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