- AARON DUROGATI -

Resilienza

X-Alps

Immagina di fare un sogno. Un sogno grande, immenso, stupefacente. Immagina di lavorare sodo per inseguire quel sogno, ma senza tralasciare un solo attimo di questo duro lavoro. Immagina quella sensazione e assaporala un momento.

La notte non è ancora scesa, ma viste le nuvole e la pioggia nei boschi a sud di Salisburgo, in pratica è già buio. Aaron cammina ancora, a passo sostenuto, anche se non più come 80 km fa. Lo zaino con il suo paraglider è relativamente leggero, ma dopo dieci ore di camminata, comincia a pesargli. “Mannaggia a questo tempo”, borbotta tra sé. “Mannaggia alla pioggia e alla sfortuna!” In lontananza si odono tuoni di tempesta, nel cielo un lampo delinea per un istante il picco piramidale dell'Hochalmspitze, al tempo stesso meraviglioso e terribile.
Ancora pochi chilometri e Aaron potrà riposarsi un po'. Sarebbe stata tutta un'altra storia se Aaron fosse riuscito a volare. Sarebbe stato preciso e leggero, avrebbe volato per tutta la via dal punto di decollo, sorvolando le Alpi salisburghesi, invece di faticare a terra. Non che questo tipo di volo sia comunque rilassante. Tutto il contrario, semmai. Queste sono vallate strane, l'aria forma complesse correnti imprevedibili e termiche che non durano tanto quanto vorresti o che sono troppo deboli. Senza speciali poteri magici, finisci per essere sbatacchiato di qua e di là, come una foglia nel vento autunnale. No, non si tratta di un'impresa di tutto riposo, ma c'è dell'altro: 80 km sono davvero tanti, quando si cammina sotto la pioggia battente.

“Ma bene, come se non avessi già abbastanza problemi, adesso comincia anche a farmi male il ginocchio”. Aaron stringe i denti, cercando di ignorare il dolore persistente che comincia a mordergli le articolazioni. Probabilmente è il menisco. Eppure aveva buone speranze, anzi, ottime: una grande stagione in perfetta forma, poi la vittoria alla Paragliding World Cup Superfinal e, per concludere in bellezza, l'eccezionale prestazione al Leatherman Prologue, la salita e discesa del monte Zwölferhorn che precede la X-Alps. Aaron aveva tagliato il traguardo per primo insieme a Sebastian Huber. Lo avevano fatto tenendosi per mano, un'ora e 53 minuti dopo il segnale di partenza, in una di quelle scene che mostrano un autentico spirito sportivo.
Chissà dov'è Sebastian, ora. Chissà se è bagnato fradicio anche lui.
Questa è la Red Bull X-Alps, una delle adventure race più estreme al mondo, da Salisburgo al Principato di Monaco, un migliaio di chilometri in linea d'aria lungo tutte le Alpi. I soli mezzi di trasporto: gambe e paraglider. Una gara leggendaria, una di quelle in cui il solo raggiungere il traguardo è già un'enorme impresa. Aaron ci è già riuscito. Nel 2013 è arrivato settimo. Nel 2015, sesto. Quest'anno, però, sogna di vincere. Continuando caparbiamente a mettere un piede dopo l'altro, malgrado il dolore, Aaron pensa a tutto il duro lavoro svolto solo per arrivare a questa fase. Le ore e ore di volo e corsa, i litri sudore: tutto questo solo per guadagnarsi la chance di un posto sul podio.
Il ginocchio va peggiorando, così come il tempo e l'umore. È difficile restare calmi quando tutto va per il verso storto.
Il secondo giorno della competizione le cose sembrano andare meglio. Finalmente si vola. Aaron prende il volo zoppicando, atterra, stringe i denti e cammina per ore, decolla e atterra di nuovo. Gli atterraggi irregolari non fanno di sicuro bene al ginocchio e camminare è un tormento, specialmente sull'asfalto.
È il caso di fermarsi allora, di arrendersi? No, Aaron non ci pensa nemmeno. Ha un sogno, un sogno importante. Non vuole lasciarselo scappare. Ne parla con il suo team. Tutti quanti, dall'esperto di tattica al fisioterapista, gli consigliano di abbandonare la gara. Gli dicono che ha lottato come un leone, ma quando è troppo, è troppo. Aaron ha voglia di piangere, non solo per il dolore che sente.
Ma stringe i denti e fa appello a tutte le proprie forze, attingendo alle ultime riserve di energia, quelle che non sai di avere finché non arrivi al limite. Non molla. È il terzo giorno e Aaron è ancora in gara. Percorre altri 17 chilometri a piedi e quasi 300 in volo, ma il ginocchio purtroppo non migliora, nonostante le cure ricevute. È il 5 luglio, quarto giorno di gara: 174 chilometri di volo. Troppo poco, dovrà affrontarne 40 a piedi. Troppi per le sue condizioni. È finita. Spossato dalla fatica e dal dolore, Aaron abbandona la gara.

And he’s been climbing ever since. It didn’t take him long to decide that climbing, or rather, that specific way of climbing, was what he wanted to dedicate his life to. Or at least part of his life. He is also dedicated to Sandra, Iano and Iari, his wife and two children. This is why he inspires such admiration and respect. Simon is a man who understands the consequences of the choices he makes. He knows that his life is not only about himself. Every decision, including electing to open a route of that difficulty, from the ground up, on that rock, is tempered by a great sense of responsibility. The sun is starting to set behind Cima Ovest. Simon and Andrea are out of sight. They’ve reached the great ringband terrace and then the summit. The wind carries an exuberant shout of joy far towards the distant meadows of Misurina. A small flock of choughs flies past with complete indifference, heading towards who knows where. Das Erbe der Väter is a unique route. Without a doubt. It’s an innovative feat, opening a line of that level of difficulty using a traditional approach. It’s more than just a route, it’s a tribute to the climbers who laid the historical foundations of alpinism and a prophecy of the climbers who will envisage and create its future – on this same mountain – in years to come.

It didn’t take him long to decide that climbing was what he wanted to dedicate his life to. Or at least part of his life. He is also dedicated to Sandra, Iano and Iari, his wife and two children. He knows that his life is not only about himself. Every decision, including electing to open a route of that difficulty, from the ground up, on that rock, is tempered by a great sense of responsibility. The sun is starting to set behind Cima Ovest. Simon and Andrea are out of sight. They’ve reached the great ringband terrace and then the summit. The wind carries an exuberant shout of joy far towards the distant meadows of Misurina. Das Erbe der Väter is more than just a route, it’s a tribute to the climbers who laid the historical foundations of alpinism and a prophecy of the climbers who will envisage and create its future – on this same mountain – in years to come.

It didn’t take him long to decide that climbing was what he wanted to dedicate his life to. Or at least part of his life. He is also dedicated to Sandra, Iano and Iari, his wife and two children. He knows that his life is not only about himself. Every decision, including electing to open a route of that difficulty, from the ground up, on that rock, is tempered by a great sense of responsibility. The sun is starting to set behind Cima Ovest. Simon and Andrea are out of sight. They’ve reached the great ringband terrace and then the summit. The wind carries an exuberant shout of joy far towards the distant meadows of Misurina. Das Erbe der Väter is more than just a route, it’s a tribute to the climbers who laid the historical foundations of alpinism and a prophecy of the climbers who will envisage and create its future – on this same mountain – in years to come.

Immagina di non avere più un sogno. Immagina che tutto il lavoro, il sudore, le lacrime versate per esaudirlo siano stati vani. Non sentirai dentro quel calore che proviene da successo e conquista, come speravi. Ti trovi invece faccia a faccia con la più cocente delle delusioni. È facile arrendersi. È facile mandare tutti quanti al diavolo.
Immagina però di avere una qualità rara. Gli psicologi la definiscono “resilienza”. Significa essere un po' come una palla di gomma: colpito il pavimento, si rimbalza indietro. “Resilienza” vuol dire trasformare quella caduta in un'energia nuova che ti rilancia verso l'alto. Non tutti ce l’hanno. Aaron, sì.
Trascorre i mesi estivi tra fisioterapia e nuove sessioni di allenamento per rimettersi in forma. Gradualmente, incrementando intensità e durata. Aaron si è rimesso in sesto, il ginocchio è guarito, e l'otto settembre a Lienz, in Austria, si tiene la Red Bull Dolomitenmann. Si tratta di un'ardua staffetta multidisciplinare a squadre: corsa in montagna, parapendio, mountain bike e kayak. “Perché no?”, pensa Aaron.
La sezione di parapendio è estremamente complicata. Quando il compagno di gara arriva, passandoti il testimone, devi ripartire correndo. Giù veloce dal picco del Kühbodentörl, fino al punto di decollo. Devi volare rapidamente, ma con precisione... con estrema precisione. C'è un punto d'atterraggio a metà strada, un'altra sezione di corsa, poi un secondo volo, giù fino allo stadio di Lienz. E poi il testimone passa di mano ancora una volta.
Aaron non pensa alla resilienza quando parte. Non ci pensa quando decolla, neppure volando in basso rapidissimo, come un falcone che piomba giù dalle chine del monte Kühbodentörl sfiorando la cima dei pini. Dopo tutto, la vita è bella perché è dura. Sa bene che non è il risultato finale ad apportare la soddisfazione maggiore, bensì la strada percorsa per arrivarci. Pensa tra sé che ci sono davvero poche cose che gli facciano battere il cuore come quando ha il vento in faccia. Sta volando splendidamente, come se tutto gli fosse stato tracciato chiaramente nell'aria. Atterra, corre, passa il testimone.

La gara prosegue, lungo i percorsi e nell'aria. Ma Aaron Durogati ha già vinto. Perché niente ha potuto impedirgli di ritornare più forte di prima. E anche perché, stavolta, il suo è risultato il tempo più veloce della Dolomitenmann. Sul podio, il primo posto è per lui.

Paul pulls the window down. “Hey, Ken!” The shaggy Alaskan turns around, and stares at the Austrian. It could be the light of dawn, but he sees something more than a simple pilot, and something more than an adventurer. He sees a man who had no fear to take a new road, to follow a dream, to understand the true spirit of Alaska, beyond the rhetoric of the last frontier. He sees someone who flies to fly, someone for which air is not only what your wings, or your sail fly across. Someone for which the never ending kilometers of tundra, lakes and mountains are not a distance to merely fly across, but a space in which to express oneself. It could be the light of dawn, but Ken is almost touched by the thought. “Ken, I wanted to say…no, forget it. Thanks, you are awesome, see you in four days. Buy some beer!” Ken lifts his thumb. Paul turns on the engine, taking off with elegant precision from the narrow strip which by now he calls air field. He gains height, while the intense morning light starts to caress Seward’s Folly. Four hours later his plane is parked on the edge of a nameless valley, somewhere east of Peter’s Dome. Paul is running fast; behind him the paraglider inflates, and his feet lose contact with the ground beneath. Around him a never ending expanse of new and incredible places, there is no sign of a person, a house, or a trail. “Flying to fly” he giggles happily, fixing himself in the saddle. “Yes, this is exactly what dreams coming true taste like.”

- AARON DUROGATI -

RESILIENCE

Imagine having a dream. A great, big, amazing dream. Imagine working hard to chase that dream, but without skipping any of the hard work. Imagine that feeling and hold it there for a moment.

Night has not yet fallen, but with the clouds and rain in the woods south of Salzburg it is practically dark. Aaron is still walking, at a steady pace, but not like he was 80 km ago. The backpack with his paraglider inside is relatively light, but after ten hours walking, it’s starting to weigh him down. “Damn weather”, he mumbles to himself. “Damn rain, and damn bad luck”. Thunderstorms rumble in the distance, for an instant a flash in the sky outlines the pyramid shaped Hochalmspitze peak, both fascinating and terrible. Only a few kilometres left till Aaron can rest for a bit. It would have been a totally different story if he had been able to fly. He would have been light and precise, he could have flown all the way from the take-off point, flying over the Salzburg Alps instead of struggling overland. Not that this kind of flying is in any way relaxing. Quite the opposite. These are strange valleys, the air forms complicated unforeseeable currents, and thermals don’t last as long as you would like them to, or else are too weak. Without any special magical powers, you end up being blown like a leaf carried on an autumn breeze. No, it is not a relaxing undertaking, but that’s another story – 80 km is a long way to walk in the pouring rain.

“There you go, as if that weren’t enough even, now my knee is bothering me”. Aaron grits his teeth, trying to ignore the persistent pain which has begun to gnaw at his joints. Probably his meniscus. But his prospects were good, in fact, they were excellent. A great season, extremely fit, then his victory in the Paragliding World Cup Superfinal, and to finish everything off his amazing performance at the Leatherman Prologue, the ascent and descent of Zwölferhorn mountain which preceded the X-Alps. Aaron crossed the finishing line first, together with Sebastian Huber. They crossed the finishing line holding hands together, one hour and fifty-three minutes after the start gun, in one of those scenes that shows true sportsmanship. I wonder where Sebastian is now. I wonder how wet he’s getting. This is the Red Bull X-Alps, one of the toughest adventure races in the world – from Salzburg to the Principality of Monaco, a thousand kilometres as the crow flies across the entire Alps. The only means of transport: your legs and a paraglider. It is a legendary race, one of those where simply reaching the finishing line is a huge achievement. Aaron has already achieved that. In 2013, he came seventh. In 2015, sixth. This year, well, his dream is to win. While he stubbornly continues to place one step in front of another, in spite of the pain, Aaron thinks of all the hard work he has put in just to get to this stage. Running and flying, for hours and hours, and the litres of sweat, just to be in with a chance of a podium position. His knee is deteriorating, as is the weather, and his spirits. It’s difficult to stay calm when everything is going so badly. On the second day of the competition things seem to improve. Finally, it’s flyable. Aaron takes off with a limp, he lands, grits his teeth and walks for hours, takes off and lands again. These irregular landings are doing his knee no good, and walking becomes agony, especially on asphalt. Should he quit, just give up? No, Aaron won’t even think about it. He has a dream, and it is an important dream. He can’t let it slip away. He discusses it with his team. All of them, from his tactical expert to his physio, advise him to quit. They tell him that he has fought like a lion, but enough is enough. Aaron almost feels like crying, and not just from the pain he’s in. But he grits his teeth, and digs deep, tapping into his last reserves of energy, the kind you don’t know you have until you’ve reached your limit. He does not quit. It’s the third day, and he is still in the competition. He clocks up another seventeen kilometres on foot and almost three hundred in the sky, but his knee unfortunately does not improve in spite of the treatment he’s received. It’s the fifth of July, and the fourth day of the race: 174 kilometres of flight, which is too little, so he must negotiate forty km on foot. And that’s too far in this state. It’s over. Worn out by exhaustion and pain, Aaron quits the race.

Imagine you no longer have a dream. Imagine that all the hard work, sweat and tears, in pursuit of this dream were in vain. The warm feelings of success and of achievement, do not materialise as you’d imagined. Instead, you are faced with utter disappointment. It’s easy to give up. It’s easy to tell everybody to go to hell. But imagine having a rare quality. Psychologists call it “resilience”. This means that you’re a bit like a rubber ball: as you hit the floor, you bounce back. “Resilience” means that you can transform that fall into new energy that shoots you up high. Not everyone has it, but Aaron does. He spends the summer months between physio and new training sessions to get fit. Gradually, building up the intensity and duration. Aaron is back on his feet, his knee is working again, and on the eighth of September in Lienz, Austria, it’s time for the Red Bull Dolomitenmann. This is an extremely tough team relay race: trail running, paragliding, mountain biking, kayaking. “Why not?”, Aaron thinks to himself. The paragliding section is very difficult. When your team runner arrives, passing you the relay baton, you have to set off running. Downhill fast from the Kühbodentörl peak, all the way to the take-off point. You have to fly quickly, but precisely… very precisely. There is a midway landing, another running section, then a second flight, all the way down to the Lienz stadium. Then the baton is passed on once again. Aaron does not think about resilience when he sets off. He doesn’t think about it when he takes off, not even as he flies down fast as a falcon swooping down the slopes of the Kühbodentörl, skimming the tips of the pine trees. After all, he thinks, life is beautiful because it is hard. He knows that it is not the end result that bring the greatest satisfaction, but the road you’ve taken to reach it. He thinks to himself, there are very few things that make his heart beat in quite the same way as it does when he has the wind in his face. He is flying brilliantly, as if everything was clearly mapped out for him in the air. He lands, runs, passes the baton.

The race carries on, along trails and through the air. But Aaron Durogati has already won. Because, nothing could stop him from bouncing back. And also, because his time was the fastest time in the Dolomitenmann race. It’s first place on the podium for him. Paul pulls the window down. “Hey, Ken!” The shaggy Alaskan turns around, and stares at the Austrian. It could be the light of dawn, but he sees something more than a simple pilot, and something more than an adventurer.He sees a man who had no fear to take a new road, to follow a dream, to understand the true spirit of Alaska, beyond the rhetoric of the last frontier. He sees someone who flies to fly, someone for which air is not only what your wings, or your sail fly across. Someone for which the never ending kilometers of tundra, lakes and mountains are not a distance to merely fly across, but a space in which to express oneself.

It could be the light of dawn, but Ken is almost touched by the thought. “Ken, I wanted to say…no, forget it. Thanks, you are awesome, see you in four days. Buy some beer!” Ken lifts his thumb. Paul turns on the engine, taking off with elegant precision from the narrow strip which by now he calls air field. He gains height, while the intense morning light starts to caress Seward’s Folly. Four hours later his plane is parked on the edge of a nameless valley, somewhere east of Peter’s Dome. Paul is running fast; behind him the paraglider inflates, and his feet lose contact with the ground beneath. Around him a never ending expanse of new and incredible places, there is no sign of a person, a house, or a trail. “Flying to fly” he giggles happily, fixing himself in the saddle. “Yes, this is exactly what dreams coming true taste like.”