How am I supposed to run with this?

The "this" I refer to, of course, is the stuff hanging round my middle!

I now understand why other Olympic athletes spend their Christmases appearing on celebrity Who Wants to be a Millionaire, being interviewed by Bobby Davro or competing in Ready, Steady Cook. That's why I'm marking next Christmas down as a dead cert two weeks off.

Its impossible to do any serious Olympic training because I seem constantly to have either a glass of something or a chunk of meat in my hands. Being a popular athlete and something of a media celebrity I'm also in demand to attend parties, corporate functions and community events. Well I should be - and this is something that is beginning to rankle. To be honest, the only invite I've had is from the local Jehovaha's Witnesses to join them for a cup of coffee and a mince pie. I gave that one short shrift and instead concentrated on a spot of carbo laoding with my mate Ernie.

It culminated in a turkey-fest yesterday that's left me clinging on to the Andrews tin this morning and wondering just how my colleagues in the UK 2012 Olympic Elite athletes squad will be spending their Christmas. Because, as I sit here now, slightly flaky I admit, I'm actually waiting for the Half Share in the House to bring me my lycra - because this kiddie is not anticipating another day of consumption - I've got a Gold Medal to win!

Yep - you see your man here has that dedication, that drive and that determination that separates us Special Ones from ordinary people and Welsh men. And that's why, in a little under two hourse, I'll be popping along to Westfield for one of those piddling 10K's. Yep - that's right. I'll be pounding the streets again. And tomorrow I'll be down at Stallones my local gym for another hard session before packing up the Alegro for my journey into the unknown on Friday. In other words, the training just doesn't stop for us kiddies.

So, on Friday I'm going to a place called the North to take part in the Ribble Valley 10K in Lancashire. I don't venture up north too much because I like my car and would like to get it back in one piece. But I understand that as a media celebrity I'm 'ownded' by the whole country - not just the civilised parts. So, I'm going to try and ingratiate myself with those poor northern people by trying to identify with their hopes, their dreams and, of course, their peculiar dress sense.

Of course its not my first experience of the north, I once went to Northampton and I used to like Little and Large. But it did get me thinking about the north. And I've come up with these ten great reasons why everybody should try running in the north of England - at least one.

1. You can run with your dog.
2. You don't need fancy running shoes - wellies, brogues or boots are perfectly acceptable.
3. Pie stations on the course.
4. You can take the mick out of people from Yorkshire and know that everybody will love you even more.
5. You can get to call everybody 'Cocker'.
6. All the other runners are smiling even though its lashing down with rain and you're running up a hill.
7. You can turn up in a 1994 Ford Escort and people admire your car.
8. You know that the T shirts you get for finishing the race will always be big enough for you.
9. Running in a string race with braces on your shorts is considered acceptable.
10. Carbo loading Lancashire style is just wonderful - pies, peas and Eccles Clakes.

Anyway, you carry on lying on the couch, braeking wind and reaching for another can of Worthingtons - I've a Gold Medal to collect!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Getting ready for the Big Off

So, whilst you lot are sitting back with a belly of sprouts, please spare a thought for us Olympic hopefuls. You see, one day just merges into another - the same gruelling routine day in, day out. But that's the sacrifice you have to make for athletic glory.

So, I'll be carbo loading right through to the New Year. I have to admit, I've done pretty well so far this month. I decided to put myself on a Guinness diet - because Guinness is good for you - and it's worked a treat. I've lost four days already!!

So, what does Christmas mean to an elite athlete? Well, this kiddie will be out with a mix of pumping the flesh and hard mileage over the next two weeks. Tomorrow I'll be at the Christmas Pudding Dash in a place called Battle. Highly appropriate if the bunch of has-beens and alcohol-fuelled drop outs that turned up last year decide to make a return. I'll be there doing a bit of PR to meet some of my Ronettes - and I'll probably be demo-ing my one fingered press-up, anal crunch and pelvic squirt routine. But I'm not running - it doesn't fit in with my schedule. Tomorrow is a double lunch day and a run just doesn't work.

On Boxing Day I'll be running in a local 10K near Hastings - no doubt dodging the needles and debris on my way round the course. Next Sunday I'll be going to a place called the North of England for the Ribble Valley 10K - and that will be it for what has been an interesting year for this kiddie.

2008 is set to be a momentous year in the Ron calendar. We've been invited to run in lots of countries, including Norway, Italy, Belgium, Holland, Ireland, Luxembourg - and France. But top of the sheet will be a small event we're doing in November - the Himalayan 100. How about that for an exciting year?

Anyway, I'll no doubt be back to you before the Big Day on Tuesday - but if we don't meet, from your favourite Olympic kiddie to all you ordinary people out there 'Have a Happy Christmas'.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Dykes, Dog Poo and Mad Dutchmen - all in a days work for an Olympic hopeful.

I've stepped up my training this week. You see, the likes of Paula Wotsit and co. all relaxing by the pool or spending their hard-earned in Monte Carlo might be OK for them - but to this kiddie here, the Gold Medal in 2012 will only be in my mitts if I keep up the training. You have to have a strong work ethic. And because my summer of discontent has upped the old weight a tad, I reckoned a couple of weeks hard work now will soon have me back to running near-world class times again.

I'm currently in a place called France - and in a town that seems to be obsessed with running.

Its called Le 2K.

How cool is that?

Mind you I can run that distance in my sleep - but isn't it just typical of the French to aim low? The Greeks had a town called Marathon. And the French have a town called Le 2K. I think that says it all don't you?

I mean, just how unambitious can you get?? That's why the French are tosh when it comes to running and Olympic success and why the Greeks are ... well, drug cheats.

The other thing about France that makes running such an ordeal is the dog poo. This Le 2K place is right on the beach - its got a smart prom, some decent bars, good restaurants and fancy shopping. But try and go for a run along the prom and you spend the entire session dodging big dollops of dog poo. Perhaps that's why the French are so good at skiing - they have to slalom just to walk to work!!

Anyway, I managed a four mile run tonight and tomorrow morning its a 6 miler and then its back to Blighty in time for the Kent Christmas Cracker race on Sunday. I'm not running myself but will be there to start the race, sign a few autographs etc.

Of course, I'm still in catch up mode with you Ronettes - and there's an adventure or two I've still to tell you about. For instance, I didn't tell you about my little trip to Arnhem in a flat country called Holland - and yes, I did get into trouble over some comment about Dykes but that's for another day. I stayed there to take in a local race which, not to put too fine a point on it - is sheer lunacy.

The Bergrace By Nacht race is an event held in Wageningen, near Arnhem. The race is run from the top of one mountain to the peak of another. Great. But the peaks are no more than 40 ft! So, yes, it is a flat country!!

To make things interesting though, the race is held in darkness - with the top event, run over 11.6K, setting off at 10.30 pm. The runners have to negotiate their way along dark, country lanes with no street lighting - and the finish line is in a zoo. With a cheesy 70's disco in full swing as you cross the line.

And this barking mad event attracts over 3,000 runners.

From there we travelled on to Saint Hillaire Cotte in Northern France for another embarrassing shot at trying to get one over the French. Yours truly did manage to prise a trophy from the Frogs, but, apparently it was only given to me on account of my celebrity status. This kiddie doesn't do patronising. So, after politely but firmly telling the Mayor of Saint Hillaire what I felt about his gesture and where he could stick his trophy, I decided to do the decent thing.

I got trolloped at his expense.

In fact so begorrah-ed was I that I left my wallet, my door key, my Dunlop Green Flashes and my passport in his chuffing bar!! So, how was I to get back to Blighty?

I decided to front up and when I arrived back in Calais I made my way to HM's Immigration Numpties - and what a bunch of humourless toe rags they are too eh? I tried to explain who I was - I don't like using the 'Don't you know who I am' trick, but, hey, needs must. Anyway, they were having none of it.

So, I held my hands up. I said I'd got no passport, no money, nowhere to stay (I hammed that one up a bit for a bit of sympathy) - and, because I'd enjoyed a few Leffes, I ventured to say that I had no obvious means of support.

At that, the Numptie raised his eyebrows, gave me a smile - and before you could say Olympic Dream, he'd arranged for me to have a house, some money, new clothes for the kids, a whole heap of furniture and more Tesco food vouchers than you could shake a stick at!!

And all for turning up at the border with no passport or money!

So, all's well that ends well eh?

Keep on tapering.

Ron

A right old caper

Well, I had my first visit to the racing circuit for some considerable time today when I visited Caravan County for the Swanley Christmas Caper. Yep, whilst that bunch of lightweights, losers, drug cheats and a Welshman were busy enjoying hospitality from the BBC at their Sports Non-Personality of the Year Awards (yes - it does still rankle, OK?), your man here was busy pounding the streets of Kent, getting more miles under my belt. Because that's what you need to do if you're to bring home the Olympic bacon.

I was going to go with my mate Ernie, but a spot of local difficulty with the barmaid at the Carrot & Turnip on Friday night had left him otherwise indisposed. So, I decided to do a touch of community service and collected Granddad Stan the Bandana Man from the Rye Sunshine Home and set off with him.

I have no problem putting a little back into a community that gives me so much in terms of support and fan-worship but sometimes you do wonder. I can put up with the dribble and the frequent toilet stops but the incessant car noises and shrieks of delight every time we pass a lorry do get a bit tiresome.

Anyway, we turn up at Swanley and to be fair I think we found the only 45 minute window with a break in the horrible weather that hit the south east today. It gave me just about enough time to do a bit of flesh pumping and a wander round the race car park to shake hands with a few of those who'd turned out in such nasty weather to see me.

I had to curtail my pre-race programme of anal crunches and pelvic squirts though when Granddad Stan started to cause a bit of a kerfuffle. I'd made the mistake of telling him he could run the race - but that I'd have to enter him on the day. I know this particular road running term has got me into trouble before - particularly on some foreign trips - but Granddad Stan, I'd discovered, was doing his best to destroy the carefully constructed Ron 'brand'. He started telling anybody who would listen to him that the lycra clad 2012 Olympic Gold Medallist hopeful currently doing the one-fingered press-ups was a mate of his. Irritating yes, but fair enough.

Above: Granddad Stan the Bandana Man
But then he started pointing out that the display would need to be curtailed because "He's promised to enter me before the race". Well, for beggars sake, it just didn't go down too well - and I had visions of the Ron brand being destroyed in a flurry of gay sex innuendos. So, I carefully kneed Granddad Stan in the groin - and dragged him away to sort out our numbers for the race. That also irritated me because I had to pay to enter - and as I pointed out to the organisers, I thought it a bit rich inviting me to boost their entry and then rubbing my nose in it by taking ten quid off me.

I enjoyed the run though - came in bang on my target time of 42.47 for the 4.2 mile circuit - I would have done it quicker but I did stop to sign some girl's t-shirt on the way round.

I managed to drag Granddad Stan away from Swanley eventually. The Caper encourages fancy dress and he'd won a prize for the best use of a bandana and primary colours - I didn’t have the heart to tell the organisers that he always dressed that way. I got over his puzzlement at getting a trophy by telling him he'd won a prize for the 1st Vet of No Fixed Abode.

And the trophy came in handy on the way home as it reduced the number of toilet stops.

Then I went home and continued my seethe about my non-appearance on the BBC's farcical Sports Personality of the Year.

I ask you - it was given to a bloke from Wales. That's what's wrong with this country, you know. I've always said that the answer to this country's growing population crisis was very simple. Just ask one question on the Immigration paperwork - "Are you Welsh?” Answer affirmative and you're deported - preferably to France where the two cultures could sit in abject misery. moaning about whatever took their fancy for ever more.

And if you wanted to know the consequences of ignoring that advice then it was there for all to see on our television screens at 9 o’clock when the fighter bloke won the gong.

I really don't know what this country is coming to.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Still seething - but humble too

I'm still seething about my non appearance on the shortlist for the BBC Sports Personality of the Year Award and, in addition to firing off a letter to Jeremy Paxman, I've decided to send a similar letter to Jonathan Ross seeing as how thinks he's all high and flippin' mighty now.

But, do you know something. I'd no sooner popped the letter in an envelope and sent The Droog off to the GPO when I had this sudden rush of humility. I started thinking about how fortunate I am to have been chosen to take part in the Olympic Games - when most other people don't even get to watch the bally thing never mind take part. And think too of all those poor countries like Biafra, The Ivory Coast, Panama, New Zealand and Wales who will never get to taste the sweet smell of Olympic success.

And it got me thinking again about great it is to be an Olympic hopeful.

I couldn't wait to share them with you - so here are my 10 reasons why it feels great to be an Olympic hopeful:

1. The Half Share in the House has started running 10 miles a day. Fantastic. She's reached Edinburgh now.

2. I get to experience heavy breathing every day rather than twice a year and birthdays.

3. Running as an Olympian is free and cheaper than the gym. And people wave at you more!

4. If you go for a run first thing in the morning, by the time you've woke up, you've finished!

5. Gym exercises are stupid. If God had meant us to touch our toes, he'd have put five on each eyebrow.

6. You can invite a friend to accompany you on a 20 mile training run - then tell them you'll catch them up. Then turn round after a mile and go home for a bacon sandwich. Childish maybe - but funny. And OK its nothing to do with being an Olympian - and my mate Ernie can't run 20 miles anyway.

7. There are occasions during the year when your stomach covers your flabby thighs.

8. Run each day and you die healthier.

9. If you are going to do cross-country running, start with a small country.

10. Running helps memory retention

10. Running helps memory retention.

So, I'm off to Caravan County this Sunday to see all my fans in the Swanley area. I'll be going through my routine of anal crunches and pelvic squirts just prior to the start of the Swanley Christmas Caper - so, if you're anywhere near England, why not come along and touch my lycra?

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Not on your life!

Don't you just like it when a plan comes together.

Your man here went into the weekend full of optimism. I was up for a swift 10 mile dash along the seafront in the Thanet 10 Mile event. I usually enjoy my trips to Caravan County and my appearance there, I know, would have boosted the turnout, with a legion of Ronettes planning on bowling up to cheer me on.

But I didn't go.

I bottled out.

Why?

Because my friends it was cold. It was cold, it was wet - and it was blowing a chuffing gale. So I went for plan B and went down the Cabbage and Turnip for a couple of snifters. Yes, I know it was wimpish but you just can't mess around with an elite athlete's body. I know it was a shame because, as well as greeting my Ronettes, I desperately wanted to get back in to racing mode - but, my return will have to wait another week and for my visit to Swanley next Sunday.

However, you'll be pleased to know though that my training over the last two weeks has gone swimmingly well. I've managed to get 20 or so miles a week under my belt - albeit most of them have been down at Stallones, my local Muscle Emporium.

I've also spent a little time trying to develop my racing strategy for 2008. With only four years to go before the 2012 Olympics I really need to up the ante regarding my personal appearances and media profile. I was desperately disappointed not to have been nominated for the BBC Sports Personality of the Year and I'll be firing a letter off to Jeremy Paxman to make my feelings abundantly plain.

Anyway, bringing you up to speed with my activities over the Autumn, I made my annual trip to Amsterdam, which is a city in a place called Europe, in October for the Marathon. Although I had no intention of running the full distance, I had high hopes of a nippy time in the Half Marathon. But I got hit with a beggar of an injury and had to sit the event out.

Above: They 'P' in the streets in Holland! Standards have not improved in Europe.
What made it even more of a bind was that I went with the Nice Work chaps and they literally left me holding the bags! Yep, I was like some mum at a fairground, weighed down with kit bags, running gear and various valuables. That's fine - but I had to sit there for some six chuffing hours in that concrete Olympic Stadium of theirs! And guess what? Yes, it was flippin' cold again.

Above: Some of my Ronettes in the stadium in Amsterdam
Anyway I did manage to slope off for a bit of R 'n' R and strangely enough, I found myself in some dodgy bar down the red light area. I was quite happy enjoying my Leffe when in walked a bloke with a pet alligator under his arm.

He put the alligator up on the bar and announced to all and sundry "I will open this alligator's mouth and place my genitals inside. Then the beast will close his mouth for one minute. He will then open his mouth and I will remove my bits unscratched. In return for witnessing this spectacle, each of you can buy me a beer."

Well I, for one, was up for this spectacle - so I chucked my couple of euros on the bar. At which, the chap stood up on his bar stool, dropped his kex, and placed his privates in the alligator's open mouth.

Then the alligator closed his mouth.

After a minute, the man grabbed a beer bottle and whacked the alligator hard on the top of its head. The alligator opened his mouth and the man removed his genitals unscathed.

Well, was I impressed!!

The crowd cheered and the first of his free beers was handed to him.

The man emptied his glass, stood up again and made another offer. "I will pay anyone in the audience who is willing to give this a try 100 euros."

Not many takers I have to say, until, after a minute or so, a hand went up in the back of the bar. And this blonde woman timidly spoke up.

"I'll give it a try. But you have to promise not to hit me on the head with the beer bottle."

Keep on tapering

Ron

But the show is back on the road

Despite my poor showings this Autumn - all down to a lack of training time plus a bit of a lifestyle issue - I've actually knuckled down over the last fortnight. the Half Share in the House has been very encouraging - she hoyed all my Leffes in the bin! The kids have also padlocked the fridge and, to top it all, I've pulled on the famous Ron Lycra again. Two weeks of intensive training has seen me start to regain my shape.

I'm now offically Oval - an improvement on my Round figure at the start of my new-found enthusiasm. My racing calendar is also starting to fill up and I'm off to Caravan County on Sunday morning to have a bash at the Thanet Coastal 10.

To be honest, it'll be nice to be back amongst my fans and I'm looking forward to carrying out my famous one-fingered press ups on the sea front on Sunday morning. The week after I thought the good people of Swanley would like a PA, so I'm off for the Swanley Christmas Caper. On the 16th I've been honoured to have been selected to be the official starter for the Kent Christmas Cracker in Deal - a feat I'm repeating a week later on the 22nd in Battle at the Christmas Pudding Dash.

So, I'm hoping that within the next four weeks or so, I'll be back to performing more or less world record times.

That's more like it.

2012?

Bring it on - your man is back!!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Why do they call it Vin when it's called Van?

In September I returned to Luxembourg to take up an invitation from that cute little country to compete once again in the Route Du Vin. I'm still puzzled as to why it's called Vin when everybody calls it Van but I suppose it's just one of those 'small country idiosyncrasies'.

The only problem, of course, was that your man here wasn't in the best of shapes in September - and the Luxembourg chappies were expecting a seasoned celebrity athlete. So I declined the offer of an elite place in the race and decided just to pop down and do a demo of my anal crunch/pelvic thrust 5 minute warm-up.

(Above: Luxembourg can be pleasant)
I have to say that the weekend didn't get off to the best of starts. I travelled over there with those nice chaps at Nice Work who had assembled a gin-fuelled bunch of has-beens to help foster Anglo-Luxembourg relations. The problem was that we'd no sooner set off than they hit the duty frees - and to cut a long story short we bowled up in Luxembourg slightly the worse for wear.

So, it was in a state of some intoxication that my weekend began to wobble swiftly downhill - because I then decided that, despite having not run a yard for two months - I would take part in the race the following day.

I decided to nip down to the race HQ and have a natter with the organisers to secure an entry - and I have to say the pretty young thing that had been designated to look after elite athletes was most agreeable. However this promising situation quickly turned pear-shaped when she told me that I couldn't enter the race there and then but would have to do so the following day. I think it was a problem in the translation that caused her to call the Police - all I was trying to enquire was would she help me enter on the day and ... well I knew what I meant!

After being released with the usual warning about my future behaviour, I decided to get some kip and prepare for the race the following day. The race itself is fairly flat and follows the Moselle for 6 and a half miles before turning round and running back. Well - did I struggle?

(The Start - can you spot your man?)
If I'm honest, the only reason I took up this running lark was to hear the sound of heavy breathing again - and let me tell you, this kiddie was breathing big-time. I suffered. It was hot. The damned Kenyans were too fast - and, to cut a long story short, I ended up on the last page of the results finishing in 2.23.51 - my slowest half marathon by a country mile.

To say that I was disappointed at my performance would be putting it mildly. And so, straight after the race I decided to drown my sorrows in the bars and dens of iniquity across the river in Germany.

(Above - my mate Ernie came along for the ride)
I came across what seemed to be a sensible place to drink and settled at the bar to nurse my sore legs and enjoy a drop of God's finest Leffe when this German chap walked past me and only grabbed one of the cheeks of my rear end.

I was gob-smacked. And I was just about to remonstrate with the bloke when another guy walked past and patted my bum! What the hell was going on??? I tried to catch the barman's eye and as he was walking towards me, another of these pesky foreigners had a poke at my behind. I explained to the barman that three people had now grabbed my backside - what kind of place was I in? Was it some kind of gay bar?

"Nein" the German replied "It eez a Tapas Bar"

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Eight and a half quid a pint!

I was invited to take part in a race in a really far away place in June next year and so that's how I found myself on my way back to Oslo in September - a place in a strange country called Norway. After a brief stopover to re-acquaint myself with that pesky Ski Jump that I was hoyed off last December I flew with the Half Share to a place called Tromso. Its some 300 miles north of the Arctic Circle and so flippin' remote is it that they lift £8.50 off you every time you want a pint of beer!

I was there to check out the training facilities for my proposed visit next June to take part in the Midnight Sun Marathon. The race takes place at a time of year when there's sun right round the clock. Now that might seem attractive to you - but to me it just isn't natural.

Look. Day is day; and night is night. And the good Lord made it easy for us to tell the difference between the two of them by making one of them dark. No wonder these Norwegian persons seem to spend their lives in a permanent state of intoxication - if it doesn't get dark, how in God's name do you know when it's time to go home?

(Above) me and the Half Share in a canoe. We found out that your man here has a lot in common with canoes. we both tip well.
Anyway we did a bit of canoeing in the Fjords, a couple of boat trips and all in all enjoyed having a jolly good sniff around the place. Your man here was just getting to like the place though when I had a bit of an altercation with the local bobby.

It all started innocently enough when I decided to hire a motor and go for a little drive. I was pootling along minding my own business when I was pulled in by the rozzers. Apparently, the nitwit said, I'd failed to stop at a stop sign. But whilst I hold my hands up to not stopping per se - I explained that I'd slowed down sufficiently for it to make no difference at all. There then followed a ridiculous argument about the difference between stopping and slowing down - with me insisting there was no difference.

And that's when it got nasty. The bobby only went and got out his truncheon and started beating my round the head with the stick - and let me tell you, it damn well hurt. After he'd rained down about twenty blows he stopped, held the truncheon above my head and said "Now then, would you like me to stop? Or to slow down?".

It was at that point that I understood his point of view.

Despite that rather violent experience, the place is a top notch destination though - and your man here is really looking forward to returning in 2008 for a bash at running at night in the light.


Keep on tapering.

Ron

Yep - bigger than ever!

I sat watching the debacle that passed for the England football team on Wednesday night - and I realised it.

My country needs me.

Yep. My country needs a sporting hero and I owe it to my fellow countrymen to get myself off my backside and start to bring a little cheer to the miserable lives of the people in England. Especially those in Birmingham and Yorkshire who have a miserable existence anyway.

"But where have you been Ron?" I hear you say. "And are you still up for that Olympic Gold in 2012?" Well I've been lots of places my little Ronettes but I can assure you, the dream is still very much alive.

There has been a little hiccup in the old training regime department though - which is why never a truer word was spoken when I say "I'm back - and bigger than ever". You see my athletic life simply wasn't paying the bills so the Half Share in the House delivered an ultimatum - either I got a real job or she scarpered. I mulled that one over for a while then realised that even for no other reason than I'd be guaranteed clean socks once a fortnight, it was probably worth getting some work.

So that's how I ended up working at the local biscuit factory. For the first couple of weeks I was in charge of putting the jam in Jammy Dodgers - and, well I just couldn't resist having a nibble or two. And although I've progressed through to Dunk testing Digestives and onto spreading the vanilla in Vanilla Creams, I've been unable to resist the temptations -and I've packed on the weight.

But you can't hold back a good athlete.

I've found myself assuming what can only be described as an Ambassadorial role - and I've visited a few countries to greet and meet some of my overseas fans.

I'll bring you news of some of my adventures in due course - and mark my words there have been some! - but take a look at this list of places that your man here has been seen in:

Norway - for the Arctic Circle
Luxembourg - for the Route du Vin
Amsterdam - for ... well never mind what for
Arnhem - for a quick scoot around
Amsterdam - again, this time for the Marathon
Arnhem - again - for a bizarre race in the dark
France - for a 10K run in the country.

I've only taken part in a couple of UK races since the summer - and pretty disastrous they were too. But I'm now back in training - because 2008 is going to be a huge year for your man here.

Let's see if this little lot indicates how serious my Olympic training is set to become - I'm in for the Paris Marathon in April, I'm in for the Midnight Sun Marathon some 300 miles north of the Arctic Circle in June - and I'm looking at possibly doing the Himalayas 100 Mile run next November.

So, as you can see, once an athlete, always an athlete.

So let's get together again shall we? I'll bring you news of my adventures to date over the course of this week - in the meantime, I'll be sharing with you, once again, my life as an athletic superstar.

Oh - it's great to be back.

Keep on tapering

Ron

I'm back!!! And I'm bigger than ever!!

You won't believe what I've been up to for the last three months.

Well bring up a chair - because coming soon (before this Saturday if my Probabtion Officer agrees) you're going to be as excited as I am when you read all my news from the last few weeks.

And, don't worry, that Olympic dream is alive and well.

Keep on tapering (for just two more days please!)

(A Much Larger Version of)

Ron

Nothing changes

Back to Blighty - after a ten hour journey from Montenegro to Ron Towers which included a 5 hour journey by road to Dubrovnik and a fabulous 2 hour wait at the border. What is it about these Johnny Foreigners? They are all so desperate to join the EU - and what is one of the principles of EU membership? Yup - unhindered travel across borders.

Let me tell you these Croats could't even spell the word 'unhindered'!

Anyway, we eventually arrived at the airport, frazzled and pretty hacked off. Fortunately I didn't have to use the dreaded celebrity phrase "Don't you know who I am?" As soon as I arrived at the check-in - guess what? Yep - free upgrade to Business Travel. Now that's more like it chaps.

So, I had a very comfortable journey back. The Half Share and Cash Drainers were firmly ensconsed in steerage - but, "hey" as I said to them "don't give me grief - just deal with it".

I think my diplomatic approach to what could have been a tricky family situation was spot on. Mind you, I had breakfast on my own this morning.

Anyway, the fun now starts. I've had my warm weather/altitude training - it's now back to reality. Of course, Blighty welcomed us with its traditional open arms - and it's lashing down with rain and cold. But I'm an athlete - so tomorrow sees my first day of cold weather training and I'm due to cycle 30 miles or so to get the old limbs back in use. I'm going to have to disappoint the people of Henfield who, I know, were looking forward to watching me tomorrow - but jet lag, weather lag and a general 'bugger that' lag means I ain't doing no half marathon tomorrow.

But I will be pounding the streets this week prior to a PA at the Rye Summer Classic series on Friday evening - an event organised by my old muckers at Nice Work. Then, next weekend, I'm off with those very same people to that fine city of Bruges for a 35 mile charity walk which they organise to raise funds for a local Hospice.

Phew! the life of an Olympian isn't always a barrel of laughs you know.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

I think I've made an impression!

Well, your kiddie here has reached the end of his first warm weather training session - and I have to say it's done me the world of good!

Bring on Beachy Head! Bring on the Himalayas! Bring on 2012!

I'm a good few pounds lighter - both fiscal and avoir dupois! And I think I've made some friends amongst the Montenegro public.

As our last day approaches the thermometer has reached the 100 degree mark and to celebrate the Half Share decided to .... take me on another 8 mile hike to the top of a flippin' mountain.

Now I don't know about you, but I'm getting pretty frigged off with hill training - and 4 miles in an upward direction is not my idea of a box of chocolates I can tell you. So, I sit here now with a bum like a box of figs and calf muscles crying out for some relief. But fair's fair - it was a wonderful view from the top of the flippin' thing!

We have also completed our medical traumas - our fifth visit to the local hospital to have the stitches removed from the Half Share's lower limb was a bit of a red letter day for us - at last she can drink and she can swim!

Unfortunately the day then went south when the middle Cash Drainer,The Droog, decided it would be fun to collapse face first into a plate of Minestrone Soup - a bit of a frightener I have to say but it turns out to be nothing more than reaction to the sun. I was more concerned with the reaction to my wallet as I'd already ordered her Cod 'n' Chips before she decided that a bubble in the soup would fun - but we got over that. And blonde hair does go well with red soup!

My final training run of the break was a strange one though. I have noticed that my daily training session has attracted an increasing number of people. Nothing too special but I usually start with some pelvic thrusts, a couple of my notorious anal crunch routines before breaking for autographs. I know that the sessions have done wonders for Anglo-Balkan relations and I was delighted that as the days have progressed then more and more of the locals have bowled up to watch me. This morning I had the pleasure of the local Chief Constable watching me - and his admiring glances were much appreciated I can tell you! In fact, so impressed was he that he offered me a lift to the airport - how about that for fraternal Balkan greetings?

In fact, so insistent was he that I had a hell of a job persuading him that I wasn't actually leaving this morning - so the offer of a lift in his Patrol Car, whilst much appreciated, was unnecessary. Great news is though that he has promised to drive me to Dubrovnik tomorrow morning and personally escort me out of the country.

How 'Wow!!' is that?

So, I'm back to Blighty tomorrow and I can tell you one thing - I'm just so full of beans! I really feel that I'm back to my Olympic best - and I'll be cranking up the old training regime accordingly.

I'll have a chat when I'm back.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Now I feel like an Olympian

You know, I quite like this warm weather training lark.

Bit of sun on your back - it's still 30 plus degrees out here in Montenegro-land - and because I'm in a third floor appartment I'm getting in some much-needed altitude training to prepare myself for the Himalayan jaunt next year.

My training only actually takes about an hour or so in the morning. I usually pop along to the village square here in Przno and go through my anal crunches, pelvic squirts and other well rehearsed Ron routines. I can see I'm making an impression because the local taxi rank now has a queue of people waiting for me and they seem to really enjoy my routine. They get a bit animated but I'm sure that's just them being Balkan.

Yesterday, for a change I showed them my one fingered press-up routine and you should have heard them whooping and hollering! Mind you, in the excitement, I'd split my Lycra shorts and they were seeing just a tad more of Ron than I intended. I think they still enjoyed it though - they even recognised that the heat could be getting to me and playfully sprayed me with water. Wasn't that nice of them? They got a bit carried away though - some of them were so excited they hadn't even took the tops off the bottles before chucking them at me!

Anyhow I've just been running a few k's - nothing too far. I'm finding the heat very sapping - but I did manage a nice 6K jog yesterday. Then it was back to the room for a spot of good dietary intake before sloping off for a day on the beach.

I'm a very well read bloke so I brought a couple of books with me to chill out with. I brought a biography of Tommy Cooper and a bio of Houdini. Trouble is the Tommy Cooper book has disappeared and I buried the Houdini book in the sand and I can't find it now!

Yesterday's lunchtime training session consisted of a walk. We visited the city of Kotor - a stunning place which is now a World Heritage site under the auspices of the UN (so let's see how long it takes for the bally place to fall down then eh?). I like to think that these are kind of like missionary visits for me - I mean it was another place that perhaps hadn't heard of the phenomenum that is Ron.

Whenever I visit a new place I always go out of my way to introduce myself to the locals - do a quick demo of one of my training routines - you know, just be friendly with these people. You have to remember that places like Montenegro, Belgium and Canada just don't know what it's like to win anything - so I try to empathise with them. I even handed a few sweets out to some of the local kids and paraded my new yellow lycra shorts but I suspect that may have gone right over their heads because no sooner had I handed out a few mint imperials than the kids had been ushered away by what I took to be a load of blokes in black dresses but which subsequently turned out to be their mothers!

Dunno why the place was suddenly filled with local militia either. They seemed more interested in where I was staying rather than the fact that I'm a real live Olympian. And it's a problem asking me where I'm staying anyway because I can't say the name of the place without filling somebody's face with spittle.

It really is a country that could do with some vowels.

Anyhow, the Half Share decides we should go for a little walk. And so at precisely midday we set off to walk to the local church. Which is located 4,000 feet up a chuffing mountain!! 4,000 ft - at midday. In 35 degrees temp.

I've now got two sore feet and can't even run for a bus this morning.

Anyway, I'm just off for a Montenegrian version of a full English. Can't beat a spot of cucumber and carrots first thing can you?

Keep on tapering.

Ron.

Montenegro's Revenge

It had to happen.

I have to admit that, much as I like this place, I've given it some stick. I'm particularly struck by the attitude of the public servants we come into contact with on a daily basis. Every building, be it hotel, a hut in a beach area or just a plain old building site with some derelict property - just has to have a small army of security guards. These guards are not picked for their good lucks, civility or sense of humour either! But it's the buses that really get this kiddie. A 20 seater bus is not a proper 20 seater bus - unless it has a driver, a ticket collector - or two - and an inspector of tickets - or two. 20% of the flippin' seats are taken up by these damned officials!

Anyway, somebody in authority has obviously been overhearing my comments because good old Montenegro really bit your man here on the bum today.

It started innocently enough with a straightforward 5 mile run. Which degenerated into a 4 mile torture trail. The heat just got to me. I was running easily enough - but in 30 degrees plus temperatures. After two stops for a cold beach shower and three water stops I finally gave up and limped back to my beach towel thoroughly overheated, with a stubbed toe and not feeling very well at all.

Spot of lunch should beat that though eh? Wrong! The blessed stuff went straight through me and the rest of the day and evening has just about headed as far south as it could.

So picture the scene. Half Share in the House bandaged up like an Egyptian mummy and unable to walk or to hold anything because of her road injuries. On antibiotics so can't drink. Me - I'm just on Neurofen and limping. Stomach so tender can't drink. Haille-Minogue, the eldest Cash Drainer has earache. On antibiotics. So can't drink. The Sod has sunburnt feet and a stubbed toe. The only fit one amongst the five of us is The Droog - and she's retired early with a headache.

Cracking holiday eh?

Anyway, in catch up mode I thought I'd bring you up to speed with a cracking little event we came across a couple of weeks ago. The Wedding Day 7K is now in its 27th year and commemorates the wedding of Prince Charles and Princes Diana - the race was first run on their wedding day.

It was a Friday night bash and attracted over 700 runners for a very nice run through Bushy Park in London. Now my entry obviously boosted the number of people that bowled up - but imagine my surprise to discover that I wasn't the only Olympian taking part! A woman called Sonia O'Sullivan who has won medals at previous Olympics, whilst representing Ireland - which is a small country near Liverpool - was there. Now she obviously wasn't a proper Irish woman because half way through her career she became an Australian! Imagine that! Anyway despite her now being classified as an Australian she was still wearing shoes when she turned up. And by the left can the gal still run! I decided that chivalry was the order of the day and after introducing myself, offering to share my anal crunch routine and asking her if she fancied a spot of warm weather training with me in Lanzarotte - I decided not to belch on her parade - so I let her win.

Me and the Half Share ran the thing though - and we were absolutely delighted when the organisers presented us with a real three tiered wedding cake. I thought it was a lovely gesture and I was half way through my acceptance and vote of thanks speech when some eejit told me it wasn't an award - but that we'd won the bally raffle!

Anyway a very pleasant run out indeed - and, of course another pb to chalk up.

Anyway - must dash - I need the damned loo again.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Old habits die hard

So, here I am still in Montenegro and nearing the end of Day 4 of my resurgence as a genuine world class athlete. This is the life - proper warm weather training!

We're staying in a place called Przno - so God help me if I ever get lost cos I haven't a clue how to pronounce it. I did have one bash at explaining where I was staying to a pretty filly I met in a beachside bar but succeeded only in covering her in spittle!

I arrived in Przno in the early hours of Saturday morning after a three hour flight and a three hour road journey from Dubrovnik which involved crossing the Croatia/Montenegro border. Now, I don't want to reopen old wounds here - but it ain't five mintes since these two states were all part of the same blessed country. Now I know they had a bit of a slapping fest a few years ago - but you'd think they'd give something up for the sake of good neighbourlyness wouldn't you?

Przno - our base in Montenegro.
Not a bit of it.

A queue as long as the Adriatic just to cross the border with forms and God knows what else needed. And then when you get here - its like a pre-Cold War state beurocracy. Not one public servant we've encountered is able or willing to break into a smile. A four mile stetch of beach and surrounds is out of bounds cos some Government Numpty is having his hols in the place! It is! It's just like an old fashioned commy state!

That said it's a lovely place and I've managed to do a morning training run each day - and I think my fame must have travelled. I certainly attracted a knowing, knowledgeable and animated crowd outside the local Taverna when I performed my well known programme of anal crunches and pelvic thrusts! They got so excited that even the local plod turned up to have a word with me too - I presumed they just wanted my autograph and I happily signed a few bits of paper thrust in front of me.

Sveti Stefan - our training run visits this pretty little island.

The problem with these short (5K-ish) runs is that we're staying in the bottom of a valley - so no matter which way I run I'm faced with a road that feels like I'm attempting the North Face of the Eiger! Still I have at least managed to get myself out - and I intend to do so for next 11 or so days too.

Today was rather botched somewhat though - we'll have to call it a non-day. The Half Share in the House decided to run with me rather than cook breakfast and pack my beach bag. And wasn't that just a fine and dandy thing to do?

You see there's usually a crowd of chaps watch me and on the previous three days as I've run past they've whistled their appreciation at my running style - and being that sort of a guy I usually wave back and acknowledge their support. Anyway, it turns out they were'nt a hunch of chaps - it was a collection of WOMEN!! I thought the hairy arms and upper lips were restricted to those of a masculine persuaion - but not here! Anyway, the Half Share being a jealous type, and on hearing these females having a toot at your man here - only turns round and aims a size 8 Timpson in their general direction, misses and falls flat on her face.

Now this could have been funny - but believe me I've been in her debt long enough to know when something is funny. And this was not an occasion to laugh.

The bottom line is that we've spent three hours this afternoon in a Montenegran hospital whilst she had a stitch put in a rather nasty cut - and it cost me 52 euros for the privelege! Thank God I didn't want my socks darned that's all I can say!. She's also a bit bruised and shaken by the whole affair - so I've told her to leave the washing up till the cleaner comes in on Friday.

Mind you, the bruises will mend - but the absence of alcohol for five days until she finishes her antbiotics are deffo not for chuckling at.

Hopefully thngs will turn northwards tomorrow - I'm due to do my first 10K training run for weeks. In 32 degree heat too!

I'll let you know how I get on.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Don't panic - I'm here!

What ho my old pining groupies.

It’s so good to be back with you – and I’m grateful for your concern about my health and welfare. The truth is that whilst I am alive and well, I’ve had a tricky dicky couple of months. The running biz has been weighed down with … well just weighed down really. I’ve suffered a few injury probs and these have held me back. So too has the fourteen stone of extra weight I now seem to be carrying – I think I have a medical condition which manifests itself whenever I see a glass of beer or a menu. One glance/sip and I’m seven pounds heavier.

I’ve also discovered that being a full-time Olympic hopeful isn’t all its cracked up to be either! Whilst I can’t say that the adulation hasn’t been fun – it doesn’t put bread on the table! My three cash drainers Haillie-Minogue, The Droog and The Sod have continued making noises about me contributing to their welfare – such as buying them food and clothes. The end result, sadly, was that I was faced with an ultimatum – either earn some dosh out of this running business or, gulp, get some work done.

So, I’m afraid that the running has had to take a second place whilst I tuned me hand to a spot of earning. I was going to have one last bash at trying to secure a place on the GB team at the World Athletic Championships in Japan later this month – but then I noticed that it clashed with the Hove Prom 5 – and I don’t want to miss that event so I ducked out.

Running-wise then I’ve done very little – apart from a couple of small events. I wandered aimlessly round a 5K in Ashford in a dreary 27.02; then a week or so ago I proved that class will always tell when I took part in the Wedding Day 7K – and only purred round in a personal best of 43.02.

OK it’s the first time I’ve ever done the 7K distance but I ain’t complaining!

So, why am I back now?

Well I’ll tell you.

The Olympic Dream is still on course – but I’ve decided to up the ante by sticking a couple of additional challenges to help me on the way.

In October this year I’ve been persuaded to do the Beach Head Marathon and three or four weeks later I’m off to the land of Chianti and Pasta to take part in the Florence Marathon.

Now for those who I consider to be my colonial friends, Beachy Head may mean nothing to you – but let me tell you its enough to strike fear into anybody.

For a start, it’s probably the number 1 suicide spot in the UK – with a stream of people bowling up on an evening to hoy themselves off the cliffs into the sea below. For runners it’s a challenge too – think of your fastest marathon – then add 50% to that time. And there’s your fairly stiff target to aim for.

But Beachy Head is a stroll in the park compared to our 2008 challenge – the 100 Mile Himalaya Challenge. That’s 100 miles in a very hilly part of the world indeed.

So, the training and ‘get back to reality’ 14 day training programme began on Saturday morning and I’m now focused on restoring my Olympic Gold Medal reputation.
But not for me a boring couple of weeks running the lanes of Sussex.

Nope. I’m in warm weather training mode in a strange place called Montenegro. It’s a place where there are more public servants than grains of sand – and not one of them smiles. However, it is perfect for me to reassert my athletic prowess.

So, over the next couple of weeks I’ll bring you up to speed with what I’ve been up to in some more detail. I’ll tell you about your man here’s performance in Luxembourg at the Night Run (you’d have been proud of me!). I’ve also been noseying around a place called Slovenia to look for places to run next year and I think I might also bring you some news on a campaign me and my cash drainers are running here in Montenegro – it’s called ‘Make a Montenegran Smile’ – and we’re failing miserably.

Coming up we’ve got races planned in Luxembourg, France, Holland and Belgium – plus we’re to have a look at the Arctic Circle next month. So much to tell you.

And “Yes, I’ve missed you too!”

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Never run with children or animals

The Olympic roadshow just keeps on rolling.

Your man here is having to really knuckle down though to try and lose a bit of pie and Leffe from the midriff and, not to put too fine a point on it, until I do, there ain't gonna be any World Records come 2012. I'm not saying I won’t win the Gold Medal - that's a foregone conclusion - but my time might be a tad slower than I would wish.

Unless, of course, I can slim down a tad. I'm currently on a Monday to Friday, lettuce, cup-a-soup and snack-a-jack diet - with the odd belt loosening blow-out allowed as a treat on a weekend. It seems to be doing the trick too - but time will tell.

On Friday I popped up to Stiletto City to take part in a very agreeable event organised by Springfield Striders. It's a 5 mile race around the country lanes of a village just outside Chelmsford. If you've never been to Chelmsford it's very much commuters-ville with all those who've passed their insurance exams congregating on one big estate. They’re a strange bunch - the kind of people who get a thrill out of buying electrical gadgets, personal number plates and sitting on trains for hours at a time.

But the chaps out running on the Friday were a different breed - very approachable, pleasant, and appreciative of our turning up. In fact they didn't behave like Essex people at all! Obviously, my appearance had attracted a bit of a crowd but I'm not sure they were ready for me. For some reason my display of anal crunches, pelvic squelches and groin thrusts didn't go down too well with the spectators - a few of whom just turned their backs on me and ushered their kids away.

Their loss I thought.

Anyway, the race started and finished in a pub - so after I'd thrashed my way round the course in 44 sizzling minutes I settled down for a couple of beers, a free burger and offered to sign autographs for the assembled masses - a very pleasant evening.

But Sunday was not pleasant.

The Half Share in the House decided she wanted to take part in the North Downs Run - a gruelling 30K race in, along and around the North Downs Way. I'm just coming back from my post London injury scare so I've not really got 30K in my legs yet. In any event to be honest I couldn't be arsed. Instead I decided to accompany my youngest - The Sod - in the Fun Run, a gentle 2.5K jog.

Never again.

For a start off it was full of bally kids. Not the kind of kid who appreciates and respects the event. But the kind of kid to whom manners and respect are just two words that they might have to spell in a Citizenship class.

So, here's what happened. It turns out that there are 40 kids and two adults - me and a woman who looked like a Jehovah’s Witness and wearing, wait for it - OPEN-TOED SANDALS!! She'd turned up to run in open-chuffing-toed sandals. For goodness sake, I'm an Olympic bloody athlete and I'm lining up next to somebody dressed to go shopping!

The gun went off. That’s normally a signal for people to run in one direction - towards the finish line. Not this lot. The gun goes bang - and they scattered in all directions. Some heading for the correct course, others walking from side to side, and some inexplicably running back towards the start line to collect sweets and drinks off their parents. It was bloody chaotic.

Three young oiks decided it would be great fun to run in front of me. And then just stop. I shimmied past them - but they caught me up and stopped in front of me again. Great fun for them. For the first four times anyway but not quite so funny after I had I delivered a size 9 Timpson up the jacksy of the eldest one - caught him a cracker I did. He retired from the race complaining to his single parent that "That fat bloke just booted me up the bum". "Sorry - tripped" I yelled apologetically as I ran past them.

Of course after 400 metres the vast majority of the kids had stopped, most clutching their sides, crying or complaining about having a stitch. The Sod, meanwhile, who is supposed to be running with his father has become a dot in the distance and is running with that 'eat my dust' style so common amongst little Herbert’s of that age. So I decided just to take it easy. But then, 500 metres from the finish, the bloody woman in Jesus boots only went and overtook me! She was flying. The straps on her open toed sandals were flapping away in the breeze - but she went past me at some rate of knots. I wasn't having that, of course - but it took all my strength to catch the bloody woman. Eventually doing so just 50 metres from the finish – and let me tell you the temptation to turn round and give her the Ron finger was almost unbearable.

I suppose what really hurt though was running in this race for oiks and nobody having a clue who I was. Olympic hopeful? Gold medal cert? I might just as well have been George Bush for all the notice they took of me. But what really, really, really grated was entering the finishing funnel to be told by a helpful marshal - "just a few more yards to go - come on, you can do it".

Err, excuse me. I can do it? Of course I can chuffing do it - it's only 6 weeks since I finished the London Bloody Marathon - so I know I can run 2.5K!!!

I suppose you can sense my feelings of annoyance and frustration - I don't normally use expletives. But I was so pigged off by the experience I promptly went home and got absolutely lashed at my mate Ernie's Birthday Bash.

That’ll learn 'em I thought!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

That flippin' logo thing!

There's been an awful lot of fuss about the new London 2012 Olympics (I love the sound of those words when I'm in earshot of a Frenchman, don't you?) logo that my mate Seb drew.



Now Seb is a mate of mine so I'm reluctant to enter the fray and fuel the controversy. But let me just make one point. If you're going to draw a logo - then at least have the decency to talk to those blokes who are going to have to wear the chuffing thing - ie Me!!

Suffice to say that this kiddie will not be running the 2012 London Olympic Marathon with my chest emblazoned with something that was copied from the side of a tube train in Harrow!

Fortunately, my mate Buttocks has come to the rescue and he's designed a proper logo - and this one didn't cost £400,000 I can tell you.



So no prizes for guessing which one I'll be wearing come 2012 eh?

Keep on tapering.


Ron

Bit of catch up news

You know - I've got so much to tell you about your man here's exploits over the last month.

But first I have to confide in you, I've just had a shock. The numpties who run our country have determined that we must now recycle everything we use - and one consequence of this is a whole load of different dustbins for our rubbish. Presumably because of who I am - an Olympic athlete-in-waiting - I've been given my very own bins. One of them I presume is for pie wrappers and one is for my Leffe empties. Well, strewth - I've now filled the damned things up with old wrappers and empties that had collected in the car, by my bed etc. And there's still a week and a half before the bin men come to collect them. Fortunately I've been on the straight and narrow for a couple of weeks now so the only contemporary rubbish I've collected is a few old lettuce leaves, some empty cup-a-soup wrappers and screwed-up Snack-a-Jack bags - so whilst the future may look rosie (or green), I was concerned - how would I get rid of my old rubbish?

Then I had an idea.

I'll go to Essex.

So tomorrow night I'm spreading my wings and popping up to Stiletto City - to take part in a small 5 miler in Chelmsford.

And whilst I'm there I'll litter the A12 with my rubbish.



Now I know that this is environmentally unsound, not to mention very un-neighbourly. But in my defence can I just mention .... Brentwood? Have you been there? Let's just agree that a few pounds of rubbish might actually make that place a bit more interesting shall we?

So, my immediate public appearances have been settled – and then on Sunday I'm off to Caravan County to watch the Half Share in the House take part in the 30K North Downs run. You have to be a nutter to do that one - so I'll let her do it. It'll give me an opportunity to mingle with my supporters and sign a few autographs - and to be there in my civvies will make a nice change because sometimes, I have to say, I do get a tad weary of people ogling my lycra.

I'm also busy trying to secure some new lucrative sponsorship deals - and I'll have some news for you soon on this front.

Now then, I thought I'd also bring you up to speed with a boozy little weekend spent in France in the middle of last month. I'd been invited along to take part in the Montreuil Ramparts 10K by those nice people at Nice Work who organise running trips to Europe - I think I'm kind of like a talisman for them. Certainly I'm the nearest they’ll ever get to a celebrity - so I always enjoy my weekends away with them.



I have to admit I was a little shocked though when I first clapped eyes on the motley crew I was due to spend a weekend with - if I hadn't been invited specially I think it would have been one of those weekends where I "had the flu" and "will have to stay in my room" all weekend. Not to put too fine a point on it - they were a gin-fuelled lot. From the first beer at breakfast on the boat, to the final squeeze of the barmaid's apron on the boat back - they didn't stop throwing booze down their necks.



That said, they were a nice bunch and it was good to see that I inspired a couple of them to run their first ever race. I also appreciated the relaxed way they treated me. Most of the time they gave me a pretty wide berth and let me get on with my media and promotional duties. And they weren't forever asking me for training tips or whether I'd got a celebrity girlfriend. In fact, because they treated me just like a normal person, then that’s the way I acted. Most of the time. I have to admit, a few Leffes were dropped over the 48 hours we were there - but, hey, life is for living eh?



I was sorry to miss the running bit of the weekend though - this kiddie here never shies away from rubbing the old frog's noses in the doo-doo. Fortunately we did come away with a few pots - the Half Share in the House won a prize for being a nippy old woman and - and this really smacked me in the gob - my youngest, the Sod, who'd stowed away on the bus - only went and won the nippers race. Winning it knocked me for six - mind you, he's just a chip off the old block. What really made my weekend was seeing the kid's face when he went to collect the trophy and had to give the old Frenchie a couple of smackeroons on the cheek! (see below for the proof!)



I was a tad miffed not to have been able to run in the race - but I did content myself with a Leffe or two. I also had my last 'Big Breakfast' of the Spring for the foreseeable. I'd already made my mind up it was to be my last blow out - so I did rather go over the strasse on the egg and bacon front. But what the heck!



Anyway, I'll let you know about my little jaunt down to Luxembourg in a day or two - in the meantime, wish me luck as I take the first tentative steps back to world-class elite athleticism.

Starting tomorrow in Chelmsford- so may see you there? After a rather sluggish 6 miler this evening, I’m looking forward to it!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Don't worry - I'm here!

Don’t worry Ronettes – I’m OK!!

Well only just – but I am OK.

Where have I been? What have I been doing? And who with?

All these questions and much, much more will be answered in good time. But I just wanted to tell you that I’m really .... just fine-ish!

Have you missed me?

I’ve got so much to tell you that it’ll take me a few days – I’ve been representing my country in foreign places like France and Luxembourg, my favourite small European country; I’ve been competing in Caravan County, I’ve been meeting with dignitaries – but I’ve been also been eating a couple of pies and downing the odd Leffe too.

So where do I start? Well I suppose I should tell you why I’ve been absent.

I know that there were rumours floating around – I’d been kidnapped by dissident Canadians fighting for independence from England, I’d been taken in and offered full board and lodgings by HM Inspector of Secure Premises; I’d been on warm weather training in Scotland etc etc - all very romantic – but some way from the truth.

The truth is I’m afraid much worse than any of those scenarios.

I've had to get a job.

You see, since my magnificent victory over Haille Gebrselassie at the London Marathon this year I really expected the commercial endorsements to come flooding in – but, you know, life’s just not like that. And to be honest I’ve found it difficult to carry on with my full-time Olympic training programme. It was a huge psychological blow – not to mention a pain in the backside – to find myself struggling to pay my own training and dietary expenses (do you know how much food is? Over £3 a pint now!). So, I found myself under a bit of pressure from the Half Share in the House to pop out and get some spondoolicks. Apart from anything else it takes some ackers to support her five times-a-week bingo habit and with further demands on my wallet from Septic Knuckles, the rent man, Haille-Minogue, The Droog and the Sod – my three cash drainers – I had no option.

Fortunately my mates Ernie and Buttocks came to the rescue and got me a job as towel hanger at the local sauna and solarium – that went south after just three days after some pathetic incident with a couple of fillies, an ice cube and a whoopee cushion got blown up out of all proportion. Anyway I ended up working as a car park attendant on the seafront in Hastings – and I tell you it’s been a real uplift for me. My confidence has improved, my social skills have taken a turn for the better, I’m now better able to negotiate, to interact, to debate. And I’m also able to reverse a Ford Transit into a space four and a half feet wide.

So that’s why I’ve been quiet. Your man here has been into shift work and seven days a week working – and all for the benefit of my dear family.

Anyway, that’s enough brownie points in the bag – it’s back to normal now!

But "Hey, Ron" I hear you say “Tell us about your intensive Olympic Training Programme and are you still on course for 2012 glory?”. Well I have to say, there have been times when I’ve wondered myself. But don’t worry – that medal has still got my name on it!

Immediately following London, I became quite ill – my body basically fell to bits. In fact on more than occasion I was forced to my bed and had to rely on the Half Share’s caring nature to see me through the day. My skin started to drop off, my head hurt, my insides were in turmoil – basically I was one big unwell bunny. But not wishing to disappoint my public and those who have followed me through thick and thin – even when I went to Wales – I decided to try and carry on making my hugely popular public appearances.

My biggest mistake was running a 10 mile race in Caravan County. I popped over to Hildenborough at the beginning of last month. I felt OK-ish and finished the 10 miler in 1.32.34. But, my word did I suffer for that. My legs had gone the morning after - and I thought I'd got the dreaded splints. Three days later I went down to my local athletics track to sign a few autographs and attempted to do a lap of honour and to wave to the assembled masses - but, you know, I couldn't manage more than 15 yards before I had to stop.

So, with my anger and frustration all boiling up I threw my pumps under the stairs, took a pie, popped a Leffe and sat there and stewed. I missed my favourite race in France and my even more favouritist race in Luxembourg - and, to be honest, life seemed to be heading downhill fast.

And then I remembered who I was. And of all my fans, my Ronettes, my sponsors (although that's a moot point at the moment), my world.

And that Olympic Medal dangling round my neck.

So, I gave myself a kick up the jacksie two weeks ago - weighed myself, burst into tears and sat down to write myself a recovery training session.

As I sit here now, I've been going for just over a week. In that time, I've cycled around 50 miles, re-started my running - and, believe it or not made three public appearances in four days!

I'll tell you all about it in good time - my trips to France and Luxembourg and my public appearances. But for now, relax,

Your man is back.

Keep on tapering

Ron

Especially for you marathon runners

Those of you who, like your man here, have aspirations above and beyond mere mortals will appreciate this little message from the sponsors of this year's London marathon.

Click here to bring those memories flooding back!

Keep on tapering

Ron

Great news for Luxembourg!!

You know this kiddy can be a sentimental old thing.

I remember many years ago when my mother used to sit me on her knee and bounce me on my head. “Reg” she’d say (she wasn’t very good with names) “Reg, you should always be proud of what you achieve in life – and never be afraid to tell people so”.

So, that’s what I’ve been doing all week. That and sitting on the loo, lying on the bed and driving to the chemist for neurofen. Because, I tell you something, I don’t know how my ex-rival Gebrselassie is feeling this week – but there have been times when I’d wished I’d bottled it as well last week in London.

But I didn’t and I’ve been suffering all week. Nausea, pain, headache, stomach problems, cramps, hot sweats, cold flushes – you name it I’ve had it.

But I’m soldiering through and I must say I’ve enjoyed a week of rehydrating with some of my Ronettes in the hostelries of East Sussex. I love you all girls! (apart from that weighty one with spots from Kent, I don’t like her at all)

So, what have I been up to?

Well I’ve fired off letters to David Bedford, Race Director of the London Marathon asking for a guaranteed entry for next year’s race. I’ve got two chances of getting in. Number 1 because I beat the former Ethiopian ‘Nobody can stay with me’ Haille and number 2 if that doesn’t work I’ll try and get in on a ‘Good for Weight’ basis. I’ve also fired off letters to some of the media chappies to try and capitalise on my success last week – you know the kind of thing - four page pullout, photo sessions etc etc. I’ll get the old tecchy thing working soon and share that correspondence with you here. I’ve written to most of the national newspapers to tell them of my feelings about 2012 but I expect it’s a little too early for them to have Olympic specials yet.

But for Ron, life just goes on. So, I’ll be slipping on the old lycra again this weekend for a special public appearance at one of my local events, the Hastings 5 on Sunday morning.

Without trying to be patronising I think it’s good for the soul to attend these kind of events – and, I kind of like the ‘local hero returns home’ type media coverage that I’m bound to attract.

So far as long distances are concerned I have had many requests for information about my next crack at the 42 K mark and – well here’s some great news if you’re a Luxembourgianese. I’m going to have a crack at the full distance at your Night Run in your cute little country on May 19th. Now that really is great news for the residents of that Dunstable of Central Europe – and will really give you a reason to come out of your little cuckoo clock houses.

Before then I’m in Caravan County for the Hildenborough 10 on May 7th – and not forgetting a little trip to France to ram some more Olympic goodwill up the back end of those cheese eating surrender monkeys.

My, I am being caustic today aren’t I?

Anyway, that’s my lot – must get back to the old correspondence – life doesn’t stop after one London marathon you know.

I’ve got an Olympic Gold medal to win!!


Keep on tapering


Ron

2012 - my first rehearsal

Well, the euphoria of my finish in front of tens of thousands of cheering fans is still around me. Thanks to all you fans – and especially the Ronettes out there who threw items of personal clothing at me on the Mall as well – I’m just sorry that I couldn’t wave back but I was otherwise engaged in a dash for the line.

How do I feel today?

Well, I do have a feeling of satisfaction on completing the toughest run of my life, but I am quite sore. Here’s my list of ailments – beginning at the south end:

1 x blister
1 x tight achilles
2 x aching ankles
2 x knees. Just painful.
1 x troublesome ITB
2 x calf muscles. Shot to bits.
2 x quads – very sore and difficult to move
1 x chaffing injury in the groin region.
1 x bizarre rash on my stomach. Just hoping it isn’t shingles!
1 x pulled muscle in my upper arm
1 x sunburnt neck
1 x sore throat and swollen glands (may not be run-related)
1 x face that looks like its been 10 rounds with Mike Tyson – can’t explain but it’s a mixture of sunburn and something akin to the after effects of a face lift
1 x sore nose – outside with sunburn; inside – I dunno, it just hurts
2 x sore eyes – another bizarre one. My eyes keep leaking tears but I’ve got over the emotional bit.
1 x bouncing headache.



Above. Your man here at the finish. Feeling very tired.

But I’m not moaning – I still feel pretty good with myself. I’ll be firing off letters to the UK Athletics bods and also to the Olympic organisers to remind them that I beat Haile Gebrselassie yesterday. In addition, whilst I have a 100% finishing record in my four marathons, both Gebrselassie and Paula R have inferior records to your man here.

That should sort my guaranteed entry in 2012.

So, how did it go yesterday? Here’s my mile by mile guide to the race.

Pre Race

Did my anal crunch and pelvic thrust routine to an appreciative audience at the warm-up area. A little surprised - as I thought this area was strictly for elite athletes. Attention grabbed by the number of elite athletes wearing fancy dress.

Mile 1

Unfortunate incident with Captain America. Despite two pre-race wees, felt the need to relieve myself on the roundabout a good 50 metres after the start. Whilst watering the flowers in the middle of the roundabout a gust of wind marked the good Captains leggings. Remember thinking he’ll probably think it’s sweat. Decided to forget about target time and concentrate on surviving.

Mile 2

Went storming past 16 convicts tied together with rope and as I turned to give them the “Hey, you’ve just been blown away by Ron. Eat my pants” finger I came across Convict number 17 and tripped over his rope. Thanks to Mother Theresa for picking me up. First sighting of two Bakewell Tarts. Feeling very hot already.



Mile 3

Passed Indiana Jones pulling a 330lb boulder – his anticipated finishing time was 27 hours! Saw Winnie the Pooh vomiting through its eye holes. Had my 4th water stop and running constantly at 10 minute mile pace. Think I can see the Kenyans just ahead of me. Decide to try and catch them to get in the leading pack.

Mile 4.

Caught Kenyans. Turns out that they’re four Round Table guys dressed as South Sea Islanders. Slip on piece of grass skirt. Heat is getting to me already and can’t believe how humid it is. Try to work out where would be the best place to pull out – then decide I’m being wimpish.

Mile 5

Ron gets a round of applause from crowd after picking up young girl who had tripped up. Try to help her straighten her number and fix a safety pin. Crowd seem to be on her side when she slaps my face – honestly, some people!

Mile 6

The first of ten long miles when, just after the Cutty Sark, I catch up with a woman carrying a trombone who plays the opening bars of Chariots of Fire every 10 yards. 10K time is 1 hour and 4 minutes – I’ve never been so slow. Show Teletubby an impressive pair of heels. That’ll teach him to dress up in a woolly TV character.

Mile 7

Teletubby passes me and breaks wind on the way past. Girl in bikini on my right looks at me disgusted - I tell her it wasn't me but she's not convinced. Bakewell Tarts pass me. See argument between Frankenstein and Scooby Doo. No sign of Gebrselassie.

Mile 8

Attempt to stuff Lucozade pouch down the horn of the trombone player. Suffer second fall of the day and trombonists legs it to catch up with her husband. He’s playing the trumpet. Now getting the Chariots of Fire tune every five seconds. Start chatting to a Red Indian. Big mistake – every spectator starts making Indian whooping noises as he passes. Getting a headache.

Mile 9

First sign of redness on my chest. Ouch. Catch up with Bakewell Tarts but get blown away by a Motorola telephone. Didn’t get a glimpse of the chap inside but wonder whether it could have been Gebrselassie. First sign of Tower Bridge and the sun is beating down.



Gebrselassie in his ridiculous attempt to get noticed. Did him no good though, he dropped out after 19 miles

Mile 10

Well you could knock me down with a feather. After Gebrselassie passes me dressed in a Motorola telephone, Paul Tergat overtakes me dressed as Fred Flintstone – remember thinking that he doesn’t suit orange. Feeling quite pleased with my run so far – if it’s taken the world record holder 10 miles to catch me I must be doing OK. Trombonist stops for a break and another Scooby Doo cocks his leg up and pees in the horn.



Paul Tergat manages a wave to the crowd

Mile 11

See a Sumo Wrestler running ahead of me and put a burst on to catch up only to find its Sally Gunnel. Roadside temperatures are reported to be 32 degrees making a mockery of the ‘official’ temperature of 21 degrees.

Mile 12

Second 10K completed in 1.07 and I’m now eager to get half way – first thoughts enter my head of walking. Glance to my right and see a guy dressed in a pink thong. All thoughts of stopping and walking have disappeared.

Mile 13

Over Tower Bridge and recall thinking that I’ve always felt quite fresh at this point. Feel about as fresh as a month old kipper today. Catch up with Bakewell Tarts. Finally manage to shake off the Red Indian. The relief from the constant whooping is so pleasant it takes my mind off the fact that I’m feeling very tired. Distressed to see Mary Poppins having a wee at the side of the road. Childhood illusions shattered. Half marathon time of 2.19 is my slowest ever – but chirp up a bit when I catch sight of what I think to be the leaders just ahead of me. Two Ethiopians seem to have the lead and are doing well dressed as London Bobbies.

Mile 14

Pass a good friend of mine Redhead Suzie – she’s attempting the world record for knitting on a marathon. She looks puzzled when I ask her if she’s dropped one yet. Start the long haul into the Docklands dreading the next six miles. Liquid intake up to 5 litres already – try to get my jelly babies out of my bum bag but drop a black one on the road. Stoop to pick it up (because they’re my favourites) and catch a glimpse between my legs of the bloke with the pink thong. Decide the jelly baby isn’t worth the risk and leg it sharpish.

Mile 15

Finally manage to ditch the trombonist when she gets her slidey-bit thing caught in a drain. Hard to run whilst laughing. Turn to give her the Ron finger and crash into a house being carried by four fire fighters. Think to myself “so that’s what it’s like to hit the wall”. Bakewell Tarts pass me. One cherry is only hanging on by a thread. Feeling of satisfaction in having completed 15 miles tempered by the fact I’ve got another 11 to run.

Mile 16

First of three Elvis’s I pass in the next two miles. Compliment him on being able to recreate the Elvis at the time of his death and realise the crassness of my comments. See who I presume is the leading lady runner so think I’m probably just outside the top 20 – things are looking good.

Mile 17

See the cherry off the leading Bakewell Tart and try to boot it into oblivion. Succeed only in falling on my behind and side-stepping the cherry in front of Ronald Reagan who kicks the cherry back in my face. Suffer safety pin wound to nose.

Mile 18

Run for a while with Shrek. 3rd 10K in 1 hour 11 minutes. Each of my three 10K segments is slower than I’ve ever done a marathon. See Gebrselassie struggling – he’s taken his Motorola Telephone suit off and looks as if he’s got a problem. Can’t say I feel much sympathy – this Olympic stuff is harsh you know.

Mile 19

Without realising it I can see that I might just be able to make this thing. I’ve slowed down considerably – but the sun is till beating down. Fantastic organisation sees water stops with plenty of fluids available now starting to appear at half mile intervals. Gives me no satisfaction though to hear that my main rival Gebrselassie has dropped out. That should leave the way open for me to cruise into the Mall still within sight of the leaders.

Mile 20

The chuffing Bakewell Tarts have overtaken me again – followed in hot pursuit by a teapot and a cup and saucer. That I can take but I’m none too happy I can tell you when a replica of the Champions League trophy barges past and its handles knock me into the side of the road. Starting to really hurt now and have more thoughts of stopping for a walk. See the Thong in my rear view mirror and that keeps me going.

Mile 21

Spartacus zooms past at a right old rate of knots being chased by an irate Strawberry with a hole where its stalk should be. Strawberry trips and bounces into middle of road – Mother Theresa appears again and leaps over the strawberry – all very impressive stuff.

Mile 22

Had a pleasant surprise. Bumped into the Half Share in the House. She should have been 2 miles ahead but had stopped for a Paula Ratcliffe. Not, I hasten to add at the side of the road but in the more dignified surroundings of a Bowls Club. She doesn’t understand my question about perpetual motions so I move on. The finish is now definitely on – and I think if I can kick in I might yet make the leader board.

Mile 23

Managed to reach the Bakewell Tarts but the cup and saucer is eluding me. Puzzled at the site of two Scooby Doos – am I hallucinating? Sorry Ronettes but I have to walk – but only for about 200 yards.

Mile 24

I know I’m going to finish but I’m finding it really hard work. I’m dehydrated – despite taking on enough water to fill a reservoir, I’m sunburnt and – and here’s the strange thing – I can’t clench my fists to dig in because my fingers have swollen to about double size. See Hamlet trying to pick his skull up off the Embankment. 4th 10K time is 1 hour 20 minutes and I’m now actually ahead of my 2005 London Marathon time. Gives me a real boost – as does the tramp who hands me a half eaten Penguin. I’m not proud and so I eat it.

Mile 25

It ain’t over till the fat lady sings and I’m amazed to see a fat lady singing – at the 25 mile mark! Had a teeny, weeny walk to the mile marker – then gather my momentum back again and start off in a final mile shuffle. This is a very, very long mile. It isn’t helped by the breakdown in signage which sees a long drag to the 800, then 600 metre mark. What seems a mile and half passes before I see the 400 metre sign. Eventually I round the corner into the Mall and set off on my famous sprint finish to the line.

Finish

Damn, blast and set fire to them!! The chuffing Bakewell Tarts and Cup and Saucer both pip me at the finish!! Finish alongside a Chicken who looks mortified when an official wraps him in foil.



A Bakewell Tart who, if you ask my opinion, needs to learn a thing or two about humility

Slump in corner. Feel very elated but so, so tired. Accept the congratulations of all those around me but have to apologise for not being able to sign autographs. Pink Thong man approaches and asks me if I'm stiff - so I decked him.

And that was it. My 1st dress rehearsal for London 2012.

I’m now taking a few days off to rehydrate and then the whole journey begins again. And how can you cap running the London marathon?

Easy – I’m doing the Hastings 5 this Sunday.

Can’t wait.

Keep on tapering.

Ron