Letter to the team

So Im sorry that I haven’t written in a few days…sometimes Im too tired at the end of the day to type. I just wrote an email to my teammates and I think you’ll all appreciate what I wrote so Ill start out with that…

Buona nuota from Italy lovelies! I miss you all and everyday I just get more and more excited for soccer and most important…the talent show where the seniors are finally going to redeem ourselves from our freshman year origami lesson. How’s everyone’s summers going? Not too hot I hope. Here its almost a hundred everyday so even when I run at 8 at night I still completely sweat through my shirt. And Im getting the most beautiful sports bra tan you’ve ever seen…don’t make fun of me at pool workouts (my stomach is ghostly white!). So right now I am living in the Sabine Valley which is the complete boons just outside Rome. Sandro lives at the bottom of a mountain, down a long winding road (or rather a dirt lane with enormous tire bursting rocks everywhere). Everytime we drive around Italy Im sure that this will be the time I fly out the window, since no one wears seatbelts here. I think the Italians win the prize for the people that love to stare danger in the face. 1. No one wears seatbelts 2. Drivers are all madmen (and women)-people are constantly beeping and yelling e fianculo or taking their hands off the wheel to roll another cigarette, which brings me to 3. they all smoke like friggin chimneys here. They get packs of tobacco and rolling papers and smoke 20, maybe more a day. We’ll be driving on a road and all of a sudden Sandro will stop and say “now I smoke” 4. It is literally blasphemy to wear sunblock here or use bugspray, so if I die of skin cancer or west nile before preseason, blame it on the Italians. I’m not gonna lie, its been tough to motivate myself to run everyday because we usually work until late and then the wine drinking commences, and I start to get very, very tired. But then I think of you girls and how I couldn’t bear to let all of you beat me at the two mile :). Haha no seriously though, when I don’t want to run I just think about how I want us to have the best season ever this year, and me being a fat, out of shape wheezing runner won’t really help anyone. Its mostly just getting out of the door that’s the problem, because once I get beyond the trees that surround Sandro’s house, I just can’t stop running…I cant even describe how beautiful it is. Like I said before, we live at the very bottom of a mountain so it’s a tough run, but everytime I round a corner I just pray that this will be the stretch where my legs get a break. But, its always wishful thinking. Yesterday I started my run at 8.30, and I left to a chorus of “you crazy girl” and “I’m just going to sit here outside with my glass of wine and cigarette while you run”, Damn you Sandro, way to make it even harder for me to motivate myself! But as soon as I started picking up the pace, I was happy I ran away from the temptation of being a lazy bum. I ran through groves of olive trees and past small ponds and munching horses. Yesterdays run was one of the hardest Ive been on because the night before I didn’t sleep, since instead I took a midnite walk through the countryside and then tried to sleep in an open field under the stars. The sleeping didn’t happen but I did get to watch the most beautiful night sky and then the sun rise above the mountains. Not to mention, right before my run I had already had about four glasses of wine over dinner with Sandro. So picture me as a completely disoriented, wino(ed)-God I wish that were a word-American girl with black and neon green shoes running through the Italian countryside. One of the best parts of my runs are the men. Haha, I swear to you, Italian men are the most beautiful in the world, and I love yelling buona nuota, actually more like wheezing out some gibberish that makes me sound like a 90 year old smoker-and getting a smile back. The dogs keep me going. Everyone here has a dog (or three) which they keep behind locked fences. As I run by they all bark at me as if I were a serial killer or dongnapper or something. They get so worked up. But really I think they are critiquing me, seeing when Im going too slow and yelling at me to “Go Faster, Go Faster”! So much pressure, but I swear, everytime I run past dogs, I pick up the pace just a little bit. I think I also pick up the pace as I look back on what Id eaten that day, enough carbs to feed a small village and enough wine to kill it. I have pasta three times a day here, and I love it :). So I hope all of your running is going better than mine (I guess none of you have to worry about crazy scooters mowing you down around every corner) and when you’re struggling to get out the door, just think of the dogs. They’re always watching. Haha I love you guys and I cant wait to see you! Work hard and have a fun summer!

Ps-little Italian trick: if you can’t get your hands on chocolate milk or Gatorade after a game or a hard run, just do as the romans do and chomp down on a spoon full of sugar. I promise, it actually works-an instant energy rush.

Much love,
Erin (Bella)