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that sting had put me in the hospital within two hours. It happened a second time, just a day before this race, when I was coming back after lunch with the organizers and the rest of the runners. A wasp stung me on the thumb. If you aren’t allergic, a sting hurts, but the pain goes away after a few hours and you can forget the sting. For me, on the other hand, it brings nausea, headaches, intense pain where I’ve been bitten, and an upset stomach for a whole day. If the sting had been on any other part of my body, like on my head or near an artery, I would have hadhives everywhere and my tongue would have been swollen, with inevitable respiratory problems and blurred vision. So I had been lucky. I went to my bedroom and tightly bandaged my thumb to stop the poison spreading through my body.
    I decided not to tell anyone and put it out of my mind until now, so as not to get discouraged and find concentration on the race ahead difficult. I need to think of a race as an enclosed space, a bubble. In this bubble only the race, the other runners, and myself exist. Everything else must be put aside. Excuses, lack of training, work, or romantic problems must be put aside. A race is a life that is born when you get up in the morning and dies when you cross the finish line.
    And, obviously, I couldn’t tell the other runners, since it would have been a weapon my opponents could have used against me right from the start, to strengthen themselves or to attack me at a moment of weakness. No, I have to show them I am perfectly in control, am not suffering, and am completely happy with the pace we have set. I have to show them that I am pleased with the way the race is going, that I am the one in charge and will be the one to decide who can take off in front or not. The one who will decide when it is time to make a sprint. I must make them believe they are fighting for second place.
    Robert is putting the pressure on, and so is my stomach. I grit my teeth even harder, gulp in air, quicken my pace, and feel light. I reach his side and smile at him.
    “Look at those beautiful peaks! This scenery is fantastic!” I say emphatically in one breath.
    Without waiting for him to react, I pull back behind and breathe hard to take in air.
    I gradually recover my strength, and with each step the need to hide my real state lessens. We have left the broad track and are nowrunning along a gently undulating path that dodges the obstacles nature put in its way. It is a terrain that I enjoy, that allows me to run naturally and play with its whims. I haven’t fully recovered my strength but decide to put the others runners to the test and see whether I can eliminate one or two opponents before we reach the final phase. I climb onto an incline and drive myself into the lead. Gathering speed with each descent, I sidestep trees and run swiftly up inclines. I soon see that no one is following me. Bruno is a few yards behind, and César and Robert seem out of it. As I feel comfortable on this terrain, I set a good pace and renew my energies for the last stage.
    After a while I see three runners coming up very fast. The first to catch me is César, who stays with me whenever I quicken my pace to make it difficult for the other two to reach me. This is the final uphill stretch. The last 6 miles are a descent that seems like flat terrain until the final 2 miles to the finish, where it will be a short, sharp descent. It’s a struggle to maintain this speed. The climb is hard, and I can feel César breathing down my neck. I decide to make one last effort to the next aid station, and from there I will decide what tactics to follow. I accelerate fast over the stones, scraping the ground with each step, but the breath of the runner behind me doesn’t fall away. I don’t want to turn around. I don’t want to turn and show him that I’m finding it hard going, that I’m worried about where he is, about whether he is fresh or struggling.
    We reach the Hotel