April 2012

[El Gordo]

Today marks three years since Chris Moyle passed away. I know, I know, doesn't seem possible it can be three years does it?

The moment was marked by myself, Chris's sister Camilla and the two Antonios with a small, informal ceremony at the place where Chris's ashes were scattered, near the top of the snake. Cam lay some red roses and I tied a purple ribbon high in the gorse bush to identify the place for passing runners who knew Moyleman. The men from Andalusia took several photos as they warmly admired the beauty and tranquility of this special place amongst the hills.

Afterwards we three enjoyed a quiet, reflective afternoon at Brighton marina, trading fond memories and reflections on a weekend of hard running.

I was somewhat premature yesterday not only in claiming my own PB but also Cam's. She reminded me that she has a 3:36 to her name from some years ago. Her aim is to crack 3:30, and based on what I saw yesterday that's well within her compass. I missed out by a full 40 seconds, my official Paris time being 3:52:08 (I had to dig out the certificate). Ah, if only I'd run that 4th Blackcap circuit last month eh? Heh heh.

What a lark this running game is.

Nice to read about the ceremony for Chris, and attendance of the Antonios. Not much to add really that hasn't already been said. I didn't know Moyleman very well -- I think we met only 4, perhaps 5 times (though that did include an Almeria) but it was still poignant having Cam along to Almeria this year and being able to have a natter about her brother.

As for the mystery PB, I was pretty sure that the Brighton time was borderline. I had the time of 3:50 in my head from Paris as I've heard you say a few times that you were looking for a 3:45 sometime to dip under your Paris effort. But anyway, commiserations are NOT in order here. Still a great time, considering the yet-to-be-revealed difficulties you had towards the end.

This weekend is the Zurich Marathon. I have potent memories of doing the race 6 years ago, but like Brighton it's largely an out-and-back, and am not sure just how thrilling the thought of attempting it again someday really is. On race day I can actually see the ant-like runners making their painful way along the other side of the lake from my sitting room window. This year, if I can drag myself away from the London Marathon on TV, I'll jump on the ferry and get over there to give them a clap.