Day 56 - July 4th: New Day

Tombazosana to Grisignano di Zocco: 29.3 miles / 1,537 total

Happy 4th of July!

While I’m not thrilled to be running in this heat wave day after day, I’ve definitely acclimated and learned how to schedule around it. I don’t check distance until I hit 20k—usually around 3.5 hours in—then I break the rest into a 30k mark followed by four 5k blocks to 50k. I’ve also gamified my stops: every town I hit, I aim to down an espresso or macchiato, a pastry, and a sparkling water—all within five minutes—and refill bottles before moving on.

The biggest issue right now is a blister under my right pinky toe. Its position makes it nearly impossible to protect. I tried my old trick of using a mini pad to cushion forefoot blisters by rolling the toe in a one like a hotdog but it added too much bulk. Compeed, my go-to for blisters, tore skin when I tried to remove it at night to give it air. The winner today: an Oreo cookie approach of using a bandaid first then foam tape in the middle and another bandaid on top to secure it. The hack held up surprisingly well. It wasn’t pain-free, but not agonizing. Unfortunately, all the compensating has created a sharp pain on the outside of my right shin. It is always something.

Christina was having her own tough day yesterday. No breakfast at the apartment-hotel, a low air warning for the right rear tire, a malfunctioning laundromat in Mantua that took 5 euros from her, and the cherry on top: the hotel door fell off its hinges when we arrived. She looked at me mid-fix and said, “This is not my day!” At 7pm in Osteria Dogana for dinner, we toasted surviving another day.

We called Monica during dinner. She asked how I was sleeping. I told her my lower body throbs all night, and I can’t seem to fully shut down. Her first question: “Do you want to come home?” Her second: “Did you take any Aleve or Tylenol?” That second question saved the night. Two Aleve later, I slept much better. My morning body scan gave me cautious optimism.

I launched at 6:31 a.m. from the church in Tombazosana. Small country roads led me through farmland and lighter traffic. My legs felt light, the blister manageable, and I had that rare feeling: this would be a good day.

Unlike U.S. highways, back roads here are packed with trucks, many of which are driven by courteous pros. Most flash their lights and wave as they give me space. When we make eye contact and exchange that mutual nod or smile, it gives me a jolt of energy every time.

At 12 km near Baldaria, I climbed a canal embankment onto a bridge and saw a rails-to-trails path to my right following the canal. I eagerly started running it, thinking I’d struck gold, only to realize I was supposed to go straight off the bridge back onto roadway, not follow it. Wishful thinking.

A few kilometers later, on another country road, a scooter flew past me—drafting behind her were a pack of road cyclists who looked like they weighed as much as my right thigh. I’ve seen more cyclists in Italy than anywhere else in Europe. With the Tour de France now underway, I’m curious how much coverage it gets here. Cycling runs deep in Italian sport history—riders like Fausto Coppi and Gino Bartali are still revered, and many rural regions host amateur races and Gran Fondo events all summer.

Right after San Sebastiano, I turned onto a proper rails-to-trails path that was absolute perfection. Vineyards stretched out to the right, fields of corn and sunflowers to the left. For the first time in weeks, mountains appeared on the horizon.

Christina was also on a winning streak. She called to say she’d secured hotels both for tonight at 48 km and tomorrow in Treviso—zero pickup/drop-off delay. Laundry done. Tire topped off. All systems go.

But by kilometer 24, I was out of water and hadn’t had a refill in four hours. I exited into Sossano and spotted a man stepping off a tractor toward a workshop. Desperate, I ran over: “Acqua, per favore.” His name was Christian. He led me to a hose, drank first to show it was safe, then motioned for me to wait as it got colder. I refilled both bottles. When I told him I was running to Istanbul, he burst out “Mamma Mia!” and asked for a photo in front of his tractor. A perfect little intermission.

The next nine kilometers were dry and hot again, and I was flagging when I spotted Vaca Mora Café in Ponte di Mossano—a modern trattoria in a steel-and-glass building with high ceilings and warm light. I ordered two Cokes with ice and lemon, then had an incredible bowl of fusilli with pesto, cherry tomatoes, and feta. It turned me around instantly.

Post-meal kilometers usually fly, but after 40 km it becomes survival mode. Connecting with a few friends helped and then I passed through Montegaldella and Montegalda—twin towns back-to-back—where the church tower at the end of a long street looked like a mirage. I walked down the middle of the main road as there was no traffic and appreciated it’s beauty.

As I neared Grisignano di Zocco, I could see the mountains rising to the north—and for the first time in weeks, black storm clouds. Maybe the break in heat is coming. Either way, today was superb and it feels like there is real momentum.

Enjoy the fireworks.

Thanks for following along and for the support.

Cheers,
David.

P.s. Thank you for the input on getting miles in at night Doug. Since the worst heat is 4-6pm, I’m now starting whatever time I need to finish up before 4pm. If needed, I can start earlier if this heat wave persists.