The house numbers whizz past, a pace which would have matched the best Queens Park’s runners. However, as the finishing line nears, all I hear is cheering from a small gathering with shouts of “Moses, Moses, Moses.”
Experience should have told me not to look back; however, tiredness interrupts good judgement, and I turn my head to find the youngster tearing up the Berkeley Street cobbles behind me with fifty yards to go.
I have never seen such determination. Moses’ fiery eyes, the smaller and solid build reflecting the rewards of his rowing and athletic pursuits, and finally the youthful, never say die attitude, combined with home support.
There were four people, two pairs, separated by 10 yards, marking the finishing line, with their eyes fixed on the two of us running at full speed towards them. Thirty yards to go, twenty yards to go and suddenly Moses is on my shoulder.
“That’s my sister, Elizabeth, my brother, Peter and my friends William McBeath and Peter Campbell. They will be delighted to meet you.”, said Moses laughing.
With one final burst of speed, Moses sprints past and crosses the line, winning by a yard.
I collapse on the street in a heap. While lying on the ground, trying to catch my breath, four young men look down on me smiling.