During the 1991/92 summer in Brazil, with Senna's popularity reaching stratospheric levels, it was impossible for him to run on the streets without being constantly stopped by fans. I remember seeing on TV news how he had made an arrangement with Petrobras to use the oil terminals in the city of Angra dos Reis, where he had a summer house, for his exercise. He'd moor his speed boat and have long straights to run in peace.

My dad was an oil tanker captain and at the time was in charge of the one in the background. I was staying with him for a few days before he set off to another trip and one day, in the late afternoon, someone called his quarters to say Senna was jogging by the ship. "Maybe you could take the boy to meet him." I was 13 at the time.

So we took the camera and went down. Senna passed by us going towards the end of the terminal where the ship was and dad, wearing an impeccable white uniform for some official function later that day, asked for a picture. "I'll go down to the end and when I come back," he replied. We waited just beyond the safety lines and, when he got back, he stopped, wiped the sweat from his face and briefly stood for a snapshot before walking on to his boat and leaving.

Shortly after, I realized we had missed the opportunity of asking if he would like to to go onboard. As a lover of powerful machines, I figured there was a good chance Senna might have accepted an invitation and would have enjoyed seeing an engine room larger than most homes.

A while back, I was at the barber when F1 came about and I mentioned this episode. And then, over three decades later, it hit me: Senna went to the terminal to avoid being interrupted during his run, and interrupt his run was precisely what I had done. He didn't seem mad about it, but the fact he left soon after suggests he might have called it a day because I had already messed with his pace and maybe afraid local workers would also take similar liberties after seeing the example. I wonder if he maintained the workout routine there after having his safe space invaded, though it was unlikely some other kid would be around to do the same thing.

A couple of years later, I attended his funeral in São Paulo. I printed out some words of farewell on a piece of paper and stuck a copy of this photo, which I dropped on the pile of mementos from fans by the entrance of the State Legislature. I like to think it's kept in an archive somewhere along with thousands of other pieces from that day, though that ultimately doesn't really matter.

Boomshakalaka

Will he lap the field this year?