A blow struck for chivalry

Well I'm now back from Luxembourg after taking part in the famous race along the banks of the Moselle - the Route du Vin. A great three days away. No cash drainers in sight - just peace, tranquility and the prospect of 13.1 miles to run in 90 degrees heat on Sunday.

And so, to Luxembourg. A couple of early impressions.

First of all my scepticism about joining the EU has now been confirmed. When I was in Mr Bridges' Geography class at school, Luxembourg was just south of Calais but I notice now its part of the EU it's been shifted a couple of hundred miles south - and it's a heck of a long way I'll tell you.

Secondly, they've a very peculiar dialect in Luxembourg. And no matter how many times I corrected their pronunciation of 'Vin' they kept calling it 'Van'. Most peculiar.

Thirdly I have to bow to the inevitable. I've always been fairly sceptical about the power of the Internet, e-mail and this Blogging lark. Personally I've always been of the opinion that the only people who use the Internet are perverts, civil servants and bankers and, well, frankly, people who've nothing better to do (not that there's much difference between that lot any way). But how wrong can I be? Only hours after announcing to the world my intention to begin training for the 2012 Olympics I have to admit my utter astonishment at the number of people who turned out to watch my first competitive event. The power of the Internet indeed! There were around 2,000 runners who had decided to run with me - and a few thousand more crowding the banks of the Moselle to cheer me on! What was really touching though was the thirty odd people who made the decision to travel from the UK with me and help me prepare for this crucial race.

You may recall that since my decision to make public my determination to be first down the Mall in 2012 I'd set myself an intial target of a sub 2 hour half marathon before Christmas 2006 - that would be just the fillip I needed before contacting the chaps at the Elite training squad and passing on the measurements for my new training kit.

So, how did I do?

Well, let me leave you in suspense for just a minute and I'll take you through what was a pretty intensive race weekend I can tell you!

Those of you who consider themselves committed runners will know the importance of diet. And, of course, each athlete is different. To be honest, I've not really settled on a fixed diet. I mean, you can forget all that heejy-beejy stuff with salads, nuts and bean sprouts - after all you can't run a Formula 1 car on 2 stroke fuel can you? And I'm certainly not going down the vegetarian strasse. I'm far too old and long in the tooth to change religion. Anway I've tasted that tofu stuff once and that was once too many times for my liking I can tell you. So, I'm still tinkering away with my calory intake and, having one eye on the weather forecast - and noticing too that there were a dozen or so Kenyans in the race - I decided that the decision boiled down to a simple choice. It was 50/50 - was it good old fashioned carbo-loading? Or should I revert to the F Plan?

I decided to play safe and went for both.

So Friday started with a couple of snorker and bacon rolls - lunch was a packet of McCoys Cheese and Onion, a Twix and a Ginsters Brunch Bar and then I went stir-fry in the evening (well I had Chicken Chow Mein from a cracking Chinese take-away in Gillingham but it's the same stuff isn't it?).

Saturday came and I then went into 'hydrate' mode - partly, I suspect following the consumption of said Chicken Chow Mein - and off we went by coach to Dover. Left the Cash Drainers to look after my two dogs and a cog (I've a cat that thinks it's a dog) but had to go easy on where I put my hands and pointed the eyes cos the Half Share in the House was accompanying me. To be honest, it was rather a motley crew on board but I was grateful for them giving up their weekend to follow me and support me. I discussed race strategy with a group of very nice girls from Canterbury Harriers but they got all funny with me when I receommended some interesting streching exercises I'd seen on a mates 35mm home movie camera. On board ship I moved into F Plan mode with a P and O Full English and chatted to a couple of my supporters from Hastings Runners who didn't satisfactorily explain why on earth they'd decided to join me on the weekend. They tried to tell me that they'd had the trip booked for ages - but they couldn't fool me. I could see the look of admiration in their faces when I put on my brand new Adidas skin tight black shorts with the white flash. I told them it was OK to get dressed in the bar - after all they've had people from Ashford on these boats. Anyway they went off muttering something about shopping . I thought 8 o'clock was a bit early for lager so I contented myself with a Guinness or three and settled down for a kip.

Then it was off to Luxembourg and as I've already explained - it's a chuffing long way! Lovely place though - nicer than Stevenage, Crawley or Deal. I wouldn't mind, but when we got to this place called Remich there was nowt to the place - a river, a couple of forests and about 400 petrol stations. Apparently the Germans like to cross the river and fill their cars and wagons up at about half the price we Brits pay for fuel. You should have seen the look of gratitude on the face of our coach driver when I took him some bottles of diesel to take home. You see I'd found a dozen or so wine bottles in a skip and thought - well, better to take something home that's useful - and at half a quid a bottle I thought it was a bargain.

Anyway once we'd eventually found our lovely hotel in Mondorf-les-Bains, courtesy of that nice couple at http://nice-work.org.uk I set off to do some exploring.

Now - can you tell me what is it about foreigners and bodily functions? Here we are in a lovely Spa hotel with every conceivable health and fitness facility and you get some Johnny Foreigner who sets out deliberately to spoil your day.

It all started innocently enough. I followed a couple of rather nice girls from Sandgate after overhearing that they were going to try one of the naked saunas in the hotel. Well, you know what it's like, the old ears pricked up and I thought 'well, no harm in looking eh?'. Off I went in my dressing gown and approached this 6 ft 6 inch Germanic-looking attendant called Helga for directions to the naked sauna. Well, without a blink of an eye, this collusus then proceeded to strip me of my dressing gown and left me there standing with nothing but my Runners World covering my embarassment. She'd obviously got the hots for me but I was having none of it - or so I thought. But she grabbed me by the arm and threw me into this wooden shed contraption next to the swiming pool. Once the mist on my specs had gone I looked around in the gloom and found myself in what can only be described as a very warm and sweaty airing cupboard. There were three wooden slatted shelves and a rather minty smell emanating from some stove-like contraption.

But no girls from Sandgate.

Just as I was trying to work out what to do - to be honest I was all for leaving, but Helga had done a runner with my dressing gown and I didn't fancy wandering through the bar with my bits on public show - when I heard footsteps and voices approaching the door. So, being a Brit I decided to dive onto the bottom shelf of this shed-thing and lie and see how things progressed. I pressed myself up against the wall of the airing cupboard thing and made sure that I couldn't be seen by anyone and waited with breath held tightly for the door to open. I had a fleeting vision of some lovely Luxembourgoise stepping in gingerly with her three 21 year old triplet sisters but no sooner had this vision appeared in technicolour on the back of my eyelids than it was dashed. Instead, in trooped two of the fattest, hairiest French blokes I'd ever seen in my life. Stinking rotten of garlic and some fishy thing they carried on in their hee-haw, hee-haw, hee, haw lingo before chucking some water on the fire - and then, to my horror, moved towards me to sit down. I was obviously still invisible to them as they stepped on to my shelf - but then, dear reader, things took a turn for the worse. Rather than sitting on my shelf, they stepped on to my shelf - and sat down immediately above me. Or, to be precise, immediately above my face.

You will recall that I told you that the shelves were slatted.

I cannot begin to tell you the view that I had from my vantage point. Suffice to say, it's put me off pork scratchings and honey-cured ham for life. And if that wasn't bad enough, these two Gallic blubber merchants sat there for 35 sodding minutes. What dropped on me and from whence the drips came I shudder to think. Eventually, their time finished they waddled off - presumably to ruin somebody else's day and put a family of fifteen off their dinner that evening.

Anyway I eventually escaped and then went to change and enjoyed a very agreeable three-courser with my supporters before retiring to the hotel bar for a few slurps of Leffe - well, race time wasn't until 3 pm - plenty of time for the old dull ache to ease I thought.

And then it was race day! There was a murmur of noticeable appreciation as I turned up for brekkies in my vest and shorts and did a couple of calf and groin stretches against the hot plates - one young lady even asked me for my room number. "But we've only just met" I protested. Tried to tell me she was some kind of Breakafast Czar and that she needed my number for the accounts but she wasn't fooling me!

And then down to Remich for the start and this was it! Race 1 - only a few dozen to go before the Olympics in 2012 - and mark my words the time will go fast! Mind you, old Johnny Foreigner has a funny way of dealing with its Elite athletes - I was shoved in a pen with not a Kenyan in sight! Instead I was amongst the also rans of Luxembourg, France and Germany - but no worries I'd soon leave them standing. I began at a steady 5.30 minute K pace before deciding to hold back and save a bit for my sprint finish. No point in being too hasty I thought. After around 500 metres I reckon I was easily in sight of the front runners and set about clawing my way towards the front. At 2K I stopped for a welcome drink and tried to chat to a couple of blokes about their Asics shoes - I was wearing Dunlop Green Flash and just wanted their opinion - but they were so rude and pushed me to one side before dashing off. After 4 K, I'm bang on target for my sub 2 hour - 22 minutes exactly. Keep this up and I'm on course for a 1.57. 5K, fine, 6K still OK, 7K I shaved a few seconds in my favour and then - well, frankly, dear reader, it all went to pot.

I'd had my eyes on a bit of posh totty in front of me. You know what it's like lads? There's no way us chaps can shuffle up any hill without focusing on the rear of some nice young lady in front is there? Personally I try and spot my botties early on - that way I can concentrate on keeping up with them. We'd just reached the 8K mark - just a shade under44 minutes and still bang on schedule - when my totty bottie pulled in to the side in some obvious discomfort. Well, what could I do? Run straight past her? Hey, I'm not French! I'm a Brit. And despite the fact that I knew what I was about to do would have a serious affect on my Olympic training schedule I did what I hope any of you would do. That's right I stopped. I checked on the young lady's condition - she was wheezing and gasping for breath and couldn't get any words out. I was trying to explain that a spot of Fiery Jack rubbed on her chest would probably crack it when this Luxembourg marshal bloke came up and asked if we were OK. He spoke good English but I was puzzled when he said to his mate that it was unusual to have two runners with exactly the same condition stop at exactly the same spot. Dunno what he meant by that. Anyway, I helped this young lady back to the marshal point and took a bit of water on board myself before setting off on my way - but not, I emphasise, before I was absolutely convinced she was in very capable hands.

Well, with race times and targets out via le fenetre what could I do? This act of blatant chivalry had cost me my race. Was I upset? A little, obviously. Was I glad I'd stopped? You bet. And before you say anything don't you dare suggest that I only stopped to have a little blow myself - that never even entered my head.

Anyway I obviously pretty soon got myself back into a race pattern and carried on to the finish. I was really pleased that so many people had decided to wait for me to finish and I can tell you that a huge roar erupted at the finish when I entered the funnel. I waved to the galleries - and they waved back at me. My supporters were there en masse with a welcome glass of beer and Croque Monsieur waiting. It was quite emotional really. The only negative I suppose was that in diving for the tape to knock a Frenchie back another place I tripped over the chip timing mat and twisted my chuffing ankle - but what the heck. My finish time was a touch over 2hrs 11 mins - but if I'd carried on and not helped my damsel, I reckon I was pretty close to 2 hours. The heat was almost unbearable though - so, in the circumstances, I've got to say, I'm happy.

My finishing time put me about 1 hour 10 minutes behind the first Kenyan bloke home (1 hour 29 seconds!!). And do you know, that's a thing that really annoyed me. If I'd won that race I'd have jolly well hung on to cheer the Kenyans in - but did they wait for me? Not on your life - so that's just given me added determination to make sure those guys are eating my dust come 2012.

And so, after touching base with my supporters it was back to the digs and a fine old party in the evening. Pizza and beer it was - good old fashioned race food - Ron Hill would have approved!

Then, a long journey back home and time to reflect. Was my race strategy OK, was my diet and preparation what it should have been, did I run to the best of my ability, was I mentally strong enough?

What do you think? Let’s hear a big ‘Yes’.

So, now its back to the rigorous grind of my daily training schedule. No race this week but thought I'd pop out to the sticks to see that Beckley lot in East Sussex and watch their 10K on Sunday. In fact my team have suggested a sprint would be good for me too, so I've decided to risk going to Ashford on October 8th for one of those piddling 10K efforts. My time target at the moment is around the 52 minute mark and if I achieve that then my sub 2 hour target could be reached on October 15th - when I take part in the Amsterdam Half Marathon.

Before then though I'll keep you up to speed with the highs and lows of an Olympic hopeful.

Keep on tapering.

Ron