A finish with a flourish

Well, friends I'll have to come clean. I’ve let you down this week.

I have to admit to a teeny weeny setback in the old training schedule. I know I promised that I'd try the old salad and cup-a-soup routine for a few days. And I know that I also promised to stay off the beer for three days. Well, I managed to stick to the routine until just before lunchtime yesterday – and guess what happened? Yup - a flippin' Twix landed on my desk! Well, having snaffled that I couldn't see the point of carrying on so then I had some Jelly Beans and although I tried to redress the healthy balance by gobbling a bag of plums - they just made me thirsty. So I finished off Monday with a couple of nice cold bottles of Carlsberg to wash the lot down with.

In any event I've not actually been out of the front door yet for any meaningful training. To be honest though I've got a damn good reason.

It was cold.

The weather here in Ron-land is just chuffing miserable and 2012 is still six years-ish away, so one week’s training missed now isn’t going to make that much difference is it? Anyway I'm conscious of the need to rest before my next two events. This Sunday I’m popping over to Ashford for a Piddling 10K before resuming my international career with a bash at the Amsterdam Half Marathon on October 15th.

I'm also hoping to pop out tomorrow with the Half Share in the House who mumbled something about needing to do an 8 miler tomorrow. So I might drive round half way and see how the land lies. I have to say that it's at times like this that I hanker after some warm weather training - another point I'll be taking up with the UK Athletics Elite Training squad blokes in due course.

On Sunday I travelled to a place called Beckley in East Sussex to watch another Piddling 10K. It was the usual motley turnout with tattered vests that hadn't seen an iron in months plus a good few hangovers on show. I have to say though that there also one or two sparkling performances too. I tell you what, there’s a young lady from Tonbridge there who's a nippy young filly and she completed the very hilly course in 38 minutes and finished 5th overall. Very impressive indeed, although I did suspect - her being from Kent and all that - that she's probably a shoplifter's mate anyway.

I thought it would be good for my profile to visit one of these small rural events. Although I hadn't announced my arrival and the local rag rather stupidly turned down my offer of an interview (yeah - and guess who'll be first in the queue come 2012???) I was delighted that a couple of hundred people had turned up to meet me. That said I was puzzled at the reaction of some of the young girlies when I approached them to shake hands and thank them for their support - some of these country folk can be funny can't they?

But no matter the reaction, I think it remains for us elite athletes not to lose touch with reality. So I'll carry on turning up to these events, diary willing, even if it's just to sign a few autographs for the other runners and pass on some tips on diet and race strategy. I'm not sure about being in full kit though. Although it was pleasing to receive the admiring glances of some of those present as I carried out my 3 press-ups on one finger routine for the fillies waiting for the loo, my offer to pose for photographs was misinterpreted somewhat I suspect.

Anyway two aspects of this event caught my attention. The start and the finish.

First of all for some reason the race was started by a bloke dressed as Henry VIII – I kid you not.



Apparently last year it was started by Napoleon. Again I kid you not:






Anyway I was malingering round near the start line doing some crutch stretches and having done the usual after the runners had set off. If you're a non runner who has to trail around the country pretending to be interested in the other half jogging, you'll know the routine. Give 'em a big round of applause and a raucous cheer when the gun goes off - then it's away at top speed to the Burger Van for a half pounder and tea. (You know, it is true – running just isn’t a spectator sport is it? I mean, if I wasn’t in the damn race I'm sure I wouldn’t turn up to watch. I reckon Tommy Docherty, the ex Man United boss, was right. Make the races more interesting by shooting the last six runners every kilometre).

Anyway back to Beckley and just after the runners had departed there was a bit of a commotion and along comes this uniformed copper. Apparently just a few yards from the start line there'd been an attempted break-in at one of the houses. So this wet-behind-the-ears keeper of the peace - out of breath already, by the way, after just 75 yards - says "You seen anyone running?" "Yes” says I pointing in the direction of the fast departing field of athletes “There's a gang just gone running up that there lane" Well, before I had chance to explain exactly what I meant by that, this young nark started legging down the strasse in breathless pursuit! Well, apparently he finished the course in 58 minutes which ain't bad in boots, a tunic and with his helmet on full view.

The other aspect of the race I found fascinating was the finish. Now I don't know about you but whenever I've finished a race - whether it's a marathon or one of these Piddling 10Ks - frankly, I'm no good for anybody. That's because, being an elite athlete, I'm putting real effort into the race. Now I'm not saying that these chaps on Sunday weren't trying. But within seconds of ambling – note, ambling, not even a dip for the tape - over the line, they're all smiles and handshakes! Some of them hadn't even broken sweat for God's sake!

What you need is a bit of needle I reckon. Earlier this year, as part of my altitude training, I popped over to Belgium for the Ostend to Bruges 10 Mile Race. Before you ask, no it wasn't for the beer and chocolate. Anyway, blow me down if I don't get caught with a bit of a groin strain on the way back from the kebab shop on the Friday evening so I decide I'd better not aggravate the situation. Instead, I decided to concentrate on recovery, enjoy a couple of Leffes - and watch the race instead.

Not being too sure where to stand, I approached one of the locals for help in finding a suitable place from where to watch. Now the problem with Belgium, much like it's over-sexed neighbour Holland, is that if you ask a local a question that requires any kind of vocal response you're likely to end up covered in spittle. But, taking my life in my hands, I asked the question and, following the chaps advice, settled down outside a rather nice cafe around 200/300 yards from the finish with a frankfurter omelette and Leffe to watch.

Now this is a fast race I can tell you! It's a pancake flat course run alongside the local canal - but, unlike our canals there wasn't a bike or shopping trolley in sight! Anyway, around 300 yards from the finish I see that there's a Belgian and a Frenchie hammering it neck and neck for 1st place. What happened next was truly astonishing. At the 200 yard mark the Frog only goes and nudges the Belgian bloke in the ribs - causing said Belgian to stumble. Having none of it the Belgian races after the Frenchy and, like any decent Johnny Foreigner, gives him a nudge back. They continued to nudge each other until 100 yards from the finish and then the French bloke - as bold as you like - simply shoves the Belgian causing him to trip over the grass verge. But this Belgian is made of real stern stuff - and natch, he gives as good as he gets and shoves him back. Well, this to-ing and fro-ing then intensified as the finish line drew ever closer until, about 20 yards from the line, from nowhere, a haymaker appears out of the mist and lamps the Belgian on the chin! Now this really did upset the Walloony but, being made of rum stuff - he fought back like a good 'un and so the finish was quite simply a blur of blood, skin and hair as these two chaps continued to trade blows until eventually they both stumbled over the line - I have to say that I became quite animated in my encouragement for the Belgian - there's nothing like seeing spilt French blood is there eh? The finish caused such a kafuffle though that nobody could really tell who had won the damn race.

Well, the organisers were in a quandary. But let's just have a think about this. There's very little to choose between 1st and 2nd. It's between a Belgian bloke and a French bloke. The race is in Belgium. And there’s an eager Brit keen to give his twopennorth as to who he thinks crossed the line first. Guess who won? No contest Froggy - you loser!

But thanks for giving me the pleasure of watching the 2nd best finish ever.

The first?

Aaah dear reader. That would be earlier this year too - at the Night Run in Luxembourg. This is a great event. It's a marathon and a half marathon run simultaneously - and if you enter the full Monty you can opt for the short distance at the 10 mile mark by simply turning left rather than right. Now this kiddie wasn't born yesterday! Having copped the sausages and beer awaiting finishers I'd made my mind up at the 1K mark - I was doing the half!!

This had the added benefit of allowing me to watch the finish of the full marathon. So I'm malingering at the finish line doing some groin snatches for the benefit of the watching RTL TV cameras when the leader came into view. Now the finish of this race is indoors. And if you've been a couple of hours in the cool evening, running your socks off it can be a bit of a shock to the system to run into an arena with lasers, lights, music, dancing pom-pom boys (I kid you not, and I can tell you that it's not just the country of Luxembourg that's small!), dry ice and God knows how many other razzy gimmicky things.

Now us runners could see what was going to happen. But the President of Luxembourg - or Lord Mayor bloke thing - the Chief Executive of the sponsoring bank, the Coca Cola girls, the pretty young thing with the laurel wreath and the rest of the welcoming party obviously didn’t recognise the signs. And as they flocked around the poor guy, with cameras flashing, the TV cameramen got up close to beam pictures to the thousands in the stadium and the millions watching live on Eurosport.

And then it happened.

He vomited over the lot of them!!

Fantastic TV and it really did bring a whole new meaning to the word Technicolor!

Anyway, must dash - I've got loads to do. I'm working on setting up my 2012 support team and to be honest it's getting quite messy. I'm currently in correspondence with those bods at UK Athletics trying to get the terms of my place in the Elite squad sorted. You know they really don't like people giving them advice - but I'll persevere and let you know my progress.

Keep on tapering.

Ron.