Before I leave to take up my position along Bruno’s route- which will also be the place from which I will begin my own attempt at the summit- I want to publicly praise my companions and the formidable team that they have brought to life.  It’s a fact of life that, when the moment of truth approaches, the tension causes the intestines to writhe.  If we overlook the injurious effects of this intestinal phenomenon on the social realm, we must face this fact: many teams fall apart when the final hour approaches due to stress, especially if they are worn from two months of waiting.  Last evening at dinner, however, I  admired the composure and elegance with which our team faced the coming of the fateful hour:  the only perceivable symptom of stress was a slight change in the quality of our conversation.  Up to last night, in fact, the most popular subject for discussion at the dinner table were sincere demonstrations of interest with regard to the female anatomy.  Dissertations of the scientific-literary sort, of course!- totally theoretical, too, considering the total absence of live specimens in the vicinity.  Last night, however, there was a predominance of macabre humor: endless jokes about body bags, corpses marbleized by the cold that lie buried on the mountain, frostbite -and consequential amputation ( I hardly need to make specific references about what becomes frostbitten- and consequentially amputated- the situation most feared by the average male mountaineer, even if statistically rare).  Alas, even children know that humor is a form of mature psychological defense:  it allows one to express and exchange fearful and unsettling emotions.  The creative zenith of this humor-fest  was reached when we decided to create the “Club of the Mono-Neuron” or, in other words, an assembly that would bring together all of those whose brains have been devastated by long sojourns at altitude; we can modestly consider ourselves prime examples.  Obviously it is only befitting that the title of President go to our expedition leader who, after having spent three hours without oxygen last year on the summit of Mt. Everest, could be accused of the mass extermination of his neuron population.  Anyway, to sum it up, the team has overcome even this last obstacle without letting their motivation waver, without anyone pulling out, or complaining about various ailments or illnesses ( it seems that the somatization of anxiety is quite frequent among the other expeditions).  It is well known that courage does not lie in the absence of fear but in the ability to manage it. 

 In a few hours Bruno will charge to the summit.  The other members of the team have already celebrated his virtues in their on-line journals.  I don’t want to repeat what the others have already said, also because I am the one who is most emotionally involved.  I might be moved to tears and that would aggravate my dehydration; I have known Bruno longer than the others and he’s like a brother to me.  I would just like to emphasize an important point in this venture:  Bruno’s feat will confirm that there is still room for courage in sport, taking risks and responsibilities, the honest search for one’s own limits.  This undertaking could never be performed by a slack and whining millionaire football player.  Neither money, nor doping could buy these things. Bruno’s victory will also be a victory for all those who believe in a certain idea of sport.

Thank you, Bruno.  And thanks to all of you companions and formidable mountaineers for two months of unforgettable coexistence.  I publicly forgive you for deviously eating my chocolate cookies and placing me-  just as deviously- in the worst position from which to attempt the summit.  I’ll have to play the solitary icicle during the night and climb from camp1 to camp 2 in order to try to reach you.  I sincerely hope that I won’t have to emulate the Similaun Man.  If this unhappy event were to take place, there might be a positive side to it:  Adriano would be willing to take me on as mascot at Monte Rosa Ski in place of Kikesli who is a bit over the hill by now.

No chieren vitto!

Poudzo!

God Bless the Mono-neurons!

Pietro