The slope looks cleaner than it feels.From the ridge, it glitters in the light like something polished and perfect.But you can't polish a monster.
I move slowly.Lukas is a few meters behind me, silent as always when he's reading terrain.Bellini is ahead.Of course.
He's inspecting like he's posing for a photo shoot; jacket open, gloves off, boots barely clipped like he doesn't need them.His tech trails him with the weary resignation of someone who's seen this performance before.
We stop at the Carcentina diagonal above the compression following the turn.No surprise.Everyone's eyes are drawn to it.Even standing still, the hill has a tilt that wants to knock you forward.
Bellini glances over his shoulder at me.
"A bit icy, huh?"he says, casually."Not everyone likes my home snow."
I smile without showing teeth.
"Let's hope it's not too much for your sleek edges."
His tech stifles a groan and mutters something I don't catch in Italian, but I get the tone.It is an international language for pure frustration.
Bellini grins wider."You know what they say.Bormio rewards the brave."
"And punishes the cocky."
He laughs like it's all in good fun.Maybe for him it is.Maybe he actually thinks I'm rattled.
He drops into the next section of the course ahead of us, poles plunged into the icy trench.His balance is perfect, of course.Like the hill was designed around him.
I slide forward a few steps, pole planted tight, eyes on the compression.
From here, it looks deceptively tame, just a low curve in the terrain.But I know better.We all do.
That's where Reiner slammed into the ice two days ago, where Merano caught the tip and went flying.
Where the snow isn't snow anymore, it's glass.
Bellini doesn't look back.
He doesn't have to.
Today, we'll both hit this section full tilt.
One of us will land it clean.
And one of us may not.
The time went still around the start hut.The sky is the kind of perfect blue the fans enjoy.
Martin is still breathing hard when he gives me the report from the finish.
"Fast top section," he says into the radio."But the compression's worse than inspection.Snow's glazed.Be careful."
I hear it.
I know exactly what he means; Carcentina into La Konta, the exact spot where the hill tries to eat you alive.Where the terrain drops and twists just enough to throw your balance and rob your edge.
Where you don't fall because you're reckless.
You fall because you're half a second late.
I hear it.
