Hilary Gerardi recounts the Kima Trophy
HILLARY GERARDI, BLACK DIAMOND ATHLETE, TALKS ABOUT THE KIMA TROPHY, THE RACE HELD IN THE MIDDLE OF THE MOUNTAINS OF VAL MASINO, DURING WHICH SHE ATTEMPTED TO BREAK THE RACE RECORD
Dear Kima,
I think it was Célia who first told me about you in 2016. She was the one who introduced me to the world of skyrunning; she was quick to tell me about it and often assumed I knew exactly what she was talking about. I couldn’t tell if it was because of my poor command of the French language or my lack of knowledge of the running world, but I found myself nodding and smiling, even though I couldn’t follow it completely. Kima was a word that struck me, however, because it recurred again and again in speeches. She was mentioned reverently in the tone of her voice and at the same time the names of famous runners, whose names I had never heard of, were mentioned. She had not been there yet, but the Kima was definitely the quintessential race.
In 2018, when Brad and I reached Val Masino from the low plateau, almost touching the tiny sign pointing up the hill, we climbed in our mini-van along hairpin bends that seemed to lead into the middle of nowhere. I didn’t want to lose sight of the mountains and was continually stretching my neck, until we took one last hairpin turn and the steep valley walls began to open up just enough to accommodate a row of houses and a narrow street where a banner hung announcing “Kima Trophy.”
My heart started beating wildly and I asked to stop to take a picture. I had the feeling that I had entered the arena.
We were surrounded by towering peaks, participants were gathered in groups, and I barely knew what I was doing there. But I was dying to know what all the fuss was about around the race and to see if I would be able to complete the entire course. If I had even remotely dared to dream of winning, I would have said it felt like the realization of a dream. Instead, I felt overwhelmed with emotion and fortunate to have been able to survive until the arrival. I was physically and emotionally drained from the roller-coaster effect of the race and felt my heart so overflowing that I was on the verge of exploding. It was the only race that year in which Brad had also been able to participate, and he himself said it was the only race he felt able to run. He, too, had the same impression as me: a rush on the rocks that spoke our language, via ferratas that rewarded you for climbing, soaring spires and majestic amphitheaters, adored by the Alpine community.
I went back again several times to Val Masino, almost as a pilgrimage, until 2022, when I was finally pretty sure you would come back, too. Kima, you have been my beacon: for months, you have been giving me the motivation to face the workouts. You encouraged me to go out and run in the mountains, on real mountains and off-trail, looking for terrain with big granite blocks to jump over or climb. In a scorching summer with heat waves, while ‘my’ mountains were crumbling under a scorching sun, the stadium where you reside gave me hope for eternal beauty in post-glacial landscapes.
Yet, in August, as we proceeded along the winding road I now knew by heart, I felt all my insecurities return. All the preparation I could do I had already done, and the only thing left for me to do was to run the race; but wouldn’t it have been better to rest on the laurels of my previous championship and let someone else have the title of queen? In 2018 you had helped me become a runner, but I was afraid of disappointing you, afraid that people might see that our bond was more precarious than it seemed. But I also knew that I owed you at least one try and that, in return, you would force me to survive, at least from the starting line to the finishing line, entirely immersed in the present.
The wild beating of my heart and sweaty palms in contrast to the bitingly cold morning air
The bang of the opening shot and the rhythmic stomping of hundreds of runners
A cacophony of applause and voices cheering ‘Bravo! Bravo! Come on! Alé alé!”
The labored panting trying to find the rhythm
The rush of melted snow flowing down the hillside
The crunching of gravel under each voluntary step
The rattling of chains and groans with each lift on the via ferratas
The crackle of the radio; rescue teams call each other for a report on the progress of the race
The thud of a falling boulder and the warning shout, “Rock!”
The voices echoing from a distance: an unlikely onlooker far from any path
The screeching of sand on granite; the crumbling of rocks on moraine
The hissing of the wind in a crevice between the boulders
The desperate search for the next mark on the rock in a sea of granite blocks
A quick sigh when one foot misses its footing
The pounding sound of the beating heart. The labored breathing and screaming muscles
A silent dialogue of conflicting opinions within the head: no, you can’t do it; yes, you can do it
An inner turmoil in contrast to the silence of the hills
Voices beginning to become audible
The dull sound of lids being beaten by St. Martin’s retirees
The echo of the announcer, words indistinguishable but alerting you that it is time to draw on all energy reserves
Kima, by now I can no longer say that I am inexperienced. I can no longer even claim to “not be a real runner,” but I can say that it took me a long time to identify as one. And, in a way, I still haven’t decided what kind of runner I want to be. But one thing I know for sure. When these questions and doubts arise, I can refer to you and I know I feel at home. Kima, you made me feel like myself like no other race had ever done. You helped me identify the athlete I aspire to become. A runner who inhabits the world between the earth and the sky, scaling steep climbs, always pushing herself until she tastes blood in her mouth, and leaping over a jumble of rock blocks, all the while remaining open-mouthed to have the privilege of following in the footsteps of those who have traced the path before through breathtaking landscapes.
A runner who dares to take the risk of failure but gives all she can for the opportunity to inscribe her name in legend.Cordially,
Hillary Gerardi
