It was a week at which we were able to make the best of our location in Douglas walking to two contrasting styles of concerts at The Gaiety Theatre and the Villa Marina. It was a week when we were rejoined by son Ben who is with us for about three weeks before heading to work in Denmark for about seven weeks before returning to Hull for the final year of his medical studies. Within 24 hours of his return he was assisting his old employers at the Manx Telecom shop.
Running wise it was the sort of week I don't enjoy. Despite running hard last weekend, I backed off from Monday to protect myself from blowing up too badly in the Manx Marathon which is just over two hours away as I write.
But it was not really a week when I could have focused on running. I've given a good deal of thought to a number of people who have been hit by tragedy.
Christine Crowe, who was married to my cousin Nigel, passed away the previous week. Just a year younger than me, we attended her funeral at Union Mills on Thursday, and it was so sad to see their two daughters left without their mother before they have even completed their education.
My cousin Linda, Nigel's sister, was not even able to attend the funeral because her husband Frank suffered a stroke whilst in Barcelona and she had flown out to his bedside. Thankfully Frank, who for many years was Boundary Harriers and then Manx Harriers medical advisor, was improving and was to be flown home.
Within a few hours of the funeral, I received a flurry of emails from people telling me the shocking news that Ian Astin had passed away. Several tributes to Ian have been written on the forum but they are a poor substitute for a father and husband in the Astin family.
So I'm looking forward to running a marathon this morning and I have to remember how lucky I am.
The start is the the Ballacloan Football Stadium in Ramsey. Its only two months ago that I raced from there last in the Northern 10 miles and the photo of me below, with my good friend Paul Curphey, was taken by Ian.
A couple of months earlier, I interviewed the 1964 Olympic silver medal winner Maurice Herriott. As well as talking about his achievements as an athlete, the love for his family shone through. A week later, his wife of 50 years, Marina, had passed away. The events of the past week encouraged me to do something I should have done sooner, and I picked up the phone to Maurice. Apart from his family, it is his friends in the sport that are keeping him going at the moment and I know that he would love to hear from anyone who knows him.
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