts.

It is beautiful, the night here at the pass is magical.

A moment and we saw ourselves shining with its own light, smiling, fascinated, serene, also lost, but now found to face the Faenza descent:

silence of thoughts, peace of mind even if tried, tranquility of the spirit even if worn out.

Amazement and surprise for a running night. It enchants getting lost in complete darkness.

We get upset, we miss each other, we get scared and then find ourselves safer, more united, calmer, more certain.

To meet the bright black of the night.

Running inside the dark and dark dark, intricate, penetrating, sticking into the darkness, pushing, creeping up to disappear as an entity and having no body, nor feet, nor thoughts but only an essence, an incorporeal, limpid, transcendent, celestial consistency, spiritual.

And the heart with the beating breath remains the only earthly truth in everything, here around us.

Only a distant deaf noise of soles that beat the night time, and they are ours.

And in the descent between curves and rectilinear and straight streets, in the passage of time suspended between the earth, the dust, the spots of shadow, the noises and the singing of nocturnal birds, you can perceive the breath of an enveloping air, of a supernatural, sublime, warm breeze, a divine breath.

And we together to chase, to look for each other, to participate in this wonderful moment of peace, silence, to be there and to live this moment of grace, fatigue, miracle for this to be part of the whole and be at the center of a universe that starts from the dust and passes through nature to reach the celestial depth.

And feeling mixed within the whole creation, small and large in one thing, unique identity.

We, part of the whole. All reality, existence, palpable consistency, invisible fragility identifies, finds itself, recognizes itself in a universal God.

And you with me who now give me your smile, a hand to continue to share this effort between shining, sparkling shadows chasing each other on the asphalt, curve after curve, glitters, sparkles of fireflies that intertwine in games of love, they accompany us, they echo our sparkles, our heartbeats, our chasing.

And I totter, stagger between this bliss, immense space.

But you my angel had wings bigger than me and you flew away on eagle wings and I saw you become small in the darkness that was thinning now, lightening up.

And in the crowing of roosters, the sky awoke, in the light of a barely suffused dawn and in the loud din of chatty birds, hidden on maritime pines on the straight road, which leads to Piazza di Faenza, I savored the sweet awakening of the soul human, of my numb senses, and of myself.

Poor wayfarer I, who in the last few meters shook hands with my angel, reaching the desired goal.

And I open my hand and find that old four-leaf clover of hours, I like him crumpled, exhausted, scrambled, pierced with fatigue and fragmented by this serene suffering, withered also but whole, intact and perfect in the contours, I have crossed the finish line happy, happy , satisfied, satisfied and exultant for a race that led me to the origin of my dreams, my time, an endless love, my birth.


The long road of life, the road that leads to the end, the path that accompanies us, these stones that I am stepping on in this race is a hope, it is a beauty, this Tuscan landscape is a dream between serene hills and silver olive trees shining corners of dotted greens, of ancient essence of angelic painting in its colors here in Fiesole and down the pearl of Dante’s art.

We run through these streets
who saw the cloudy but bright image of a ferryman, asphalt that slips away, that passes, that crosses and warms up this panorama, soothes the heart in the barely whispered air, which barely moves the hair.

And at the bottom of the hills in an explosion of fresh vegetation, yellow and blue that turns at sunset.

Scattered vines that seek the sweet taste and this infinite road that passes, goes further and enters a dream:

the fantastic charm of the night
between slopes, climb amidst a darkness that advances.

You are suddenly immersed in an unknown dark steep, steep in the descent, and chasing songs of nightingales, interrupted silences, galaxies of fireflies in love:
what a dream we run.

You don’t feel your body or your legs after the Passo di Colla but a whole in the night envelops you, lets you enter, tightens you in the whirl of curves and counter-curves embraces you in one.

You run in a dream,

in a vortex of delightful inner peace, of great calm of the heart and you no longer feel, you are no longer there, in the vibration of the race.

You run and in going you rise from the ground and in the dark you rise to go up, to take that star there, or that bear there and you don’t notice that you fly suspended, in the dark of the friendly night.

And the crowing of a rooster brings you back to the first light of dawn, in Faenza, and I see a friendly hand that invites me, that looks for me, waits for me and I take it in mine and together we go towards the end of this journey, of this ancient race:

the Faentina is here, and I have covered it.


On this ancient road, which time tears through the stones and the foot tastes every little wound, I leave the city to go up towards the hills.

Facing the effort, one foot after the other runs between the effort and distant olive trees that you can now touch them to leave them behind, silver reflections and fields gilded by the early afternoon sun, stand out among the light greens and dark spots the yellow gorse in bloom.

Tuscan Apennine landscape as I recognize you in me with the color changes curve after curve, with angelic panoramas of the Fiesole hills.

I run back this time, with this fresh fresh air that takes me back to the mane of horses that trampled my own way here, kicked, and seem to hear the neigh of fatigue.

The noise of carriages, of souls already passed and here again met again, of the king of the woods and forests.

I am looking for a young man who soon became dead, but free, legendary, generous.

Beauty of a path that enchants
country after country, I run over time, respecting men who have lived here in history, culture, art and men who have lowered their eyes.

The night comes without warning.

Darkness falls suddenly and the climb begins.

He trudges, blows, the feet that hardly recognize each other, one plunges into the darkness of the hairpin bends, the energies are reduced to the minimum, resources are sought in themselves, strength is strengthened on the mind.

Slow steps make us suffer, make us remember, hope, laugh, sing and swear.

But the night watches, makes us feel its scent, the stars that pulsate with every step with the heart, the crescent moonlight that always keeps us in mind the wind that makes itself felt above and shakes the edges of sweaty tank tops and the song of the nightingale who wants company and the crickets that accompany the rhythm of the shoes on the asphalt.

Immersed in the deepest, liveliest, darkest nature where even the smallest being participates in our silence, our breath, our effort that becomes drama and then recovers.

Perhaps God is also near us
and gives us a breath to get us to the top.

The descent makes you change your pace
legs turn by themselves, rest the whole body and mind.

And with breathless thoughts, in heart the heart, it is sweet to descend into a barely whispered sigh, into solitude, into a prayer into a breath that gives inner warmth, a vision of light that illuminates makes us see transparent, limpid, serene, return to yourself.

The effort is reduced but the road is still long and a new pain begins, the advent can be glimpsed.

Everything is alarmed within us.

Beware of any new low voltage.

I picked up a sweaty, fatigued, worn asphalt crumb. But nature gives us the incitement of the Lamone waterfalls, which in the darkness accompanies us with its scream, the vision of fireflies that follow us, anticipate us, make long turns and return to sow light along the descent. It is a poem to run, it is love for everything we see, it is a hymn to everything we go through and we experience immense peace, a rest of the soul, a happy solitude that takes and makes you open your arms to everything created you pass by, you cross it, you touch it, you hold it tightly in your heart and you penetrate into the darkness that disappears towards a pink glow.

At the cockcrow the dawn welcomes us
between the song of morning birds and swallows fluttering towards the straight that leads to Piazza del Popolo the longed-for goal of the city of fire: Faenza!

It’s over.

Maybe I’m sorry, for the strong emotions that we felt, felt, fed, lived together.

I wish this night, this road, this spell would never end:
longing for infinity!


What anxiety, what tension the departure of the Hundred in Florence is always like this, in the last moments and we start at the thunder of the shot, we say goodbye between superstitious signs, handshakes, a stolen kiss, a hug, a smile a sign of the cross and go!

You pass the center, the Duomo, Giotto, and go up towards Fiesole.

You meet the euphoria of the beginning, of the people on the street, of the sun that accompanies us, and you go up to see the city from above small, tiny, cuddle and the hills around it variegated by the angelic colors of those who lived here, or Blessed, between these trees, green gardens, immense meadows, well-kept parks, colorful vegetation and gentle slopes between vines full of twisted pampan trees, olive trees full of silver reflecting the golden rays, meet, intersect, intersect in a circle of lights between suffused aerial clouds.

A small group of houses, a Dominican convent, the Badia, riches of faith and art, a treasure chest, a treasure lost over time.

Climb to the top of Le Croci, between sweat that flows, heart that paws, heat that rises.

Chessboards of colors, of earth, of ancient dust, of stagecoaches, of buggies, of wayfarers, of horses, of white beards, of distant eyes and quick shots, of rich comforts and virtues, of poor devils already condemned, disbanded, deluded by the time that flows, that eradicates, overwhelms.

Incredulous eyes of such beauty, of scattered horizons, of countries that have just been recognized and already forgotten or flown over, breathtaking views: it is a symphony of art, history, civilization.

We descend towards Borgo SanLorenzo among villas, palaces, castles where there are many people to echo us.

The country disappears and we are already going up again.

It is a hymn to nature: verdant hills, rows of poplars, well-cultivated land and fields, small white streets, scattered houses, rural landscape, pleasant, silent, imbued with popular faith.

Dark green meadows and pine forests can be seen.

Peace and silence, prayer.

Mugello valley, gentle slopes, ancient oaks, old farmhouses, old mills: you get lost in the myth.

The legs get tough, the heart goes crazy and the feet tremble, and so we pass Ronta which recalls Etiquette, Razzuolo from the vineyards and olive groves painted in a natural picture, rows of cypresses, everything is beautiful, clean, uncontaminated.

Stone and brick houses, refuge
of lumberjacks, carbonari, laborers, passers-by and farmers.

Suddenly after a lightning sunset, here in the hills, a long night a darkness that covers you, accompanies you, startles you, hope.

And you run between the colorless asphalt, between different shadows, suffused noises and fortifying silences.

And here you get to the top of Colla di Casaglia.

Noises of an ancient dream are heard: carriages that trample, postilions that swear, reins that snap, noise of buggies and roar of springs, of waterfalls here, in the Lamone valley: narrow gorge of the river that saw the courteous ferryman, smugglers, thieves and murderers.

It is dark, a light wind that sometimes makes itself felt on sweaty skin and makes you jump.

It is better to cover yourself and go.

And the fast, beautiful descent that you travel without identity in the most atrocious darkness of the now fixed night.

Here and there noises, harmonies, songs, accompany you, crickets warn you, sleepless nightingales, even that star follows you, guides you with fireflies that peek at you and light up their love for us.

Barberry, Marradi, towns that flow away like shadows in the silent night, ravines, large spaces of chestnut trees, galleries, and the chimes of the following day sound.

San Cassiano: and here begins the countdown, the tiredness, the feet that suffer, the mind that falters.

A moment and it’s gone: we come back to ourselves, we look at each other, we control our heads and feet, we look up, we clench our teeth, we understand that the goal is near:

it is an emotion to understand that little is missing now, a strange joy takes hold of your body, a joy, a contentment, a melancholy and a tear falls.

There is still fatigue, tiredness is exhausted, energies reduced to a light, heavy steps, but aware that the dream can become a beautiful reality.

A go and go towards Casale and Brisighella, the land of Romagna, which at the first light of dawn there is still some hand that comforts, that applauds, a voice that encourages.

Healthy morning breezes,
crowing of roosters shake the first faint rays of the dawn and on the straight of Errano, here is Faenza.

And then the last kilometer, the entrance to this square, the coveted loggias, the arcades, the fountain, the clock tower, the bell tower, the Duomo and the Manfrediana square with the last meters, the time of arrival runs with his cents and I on this rosy morning fresh with dew cross the finish line with the swallows that fly around me, in the reflection of these trampled, ancient stones, I find the meaning of this adventure, a deep bond between heaven and earth, infinite and finite, eternity and history, God and man, all in one race: I am happy and I cry and laugh in a hurricane of enthusiasm.

Boldrin Danilo

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