Worthing tomorrow

I'm running the Worthing 20 tomorrow.

And I don't want to.

I will do.

But I don't want to.

I just thought I'd give you an insight into the mental preparations of an Olympic Champion and share with you the mental torment that we often have to endure.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Let me put this one to bed right now!!

I am not running starkers OK?

No way. Not a snowball in hell's chance. Not even if you paid me.

No. Not now. Not ever. Not never. Not anytime. No!

Now this all started yesterday when I was flicking through my correspondence. It was all the usual stuff - requests from my fans for photos, autographs, personal appearances etc - when, amongst the pile of begging letters from Race Directors for me to sign up for their events, I came across a letter from a bloke requesting my appearance at an event in Orpington, Kent. Now, as you know, I'm a frequent visitor to Caravan County so I put it on the pile of 'Maybe's' to study later.

Later that evening, the Half Share in the House had been grouting all day so was late finishing repairing the roof tiles that had blown off in the strong winds and, as a result, I was still waiting for my tea. I tried to take my mind off the hunger by watching Bargain Hunt on the box - but it was a flippin' repeat! So back I went to my correspondence and I was just about to sign up to this flippin' race in Orpington when, to my horror, I studied the small print. Well, to be honest, I should have studied the big print never mind the small print. Now whilst the race is called Naked Ambition 3, I thought it referred to a state of mind - not a state of undress! Because ... yes ... it's a race run in the nuddy!!

It's a 5K race and here's what the small print says:

"The UK's largest 'clothing optional' race, now in it's fifth year, but this may well be the last chance to take part. Open to all and a real 'must' for your running log."

Now excuse me, could you just run that by me again? "The UK's largest 'clothing optional' race" - so how many do you know of then? And what's all this twaddle about 'clothing optional'? If it's a nude race you can hardly turn up in full race clobber can you?

A couple of other things spring to mind about this particular event. Now I don't want to be unduly harsh about Orpington but if you were to sit down with a map of Europe and pick a place to have a race in the altogther, would you really plump for Orpington? San Tropez maybe? Or Monte Carlo? But Orpington? For goodness sake the place is nothing but houses! In fact my mate Ernie's grannie lives in Orpington and I dread to think what would happen to her if she parted the curtains and saw the best part of a couple of hundred naked bodies hurling down Arcadia Avenue with bits of rude stuff flapping in the breeze! To be fair, I'm sure it isn't the first time that naked men have been seen running down the road in this fine part of the country - but I'm also sure that on most of the previous occassions there would have been a fair number of blokes in uniforms and blue flashing lights in hot pursuit.

The other thing that worries me slightly about the race description is this 'A real must for your running log' stuff. Now I'll ignore the obvious, rather distateful, connotations with the word 'log' in this context - so let's just concentrate on the 'A real must' bit shall we?

Are you sure?

There's no 'must' about it. In fact I'd be much more comfortable with 'Must not' or 'shouldn't' or 'you must be chuffin' joking mate'. I mean, what on earth would possess anybody in their right mind to get out of bed, remove the last semblance of decency protecting you from the eyes of the outside world and go for a chuffin' run in the nicky nacky? For God's sake it's parky enough wearing tracky trousers and a sweatshirt! And the other thing is - it might be OK for you girlies, you've only got a couple of bezoomas to hang on to - but us chaps are just not built for activities that involve any form of up and down movement.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm all for a nudie event that features just women - because that would be a cracking spectator sport wouldn't it? But this kiddie ain't going anywhere near this kind of event. It's just ... well, let's just say I find the whole thing a bit yukky - if not a little suspect.

Anyway, I decided to delve into the subject a little closer - and do you know what? There's not just one race - there's a whole flippin lot of 'em. And if you don't believe me, have a butchers at this little lot!. Now granted, most of the events are in a place called America and having watched the news once and seen The Waltons on the telly I understand that they may lack a bit of grey matter up top. But for Pete's sake don't these people have standards?? Or mums and dads?

There are, of course, a couple of other prcatical issues about a run in the buff.

Where do you pin your number? I won't ask where they'd ask you to place your ChampionChip! And what happens if it's cold? OK it might not affect you girlies but I've seen what happens when the old mercury drops below freezing and it does no good for a bloke's reputation I can tell you. There's changing facilities provided - why? You don't need to change into anything.

More to the point though - and the more discerning of you chaps will know what I mean - what happens if you bowl up to the race, take your kit off, trot down to the start line ... and it's packed out with pretty fillies? I don't know about you, but your man here might find that a bit of a distraction - if you see what I mean. Mind you it could help me improve my finishing time by a couple of seconds - no need to dip to cross the line eh? Kind of brings a new meaning to the 'coming first or last' argument too doesn't it?

And as for entering on the day - well that's just plain filthy!

In fact I think that's why I got the invite - you can just imagine what my highly complex series of pre-race stretches, anal crunches and pelvic thrusts could do to a highly aroused crowd of runners already overdosed on testosterone! Nope, I've got standards and whilst I may disappoint a legion of fans eager to see a touch more of the famous Ron, this kiddie's trolleys are being kept firmly on his body where they belong!

So you can take it from me, your man here will not be running naked in Orpington or anywhere else for that matter

I just haven't got the balls to do it.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

What on earth is it about Essex?

Not the best weekend in this kiddie’s sporting diary to be honest. I made a tortuous journey to Stiletto City yesterday to take part in the Brentwood Half Marathon. Two problems. First of all, being the Spring Equinox the meddling beggars who look after the clocks and times in this country decided to put the clocks forward - which meant I had one hour less in kip on Saturday night. A problem compounded by the fact that I only just made it to bed before I had to get up! A personal appearance by yours truly turned slightly pear-shaped when the bottles of Leffe (good) were supplemented by a bottle of Smirnoff Blue (very, very bad). In short I ended up a slavering mess about 2 o'clock in the morning, troughed a cheese on toast supper/breakfast and was woken with the mother of all hangovers at 6 o'clock.

Ideal race preparations or what?

So I was in a bit of quandary when I arrived in Essex - do I sit out the race or run it? The big problem of course is that my appearance had boosted the entry and, quite frankly, a good few hundred bods had turned up - presumably because I'd already signed to run and I didn’t want to let them down. Sure, I could have hung around, looking important, signed a few autographs and demonstrated my anal crunch routine – but that’s just faking it as far as I’m concerned. But even so I could have done with just putting my head down never mind running 13.1 flippin' miles.

But I knew that I'd have let down my fans if I'd done 'a Paula' - so I set out to treat the event as a training run and I ran extremely gingerly for the first six miles until I was certain that breakfast would remain where I'd left it. To be honest, it was a foolish thing to do - but I trotted round in a spot-on 10 minute mile pace and finished the race in 2.09.44. But do you know what? I so wished I'd have been in a fit condition because it was a cracking event for getting a good time. Much of the race was downhill or flat - with the odd unnoticeable incline - and my mind raced forward 12 months to next year - when you’re man here could well have a bash at the old world record with my new invention - Hillys, the trainer with wheels in its heels.

But, I'm sorry, I'm going to have to disappoint some sections of my fan base.

People from Essex.

I abhor all kinds of prejudice - even that directed at some women. What I have to say next isn't sexist - but it is Essexist. You see I ran virtually the whole race surrounded by chatting runners. Almost to a person, the entire range of topics for Essex ladies is restricted to clothes and shopping; and the blokes have no other topic of conversation apart from cars.

So I spent the first five miles listening to fuel consumption figures of a BMW 5 series, the amount of oil consumed by a Lexus (apparently allow 1 litre per 1,000 miles "or you got a dog mate") and the acceleration of a Toyota MR2 is "well mash-up".

I just got so bored with the conversations of these red-necked, gel-wearing market-trading city types that I stopped for a while to let them all chatter past. And as for the girls ... tell me, what is the point of tying your flippin' coat round your waist before the race has started? And what on earth are the leg warmers for? They went out with step aerobics for God's sake!

So, I've decided to offer my advice to the people of Essex - and here are my ten reasons why the people of Essex should never run:

1. You can't get shoulder pads in running vests
2. How many races do you know that go past Lakeside or Bluewater?
3. Nike, Asics, Brookes and Reebok - I might be wrong but so far as I know none of them manufacture a running shoe with stiletto heels
4. It looks really naff having a white Ford Capri as the lead car
5. The girls keep stopping to ask for directions
6. How many races do you know where they have Bacardi Breezer Stations instead of water stops?
7. The only reason they do run is because they like the sound of heavy breathing
8. Burberry running vests look stupid
9. Sweaty roots? Oh yuk!!
10. Yes - your bum does look big in those.

Well that's upset half my mates.

Tough week coming up for your man here. I'm training every night with a mix of gym and road running and the Half Share in the House has put me on a diet - so it's cup-a-soup-tastic all week! Then, on Sunday ... it’s that flippin Worthing 20 race. It isn't just the distance that's a put-off - it's the fact that it's 4 laps of 5 miles which is mind numbingly boring. But I know if I'm going to make that podium in 2012 I'm going to have to overcome weeks and races like this.

Be back to you soon.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Wheels and things

I'm sorry fans but there are times when priorities dictate that I can't always be here to talk to you. Now, you know that this kiddie is pretty much 24/7 available for you. After all you’re the people that will help carry me to Olympic glory. But I've had a bad few days and I'm afraid to say the wheels have come off the Ron bandwagon somewhat.

It all started with the euphoria of my post-Hastings efforts and I continued my strict regime of training and healthy living right up until last Friday when I finally completed my first 20 mile training run of the year. Now I don't know how many of you have actually run this distance but let me tell you something - it's a chuffing long way. But your man here did OK - and by last Friday night I was basking in the glory of my achievement.

Then, last weekend I had to go to France for a top secret meeting with some potential commercial partners and whilst there I naturally took the opportunity to re-hydrate with a couple of decent doses of Leffe. As most other top athletes will tell you, rest is just as important as training - so I took this on board and rested till the early hours in the company of some decent chaps.

But, to be honest, since arriving back in the UK I've had some problems with the old pins - and my legs have been giving me a bit of trouble. So I decided to have what we athletes call a Recovery Week. This has involved a strict routine with plenty of Guinness, some Cornish Pasties and a couple of pizzas - and guess how I feel? Yup - duff's the word. I seem to have piled on a stone in weight and the lack of exercise this week has made me feel pretty lethargic and I really need a kick up the Blair to get me back on track.

I know what you’re asking. Has this kiddie got it in him to get back on track? You're dead right he has. So, I'm about to embark on a serious bout of pre-London Marathon activity that will put some of our international athletes to shame. First up tomorrow is a trip to Stiletto City to take part in the Brentwood Half Marathon although I have to say I'm not feeling too confident. For a start I'm still full of twinges - and my returning bulk means that I'll probably be struggling to break that 2 hour mark - and that will come as a great personal disappointment to your man here.

Following my personal appearance north of the river tomorrow I've got a hard week on the road and in the gym this week to prepare myself for a 20 Mile Race in Worthing next Sunday. I've been in touch with my Elite Training team and it's pretty imperative that I complete that event in less than 3 hours 20 minutes – so that’s a daunting task to say the least.

I have spent the last few days getting my commercial stuff on track too and I'm conscious that I've not been as forthcoming as I should have been about these activities. You'll appreciate that commercial confidentialities do tend to dictate what can and what can't be made public. But you know - I've always been a bit of a rebel so beggar it! I've decided to expose some of the more murky goings-on in the world of sport by placing in the public domain all my correspondence with the world's top business and political leaders - so watch this space!

Finally this week - some brilliant news. I'm obviously now a leading sporting personality - but did you know that I was also an inventor? Crazy I know - but it's true! And guess what? I've only gone and invented a new running shoe! One that will soon revolutionise the sport of road running and marathon racing - and watch out for a world record soon from your man here!!

It all started when I tried to catch hold of my youngest - the Sod. He'd been up to no-good like many of today's young Herberts and, after returning the stolen items and apologising to the vicar, I decided to give him a bit of a leathering. But I couldn't catch the toerag! The reason is that he's only gone and got caught up in the latest craze in youngster’s footwear - he's got wheels in the heels of his trainers. Heelys they're called. So, every time I tried to give him a right hook, he simply wheeled out of the way! I tried to swing a size 9 boot at his backside only for me to kick fresh air as he pirouetted out of kicking distance!



Which got me thinking.

Now, whilst to you and I the blessed things might just be plain ridiculous - but, hang on. Could we not use these Heely things for running? Well I reckon we could. Except they won't be called Heely's - I'm going to start to capitalise on the Ron brand - so, watch out for the introduction of .... Hillys!!

It stands to reason doesn't it? Run up the hills - then wheel down the other side! I don't know why I haven't thought of it before - so I'm currently building a prototype which I will test out and then when I've refined it and ironed out the bugs I'll be hoping to find myself a race to try them out. What I’m looking for is a downhill race – and then watch out world record!

I'm already prepared a couple of proposals to put Hillys to the big footwear companies and I'll let you see how I get on with trying to get a deal done. But I think I'm on to a winner!

Anyway - it's a sausage sarnie for brunch, a kip, the footie - and then the dreaded trip to Stiletto City tomorrow. I'm no big fan of Essex to be honest - I was scarred for life by my experience of working in the place some years ago. I used to work for a woman who was, quite frankly, the basis for all Essex stereotypes - white stilettos, white Ford Escort Turbo Nutter Thingy car and whose attempts to make herself more attractive to men was limited to putting her legs behind her ears. She also reminded me of the old joke "What is an Essex Girl's favourite wine?" "Aw please take me to lakeside, please ....".

There you go, have a nice weekend.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Sussex by the sea

Hastings is a curious place. Living so close to the place, I've now got used to its little idiosyncrasies - but now, thanks to zillions of regeneration dosh, it has received the ultimate insult. Some lefty rag last week described Hastings as the Notting Hill of the south coast. Presumably that’ll be Notting Hill without all the filth, crime and deprivation?

Anyhow, if there's one event that really brings out the best in the town, it's the Hastings Half Marathon. Regularly voted one of the best events in the country it is probably rivalled only by the London Marathon for crowd support and atmosphere.

But this year marked an extra special occasion. I was there. And my appearance at this run-fest had caused something of a stir. For a start there was a record entry of almost 5,000 - around half of whom were flocked around me at the start of the race, no doubt looking for evidence of my explosive start. In fact, so crowded was it on the start line that I had great difficulty demonstrating my one-fingered press up and programme of rectal squelches.

Sadly, the race also attracts a motley bunch of mercenaries who, frankly, are only there for the prize money. A bunch of Kenyans joined a few nippy Brits and assorted Eastern Europeans who seemed more interested in dreaming about the winner’s wonga than they did in exchanging training trips with a fellow elite athlete. I decided to nip into the elite enclosure to introduce myself but my way was blocked by some rugby-looking, thuggish type, who insisted that I needed a VIP pass to get in the chuffing thing. When I told him that my pass must have been left at home he still wouldn't budge. So I decided to resort to the, admittedly cringe inducing routine - "Don't you know who I am?” I enquired, innocently, “I'm Ron, Britains's next Olympic Running star - one of the fastest blokes here today." "Well" the goon replied "In that case, it won't take you long to run along home and get your pass then will it?”

Cheek.

But these elite athletes were simply miserable. No chat, no smiles, no warmth. Mind you, you should have seen the look of wonder on the Kenyan woman's face when I demonstrated my anal crunches in front of her! You watch that little practice spread around the tracks of Europe now!

But frankly I found the whole experience distinctly unfriendly and so when I was being escorted out of the enclosure I couldn't resist a little "You wait till London in five years time, then matey" dig at the lot of them. A shame I last furtive cry of “And watch your knuckles don’t scrape on the tarmac” was somewhat muffled by the arm of the goon.

Anyhow it was time to put politics to the back of my mind and concentrate on the task in hand and I made my way to the start line, waving at the hundreds of people lined up to watch me. Coiled I was - like a coiled 12 inch ruler.

How did I do? Well let me tell you that this kiddie ran his little socks off. I ran as hard as I have done all year - and on such a very hot day too. First up at Mile 2-ish is a 2 to 3 mile trek up the notorious hill on Queensway - this part of the race spoiled for me somewhat by being overtaken by a 6 ft tall pig pushing a piglet in a pram and a bloke in a rhinoceros suit. Thank God these ridiculous sideshows will have no part in the Olympics.

In fact, your man here has completed a couple of London Marathons and both occasions have been spoiled by stupid characters grinning inanely in the background of my finish photograph. In 2004 I’m pictured with Winnie the Pooh and in 2005 I've got a grinning Chicken next to me. Bizarrely and for reasons known only to the organisers, as soon as the chicken crossed the line, they wrapped it in tin foil. Now what was that all about??

Anyhow, I completed the first half of Sunday's race - most of which is uphill in a slightly worrying 1 hour 4 minutes - but boy how your man here flew in the second half! I eventually finished the thing in 1.59.02 - but it did take me a minute to cross the line at the start. So, whilst my time was some three minutes slower than I would have liked, in the circumstances, I have to be satisfied. One thing it has done for me, hopefully, is to bury once and for all the curse of the post-2 hour half. Now think back to last year and my target was to complete a sub 2 hour jobbie - so there's improvement for you! So, I'd like to think that if I can run that bally thing, with its three mile toil up Queensway, in 1.58 I can conquer any half you throw at me in sub 2.

But hats off and well done to the people of Hastings. They lined the entire route in their hundreds if not thousands – we had music, bands, churchy stuff and the old ladies outside their home banging saucepans. Made this Ron proud to be a Brit! You can catch a little taste of the race here

This week sees your man here on a big push to get miles under my belt. After Sunday's 13.1 miles, it was on the treadmill for a speedy 8 miles last night - and this Friday sees a biggie - a 20 mile training run, the first of three such distances I need to cover if my London Marathon is not to go pear shaped. The weekend though looks like heading south as I’m heading to France where I'm hoping to meet up with a few Leffe mates.

So, a pretty serious week for your man here - but don't worry, have I got some fun lined up for next week ....

Keep on tapering


Ron

Big day on Sunday

This Sunday sees one of the biggest events in our local racing calendar with the Hastings Half Marathon attracting some 4,500 competitors. As well as a big field of runners, this Sunday's seaside stroll will also see many thousands more lining the streets to cheer on one of their most endearing of local sporting heroes.

Me.

I've been inundated with media requests this week with the local press, radio and TV station asking for interviews plus numerous requests for personal appearances .....

Nope. Hold on. That's what should be happening. But it isn't and, between you and I, I'm not a happy bunny about the whole affair. And the fault lies fairly and squarely at the feet of my media adviser Max Clifford. Having appointed this so-called guru last month the chap, quite honestly, has been useless. No pictures in Hello Magazine - in fact, not even a photo in Farmers Chuffin' Weekly. Not even a 'three in a bed, drink and drugs shame of Olympic hero' type story in the News of the World. So, I'm not best pleased and I'll be firing a letter off to the guy and tell him his services are no longer required.

"If you want a job doing, do it yourself", my mate Buttocks always says. And how true that is. So, from now on, I'l be doing the media spadework myself - so just watch my profile soar when your man here gets to work! watch out Fleet Strasse, Ron's on the prowl!

Of course it's too late for this Sunday but hopefully things will pick up in good time for my summer assault on various championships and challenges.

I'm off for a session of anal crunches and groin thrusts down at Stallones, my local gym before getting the old fingers to work on the keyboards - I've got some serious letter writing to do. You see I've now narrowed down my list of commercial partners and I've published my Wish List of sponsors - this, of course, balances the No No list of companies which my conscience will not allow me to use. I'm starting with just six for now - but obviously, as my fame grows so will my list of partners.

Sponsorship proposals are being despatched pronto to the following:

Hollands Meat pies - Your kiddie here was brought up on this stuff. Comfort food maybe but it's just about the best food on earth. Rons fave? Meat and Potato.

Rola-Cola - Listen, who needs the multi-nationals? It's all syrup and water anyway - forget that rubbish about secret recipes and ignore the hype. Drink Rola Cola - you know it makes sense!

The World of Peas - if you're going to do justice to pies, you need quality peas. These chaps are the world's greatest experts on mushy peas.

Brooks Sports - makers of the banana coloured shoes and socks so beloved by your man here. I'm pretty hopeful of a sizeable wad of woolah and goodies from these chaps. But you know the best thing about these chaps? They're Sussex based. So I reckon they'll be a shoe-in to my commercial partnership team.

Sainsbury’s - as my mates Buttocks and Ernie always remind me, "one should have standards." The only quality Supermarket - apart from Waitrose but I've heard they're tight with their money.

Leffe - well, what did you expect?? All I need to do is to express a bit more love and desire of Belgium and I'm in.

That'll do for now!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Ron snubbed by Prime Minister!!!

Yes - it makes shocking reading doesn't it?

As if it wasn't hard enough training to bring Olympic glory to this country, no less than our glorious leader has just kicked sand in this poor kiddie's face. And, you know, isn't it just a sad reflection of the priority given to sport in this country by the politicians?

It all started because, to be frank, I was coming up against a brick wall - time and time again. I don't ask for much you know - but I did think it fair to try and get myself the best training possible - and, frankly, to give me the best possible chance of success. I live, as you know, in one of this earth's coldest places - East Sussex. And whilst it's fine for these jessies who live in warm places like Kenya, Ethiopia and Bournemouth to train with the sun on their back - it doesn't help ruftie-tufties like your man here who has to train in all sorts of horrid weather. It's so damn cold here in Hill Towers that I had to throw an extra sheet on the bed last night.

So I worked out the answer.

Warm weather training.

But I don't yet have any lottery funding and I'm still working on sponsorship deals and lucrative merchandising arrangements - but these things take time you know. So I decided to take advantage of this country's democratic process and bring this failure to provide me with adequate training facilities to the attention of the Prime Minister. I used the e-petition process that has proved so successful in highlighting the issues of road pricing in the UK and called upon his Tonyness to pull a few strings to get me some training in the sun. Well I've now had a response from 10, Downing Street.

This is a transcript of the email I've just received:

Hi, (you can tell it’s from Tony can't you?)

I'm sorry to inform you that your petition has been rejected.

Your petition was classed as being in the following categories:

* Intended to be humorous, or has no point about government
policy

Your petition reads:

We the undersigned petition the Prime Minister to:

'Ensure funding is available to ensure Ron brings home the Gold for
Britain in 2012'

For goodness sake Britain, Ron is trying his best to bring home
the bacon for the nation in 2012. You can make that task a tad
easier by encouraging the Sports Minister to award funding to
enable Ron to undergo warm weather training. Two weeks in
Fuengirola in August would be perfect.

-- the ePetitions team

So there you have it - snubbed by the PM.

But let me tell you this Tone - if I'd intended it to be humorous I'd have stuck in a couple of chuffin' knock knock jokes! And it might be flippin' funny to you your Highness - but it ain't a barrel of laughs training in the cold, wet, barren wastes of East Sussex.

So, having been snubbed by his Numptieness, you'd think this kiddie wold have been put off. But not on your life matey! Put down - maybe; put out - certainly; but put off? No way.

I have a little plan up my sleeve ......

Keep on tapering


Ron

I know an old runner who swallowed a fly

And I don't know why he swallowed a fly.

There I was, like a coiled spring. I lunged over the start line like a yorkshireman with his eyes on a pie. But not only did I take myself and the rest of field by surprise at my sudden immense turn of speed, a Belgian fly, minding its own business, had the misfortune to be flying past, with its entire family, at exactly the time I sucked in my first lungful of race time air.

Now this kiddie here likes his protein like the rest of them, but a couple of dozen of these pesky herberts was not on my lunchtime menu I can tell you. As a result, my start was a catastrophy. I veered 90 degrees to the left, thumped into the canal wall and deposited my continental breakfast into the stagnant waters of the Zeebrugge Canal below me.



An inauspicuos start you might think. But your man here is made of sterner stuff. And so I metaphorically picked up the baton, thought of England and began to cut a swathe through the field. Now one thing you are allowed to do in Belgium is to abuse the French and after being elbowed, kicked, shoved and verbally abused far too many times by the old Cheese Monkeys I decided to get my retaliation in first and nudged a couple of them out of the way as I threaded my way through the field. And, you know? I think I had far more satisfaction knowing I'd taken a couple of the Frenchies out of the race than I had with my own performance.

I crossed what I thought was the finish line in 1 hour 26.12 seconds and stopped my watch at 1.26.12. Only to find out I hadn't crossed the pesky line - and by the time I'd ambled over the thing I and a couple of dozen other chaps had spent the best part of half a minute exchanging pleasantries! Imagine my annoyance then to discover that my failure to cross the mark quickly had given me a time of 1.26.47. Now that was around a minute slower than I would have liked and half a minute slower than it should have been. But there was a fairly stiff cross wind along the course so conditions weren't ideal - and it's still a good four minutes quicker than my last 10 mile race. So now I've got my eyes on that 1.25 mark in Folkestone on Good Friday.



More important, the road to 2012 looks as smooth as a Leffe Blonde. With a little over five years left of my training programme a quick calculation shows that if I continue to improve at my present rate I could even be on to a world record. My current best time for a marathon is 4.31 - and so, if I can improve by just 2 mins 30 secs a month between now and 2012 - I'll be on to a projected finish time of just over 2 hours. Bring it on I say!!

So, progress continues to be made. But one of my more redeeming attributes is my complete lack of airs and graces and an endearing and sincere dose of modesty. If you're ever lucky enough to meet with me you too will be struck by my quiet and sensitive nature and my desire to see others less fortunate than myself looked after. So, that's why, as soon as I'd crossed the line, I wasn't interested in my own performance. Nope I was straight on to the locals to ask about my erstwhile colleagues in the GB Olympic team. Unlike your man here they're not yet quite ready to run in foreign countries like Belgium, France and Scotland - nope, they were stuck in Birmingham having to run in some town hall gym. But nevertheless, I thought it really gratifying to see them doing so well.

Well done teammates.

I will, though, have a word with my mate Dave Collins at UK Athletics. Doesn't he realise that you can't replicate the Olympic Games in some indoor competition - do they have Indoor Football? Indoor Cricket? Indoor Rugby? I rest my case.

But, back to the weekend. Now, I've obviously turned over a new leaf when it comes to the lovely Belgian juice but I was pleased when my mate Ernie, who sometimes accompanies me on my foreign trips, told me that Belgian Beer and Chocolate contained as many calories as a tomato! How ridiculous is that??? But you can't be too dismissive about these things - so to be on the safe side I troughed a couple of kilos of pralines and sunk half a dozen Leffes on the Saturday night as part of my pre-race hydration.

My main problem was that I'd cadged a freebie with a charabanc that set off from Ashford on Saturday morning. In exchange for a lift from those Nice Work people (http://nice-work.org.uk) I'd agreed to mingle with some of the ordinary people who were making the trip. It's good for the soul you know. And as I looked around at the rest of the group it reminded me of when I had nothing. I was humbled.

There were some nice people with us as well as some northeners - a couple of old soaks from Essex that I seem to recall merting in some bar somewhere before; a very nice elderly man who'd started running in the Boer War; some nippy young things who spent the pre-race period sipping water thinking it would give them some advantage over me! But we had a pleasant time - I demonstrated my anal crunch, groin thrust and one-fingered press-up routine - my, how the other diners in the restaurant appreciated that!! But I was also pleased to see that the Ron diet of old is still in vogue - you've never seen so much food and drink troughed!

The race itself is run alongside the main canal that links Ostend to Bruges and I can only think the original concept was developed when somebody actually took a look at Ostend - and then promptly legged it in the opposite direction pronto! Ostend makes Walsall look like Venice!

Anyway it was an agreeable journey and one that I'm keen to repeat. But, for the moment, that's my first little overseas jaunt of the year out of the way. I've got visits to France, Luxembourg and a couple of other more significant countries planned over the next few weeks. In the meantime we've a big bash this weekend with the Hastings Half Marathon - and I'm looking to get as close to 1.55 as I can.

I'll be back later this week with some exciting news on off the track activities - until then:

Keep on tapering.


Ron

Bibbetty Bobbetty Boo

You see, you lot just don't understand the pain and suffering us Olympic Hopefuls (I hate that word - it sounds so defeatist - but I can't say Olympic Cert can I? Yup, I can) have to go through.

I'm just back from a short training run - 18 flippin' miles!!

That's right 18 miles. I can't move a muscle and I hurt all over. So, why do I do it?

Let me tell you why I do it.

I do it for you. Not for me. But for you and the rest of my fellow countrymen. You see, I remember the pride I felt when I saw Sally Gunnell win Gold all those years ago. The pride I felt when I watched Seb and that scruffy one battling it out for 800 and 1500 metres Olympic glory. I felt pride when the French Triple Jumper fouled on all of his attempts. So, I want you to feel that same pride when I turn that corner in the Mall and sprint over the line in 2012. I want you to share the moment when that Gold Medal is placed around my neck (incidentally, memo to Olympic organisers - forget those flippin' flowers. They make hardened athletes look like wussies and they only bin them when the cameras have gone). So, that's why I turned out for an 18 miler today.

It was a bit of a milestone run for me actually. You see I'm a bit of a traditionalist when I run - none of these fancy gadgets for me. But I was persuaded by the Half Share in the House to try running with one of those IMacpodmp3 things today.

Never again.

First of all, the flippin' ear plug things wouldn't stay in my ears - so I had to run in a chuffin' hat. And the only hat I could find was The Droog's Barbie Girl pink bobble hat. Secondly I made the mistake of asking the Cash Drainers to put some decent music on. Big mistake.

So, I set off and on comes the noise. And when I say noise I mean noise. Some band called Mucus played their greatest hits and that set me off trying to run to keep time with a drummer out of his pea brain on cocaine - so by the time I reached Mile 3 I was shattered. Eventually some proper quality music came on and I was jogging along to some Gerry & the Pacemakers and Lonnie Donnegan. However the whole thing went south when I approached a particularly steep hill at Mile 6. Hoping for some inspiring music to get me up the hill, I ramped up the volume and just as I approached the hill the track changed.

To Bibbetty Bobbetty Boo.

Yup, that's right. Our youngest, The Sod, had only loaded a load of his kids stuff on and there was I trying to run a hill to the rhythm of some spell from Disney's Cinderella!

It got worse.

I had to endure themes from The Simpsons, The Birdie Song, The JCB Song and countless other kiddie songs. But the ultimate insult happened at a hill close to the finish around 17 miles into the run. Just when I needed the inspiration, the motivation and the get up and go - what came on?

Only the bloody theme from Tellytubbies.

So that ‘whoosh’ you heard was the IMacpodmp3 being ditched in a hedge.

Getting ready now for my first International run of the year on Sunday. I'm off to Bruges to take part in their 10 Mile Ostend to Bruges race. And, in talking to the Race Numptie yesterday I was delighted that my appearance has boosted the entry to well over 1350 runners. Of course, one of the downsides of running in Belgium is that it does tend to attract some of those pesky French types. Not that I've anything against them (OK, I lie) - but they're just so flippin' competitive. Even at the southern end of the field they just can't go out and enjoy a nice run - they have to finish in front of you.

Reminds me of a little race I did in France a couple of years ago. I was, not to put too fine a point on it, struggling. In fact I was last. But I was hard on the heels of this French chappie. To my utter horror he then started to abuse me "Hee haaw, hee haw - aren't you embarrassed by being the last person in the race?" he shouted. Well I ignored the abuse but pointed out that he wasn't exactly going to trouble the engraver with his run "But at least I have somebody behind me" he said.

"Not now you haven't" I said.

And I retired from the race.

Keep on tapering.


Ron