Christmas time for athletes

So, its Christmas time. A time for living and a time for giving as Clint Richard sung in that Christmas record. It's at times like these that your man here turns his thoughts not to my hopes and expectations in the sporting arena - but to the hopes and fears of others. Because, deep down, I'm just a humble person with lots of love to give out - and I do care about you all.

Whenever I make one my many public appearances I get approached by ordinary people asking me what life is like as a sporting icon. And, you know Ronettes, its difficult for me to express myself without feeling ... how should I say ... smug. Because I cant deny it, life as a sporting icon is special, it is different to the life that you probably lead.

But that's just what life is like isn't it? Sometimes you get dealt a bum deal and, for instance, you get to be born in a poor country like Wales or Yorkshire. But if that happens you just have to get on with life as well as trying to be as miserable as sin. And what about those that got the two of spades when God dealt the cards and ended up a woman? They didn't complain did they? OK they may have made up for it since but at least they have us men to keep their spirits up.

So, whilst I do try and empathise with ordinary people it is difficult. But I take heart from the little pep talks I give to people and I hope that they go some way to bringing a little sunshine into their otherwise poor lives.

Of course, this time of year can be a particularly difficult time for me because I have to juggle the demands placed upon me by my exhaustive training regime and the demands placed on me down at the Dog and Duck by Ernie and his mates. But I still love the life I lead.

So my Christmas was a whirl of social occasions - I went out for a few tubes with Ernie and then we went for a kebab on Christmas Eve. Felt a tad ropey so stayed in bed till lunchtime on Christmas Day then got a lift to the Dog and Duck for a couple of hours with the boys. Went round to Ernies for some turkey sandwiches and completely forgot about the Half Share, Haille Minogue, The Droog and The Sod being there. Think I could have been in trouble but I dug up a privet hedge on the way home and presented it to the family before deciding to leave them in peace to watch the telly. But, for God's sake, what's Christmas if its not for the kids eh?

Anyway festivities were well and truly over this morning when we ventured over to Eastbourne for a bit of cross country action. Galley Hill in a gale force wind with ice on the ground was not my idea of a game of soldiers. And after a 2 mile run down hill and a two mile run back up the hill with the wind in my face the idea of some warm weather training suddenly became very attractive.

So, I've decided to get my act together and drop a few lines to some of these foreign countries and see if they can't offer me some freebie training facilities - I'll let you know how I get on!!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Great news Ronettes!!

I know its Christmas Day but I have some great news my friends, which I know you'd want me to share with you.

Following my magnificent performance in the Hastings Marathon, I've received a place in next year's London Marathon.

I'm assuming that Sir David Bedford has awarded me the place to try and boost the prestige of the event - and I expect I'll be in amongst the other elite and celebrity compertitors.

Of course, it means I'm going to have to crack on a bit - I'm already booked in for the Paris Marathon which takes place three weeks before.

And if that doesnt prick up the ears of the selectors I don't know what will.

Anyway, on this day of jolly excess, remember that life for an elite athlete goes on - so I'm on my third tube of Guinness!!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Piece of cake this marathon lark

So I'd signed up for this flippin' Hastings Marathon hadn't I?

Old Brainbox from Zimbabwe had decided it would be good for his fitness and good for my profile if we walked the bally thing. Although I had joked about my little 4.2 mile race in Swanley last week being my training session, this kiddie is, of course, a serious athlete and I have to take the sport and all its challenges seriously. But I also have to take my responsibilities seriously too ....

... which is why, on the day before the Hastings Marathon, I was to be found performing the opening ceremony at the Kent Christmas Cracker in Deal, organised by those gin-soaked bozos from Nice Work. Now I don't know if you've ever been to this particular part of Caravan County - but Deal is what I would call remote. In fact, if Deal had been discovered before Mansfield we'd now be quite comfortable with the expression "It's grim down south'.

We were at an old mining site now rather poetically renamed Fowlmead Country Park - and it is remote, it is wild and windy - and, my God can it rain there. Plus, it was cold enough to freeze the handle off my teapot. And so as soon as I'd performed my ceremonial duties I retired to the Dog and Duck with my van driver Ernie and Granddad Stan the Bandana Man - and promptly got stuck into a few tubes of Guinness and a bottle of red wine.

Now I know that's not fuel for an athlete - but I thought it was OK fuel for a walker. And so I retired for the evening feeling pretty comfortable with myself.

About 3 o'clock in the morning I awoke with a start. The old grey matter had been churning round and I'd been doing a bit of mental arithmetic. My average walking pace is around two and a half miles an hour. So, let's assume I could crack on a bit - but then factor in the long, long distance. This bally marathon was going to take us around eight and a half hours to walk!!!

And the cut of time my dear Ronnettes?

Six hours.

Now how's that for a quandary? I was in between a brick and a hard hat here wasn’t I? The Zimbabwe Flash wanted to do the thing. Neither of us was fit enough to do it - but there would be hundreds, if not thousands, of people lining the streets. We couldn't disappoint them could we?

So, at 9.15 I found myself in the wonderful seaside town of Hastings frantically searching for the ZF - and after finding him slumped over a hair of the dog taking the last remnants from a packet of Park Drive I broke the bad news to him.

We were going to have to run the flippin' thing.

Being an elite athlete though I had worked out a race strategy. Obviously, the youngsters - those who felt they had something to prove - we'd let them go. We'd let those who fancied a go at your man here - beggar 'em - let them go too. Any international athletes could head north, and I'd already demanded that I didn’t run near anybody from Yorkshire, Wales or Scotland.

That left about half a dozen of us. Our strategy was cunning but simple. We'd need to conserve energy. So we would walk up any incline - no matter how steep or not steep - we would walk. And we'd jog slowly along any flat bits. And we'd run down the hills.

Which is how we found ourselves walking after 100 yards of the flippin' event. But it did give the packed streets what they'd come for - an unhindered view of an athletic and sporting icon. They applauded warmly as we completed the first 600 metres in 10 minutes although I have to say not that many of them hung around to see us come around on the second lap. I blame that on the fact that much of the crowd were just ordinary people and women - not much sporting knowledge you see.

But do you know something? My cunning race plan did work. It left us with enough energy to get ourselves out of Hastings and on to the long drag around rural East Sussex. My cunning plan might not have been that swift in its execution but it was a workable plan never the less. And I'd calculated that if we stuck to the plan we might just get back to the finish around the cut-off time. And that, I reckoned, would be some achievement for your man here.

So what happened?

Well we only went and finished the bally thing!! In doing so, we came in just five minutes outside the six hour cut off time. BUT ... because for much of the race we were at the south end of the field, by the time we got to Bexhill-on-Sea the chuffing marshals hade been sent home because it was so bally cold - which meant your kiddie here, the ZF plus assorted competitors - including a Rhinoceros - were left scratching our heads in some God forsaken part of the town wondering where on earth to go. And where did we go? Yup - the wrong way!! So, we ended up doing 27 miles rather than the regulation 26.2!! And if we had done the normal distance - we'd have been home under that cut off time.

So I was rather proud of my 6 hours 6 minutes. On so little training but confirmation of that old truism - class is permanent.

I'm not sure where I came in the grand scheme of things but I reckon easily top twenty.

So, roll on London 2012 eh?

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Back in the groove - and with wings on. This kiddie is smokin'!!!!

After eight days or so of head-down, body aching, painful training, this kiddie burst back on to the international road running scene with a vengeance at the weekend.

Like a well oiled machine, a coiled spring and a meteor waiting to launch itself from a meteor launcher type thing, I exploded with talent, power and speed on Sunday morning.

Yep. I'm back in the big time.

There was a great turn out with many, many locals as well as experienced athletes turning out to see my first race back in the UK since returning from Indialand. I was, of course, in Swanley for their little Christmas Caper. A gruelling 4.2 mile race saw me scythe my way through the field like a spoon through hot butter. I crossed the line in 45.03 and in 393rd position out of 484. Of course I would have finished much, much higher but you must remember that I am just back from a career threatening injury, a near-death encounter with a wild boar, two weeks laid up with a contagious disease and I had a bit of a headache. Plus, of course, I had to keep stopping to sign autographs and the like. So, I was pretty pleased with myself and notched the result down as a kind of step one on my UK comeback trail.

The only blot on the day was the behaviour of my lad The Sod. Supposed to be keeping his old man free of marrauders and stopping the crowd getting too close and impeding me, the little herbert beggared off with barely a glance behind me to finish the course in a little over 37 and a half minutes. I returned to the finish area to see him casually leaning against a tree, looking at his watch and pretending to look bored. I gave him a leathering and took his Christmas Pudding off him. That'll learn him not to respect his father.

But I am so grateful for all those well wishers and women turning out to see me. Bless 'em it must be really quite odd being ordinary. They, of course, knew exactly who I was - but to me, their little faces were just smiley images amongst a sea of bodies. Do you like how I've become all poetic since I came back from Indialand and suffered with my near-death experience?

But I bade them farewell and returned home satisfied and with a cracking bacon buttie inside me.

So, what do you do next after completing your first 4.2 mile run in yonkeroos?

No contest.

You run a marathon.

Thats right. This Sunday is the first Hastings Marathon since 1908. And I'm taking part as a kind of celebrity runner. How exciting is that?

This will be my first run at the full 26.2 mile distance since Paris in April so obviously I'm not going to win the bally thing. In fact, between you and I it could take me some consideable time to complete.

In fact, I'll let you into a secret. Its not all guns and roses being an international icon you know. Even top performers like us have feelings you know. And the feeling I have at the moment is something akin to that I had when I caught that nasty e-cauliflower bug thing from Indialand.

Ronnettes - I am dobbing myself. Is this an act of wanton stupidity? Am I really respecting the diatnce and the event?

Will I survive?

I'll let you know.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Fit as a fiddle and ready to (g)rumble.

Training is going well for this kiddie. I really feel as though a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I'm running like a good 'un, I have a spring in my step and the weight is dropping off me like weight dropping off a fat bloke.

Dunno why I'm feeling so damn good but I intend to grasp the opportunities now making themselves available to me. And that's why I've managed four - yes four - training runs this week. And I've also had my entry confirmed for the Paris Marathon in April - so watch out you Belgiumists!!

First though I'm making a rare public appearance this coming Sunday when the good people of Swanley will be able to see my famous anal credit crunches and pelvic squirt warm-up routine.

I'm bringing a little joy into the hearts of those good people of Swanley by taking part in their little Christmas Caper - a 4.2 mile jaunt through the leafy suburbs of this nice little part of Caravan County.

I'm hoping that as many ordinary people - and women too if they've done the veg - come along to give me a cheer.

After all its not every day of the year you get the chance to see an Olympic icon in the flesh eh?

On Monday I'm off with Ernie and Grandad Stan the Bandana Man to France to get a few hundred Bensons for Ernie's missus' Christmas present. And I might just take the old lycra with me - give them a glimpse of things to come ...

Oh the life of a globetrotter.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Indialand, the Himalayan 100 Mile Stage Race, parts of the far flung empire etc - a postscript

So that was my little adventure in Indialand - and what a glorious opportunity it was for those nice people to see at first hand a true icon. I enjoyed the fact that they loved me to bits and were obviously proud to have me in their midst. It was good too to see that we share the same humble qualities - only I'm better at it than them.

Returning to England on that final day though, my mind wandered back to the first day of one of the greatest stories ever told. To that throwaway comment I made about a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Well as Flo drove us back to home in the Bedford, that funny feeling got stronger and stronger. And when we finally arrived back in Ron Towers I tell you - it was like a 100 yard dash to make it to the loo. Horror of horrors Ronnettes.

I was ill.

Not just a bit ill. Not just a bit peaky. I was full on dreadfully ill.

So ill in fact that this kiddie here did something he'd not done since he had his appendix out in the mid 60's.

I had to take to my bed.

In the space of four days I lost a stone in weight. I was unable to eat from Tuesday until Sunday. I lost so much fluid that I was hallucinating.

After three days of this business I struggled to the phone and called a doctor - who asked me to go and see him. Oh Ronnettes, the irony. The doctor was Indian - and he was called Kebab!! But he examined me and aksed to get a sample of ... well, you know. This was easier said than done but eventually I succeeded. In went the sample - and I was told not to worry they'd only contact me if the tests showed up anything serious. He then told me to make sure I ate something and drink plenty of fluid - so on the way home I stopped at the Dog and Duck and had a couple of pints of Guinness and two pickled eggs.

They stayed down for about 4 minutes - so that was a waste of eight quid!

Two days later it was confirmed that I'd not only got some form of e-cauliflower poisoning, but that it was so contagious and so virulent it is a communicable and notifiable disease and I had to be reported to the Public Health authorities. Great - they can't even empty the bally dustbins so I aint that confident about them helping me through this medical crisis! The thing I'd got is called Campylobacteriosis - and take it from me Ronnettes - you don't ever want it.

The Half Share in the House subsequently contracted the same thing - but obviously nowhere near as bad as I'd had it. Took her ages to get the flippin housework done so I hope she gets over it soon.

But isn't that ironic? Spend all that time in Indialand without a problem. Within an hour of arriving back in Blighty I'm struck down by something that probably originated in Slough.

Despite losing a bit of weight though I was unable to keep up my running that had promised so much in the Himalayas. But yesterday, oh joy of joys - I went for my first three mile run. I did it quietly, but confidently, knowing full well that my journey to Olympic Gold is now firmly back on track. Tonight saw me down to Stallones where I did my first bit of treadmill work. Problem is that the old weight still needs a bit shifting and as I'm running I keep hearing this noise - it kind of goes bilyp - somewhere between my heart and my groin. So I do need to get to work on restoring my body to adonis-like athletic condition.

And believe me that's not a five minute job - it'll take me till at least Thursday.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Indialand - a fond farewell

Today was the last day of our trip to Indialand and we decided to give the MOS and her Personal Shopper a treat,

She could shop all day!

So off she went looking for Boots, Primark and Evans and we followed dutifully in her wake. She's quite a powerful shopper and her hard bargaining skills soon had small Indian traders gasping at her ability to haggle. I did particulalry well at the bargaining skills and immediately targetted a small bag of cashew nuts which I was going to buy the Half Share as a kind of well done for completing the race. Generous, I know, and one of the reasons why my mate Ernie often calls me Big Hearted Arthur - I carry the name with pride. The starting price for the cashew nuts was 40 whoopees but I managed to secure the deal for 65 whoopees - how's that for driving a hard bargain??

The thrill and pleasure of giving MOS the freedom of the shops soon wore off mind. After the thirteenth sari shop and umpteen tea shops, bangle shops and funny department stores I'd had enough. Until, that is, I spotted the watch man. Now this is where I really came into my own. You'll never believe it but I actually managed to buy a Rolax watch for 200 whoopees - thats about three quid!! Can you believe that? A genuine Rolax watch (and I know its genuine because it says 'Rolax' on the back) for just three quid!! Some people I know have paid hundreds of pounds for theirs.

So, satisfied with my shopping I retreated to Connaught Square for a few tubes and a Tikka Masala - after all it was going to be a long night ahead of us with a thirteen hour flight to come.

In the evening we joined some of our fellow athletes for a farewell drink in a bar called Piccadelhi - which I found to be a rather amusing name!

Which was exactly what we did last night and the night before and the night before that. Our farewells to fellow athletes had now stretched to four consecutive nights and I'm sure most of us were just wishing the others would go home - it was costing a fortune in farewell drinks. A last supper in The Legend of Connaught followed and we returned to AJ's for a couple of tubes with my new Indian best friend. I made sure that he knew that if he or any of his friends ever visit England they should be sure to pop in and see us and stay with us for a few days. The Half Share then reminded me that a recent wedding he attended there were 3,000 of his relatives in attendance. Made a mental note to send him a letter on my return clarifying the terms and conditions of my invitation.

And then, before we knew it, it was time to say goodbye to AJ and his familiy and all those nice people in Indialand - and off we hurtled through the streets of New Delhi for the last time en route to the airport.

We boarded our Cataarh Airlines flight to London Airport via Doh!! And just 13 hours and three curries later we were home. Ernie's wife Flo was there in his Bedford to meet us - and we arrived home to greet the Sod and the Droog. Neither of whom seemed to have missed us in the slightest. In fact the Sod was convinced I'd just nipped out for a loaf and a paper.

So, is that/was that the end of my great adventure?

Well there is a post script to one of the greatest stories ever told.

But that's for tomorrow.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Indialand - are you Brighton in disguise?

So we woke in AJs to a smoggy Sunday. Not just a bit smoggy - but a full on, yellow, throat-scratching pea souper. But, of course, it wasn't smog - because New Delhi no longer has polution. That's what Brian, our driver for the day, told us. Maybe its a sea mist he told me - conveniently forgetting that Delhi is about two bazoomma-million miles from the chuffing sea.


So, the MOS, her personal shopper and the Half Share wanted to go to a place called Agra to visit an Indian restaurant called the Taj Mahal - I didn't even ask. I've been under the thumb long enough to know when it just isn't worth challenging. Agra was a five hour drive. And today was probably the longest and hairiest five hours of my life - until it was time to come home.

We left at 6.45 and set off on the road to Agra. The road is, in fact, a dual carriageway highway - one of Indialand's finest, we were told. So why didn't they tell the locals then???


Dual carriageway means two lanes of traffic - right? Wrong! Two perfectly clearly-marked lanes - but in Indialand that means five lanes of traffic can fit on them.

But not neccessarily all travelling in the same direction. So, in the outside lane we had to contend with Oxen and Carts, bicycle rickshaws, cows, put puts - built for three passengers, but often carrying a dozen or more people. What made this traffic flow interesting though is that it didn't appear compulsory that all traffic travelled in the same direction. So, it was quite normal to be zooming in the outside lane at 50 mph (nigh on breaking the sound barrier-speed in this country) only to come face to face with a rickshaw or horse or camel heading towards you at a sedate 2 mph.

The rules of the road were ripped up and despatched many years ago by all accounts.

And what a collection of sights we saw - camels, water buffaloes, monkeys - often grazing, sleeping or staggering along the central reservation. We saw snake charmers and their cobras, shifters, shysters, thieves, vagabonds and all human forms of life.

In short Ronnettes - it was an interesting journey.

But when we eventually rached Agra, the Half Share and MOS insisted on doing some sight seeing - and you'll never guess what we found - only a scale model of the Brighton Dome!! How fantastic was that?

We had a little look around the Brighton Dome place and, not being able to find the Taj Mahal restaurant, we found another equally good curry house, got ripped off buying a marble elephant - and then travelled the five hours back to New Delhi.

So what a complete waste of a day that was.

In the evening we joined some of our fellow athletes for a farewell drink in a bar called Piccadelhi - which I found to be a rather amusing name!

Which was exactly what we did last night. Our farewells to fellow athletes had now stretched to three consecutive nights.

An early night followed with dreams of car chases. Tomorrow would be our last night in Indialand - and a chance for the MOS to add to the balance of payment deficit between Indialand and England.

Just as I was drifting into a celebrity sleep I realised that I hadn't been asked for a single autograph today.

The fickle finger of celebrity eh?

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Indialand - the end is near!!

So, my adventure in taking by storm one of the world's greatest events was almost complete. With my trophy safely in my duffel bag I couldn't wait to get home to face the media.

We were up at the crack of dawn to board our bus to take us back to Bagdogra. I bade my farewells to all the nice gherkin people and my Nippallese friends. I'm sure I spotted a tear in one or two eyes! I told them not to forget to watch out for me in 2012 – and my how they smiled at the prospect!

We were flying back to New Delhi for a couple of days R & R before my triumphant return to England and what would surely be a red carpet job. And as we drove in our bus down from the Himalayas, passing through the little villages with all those nice people living in hut-type things, passing through the tea plantations, passing monkeys, cows, water buffaloes and camels, I couldn't help but think how difficult it must have been for those nice people to wave bye bye to me.

The reason we were going back to Delhi - apart from letting MOS loose on the shops - was because the Half Share wanted to go to the Taj Mahal in a place called Agra. I told her that I'd been to the Taj Mahal in Hastings and it wasn't a patch on Pizza Hut - but she was insistent. So we left the mountains and flew back to New Delhi.

Of course we didn't need anybody to tell us we'd arrived - we could smell and damn near taste the place. We arrived back in 30 degree heat - but the entire city was enveloped in yellow, acrid smog. I told the chap at the car park exit I wasn't impressed and he promised to see what could be done about it.

The journey from airport to AJ's was, once again, hairy with the highlight being a spectacular crash with the car in front twotting and t-boning a motor cycle. Somebody really should teach these Indian people some driving etiquette.

In the evening we joined some of our fellow athletes for a farewell drink in a bar called Piccadelhi - which I found to be a rather amusing name! Food-wise we'd been well looked after but I was craving a steak or a pie. I settle for a non spicy Satay - which promptly blew my brains out - non spicy indeed.

Tomorrow we'd be going to this bally Taj Mahal Indian restaurant in Agra - it was going to take us five blasted hours to get there as well.

Well what a day that turned out to be.

Tell you later.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Himalayan 100 Mile Stage Race. Day 5 Palmajua to Manybhanjang

Friday morning and its up at dawn – 5 o’clock – to see the sun shining once more. This was going to be another glorious day – and one that would surely spread even more joy and happiness amongst those who had come to see me in Indialand.

Today is the last day of the 5 day event – a last stage for the runners of just 17 miles from Palmajua to Manybhanjang. As it was the last day of the race, Himalaya Charlie encouraged us to adopt an ‘end of term’ atmosphere. Well what a laugh I had! I put itching powder in Captain Underpants’ underpants; I put a worm in the South African’s corn flakes, I put curry powder in the shampoo, – and I threw a flour bomb at the Americans. It didn’t have the effect I’d expected – and it seemed to me that I was the only one who was entering into the spirit. Even the Half Share had a sense of humour failure when I tied her trainers to some nettles.

Some people eh?

My relationship with HC had been cordial for most of the week – I think he respected me. And my reputation had certainly been enhanced following my Warm Up routine with the Buddhist Monks last night. In fact even the local Police Chief popped in to the Lodge this morning and was discussing it with HC and his staff. Impressed eh? I was a bit puzzled when the rest of his paramilitary force turned up in a wagon and can only assume that they wanted some autographs or something – they were gesticulating wildly in my direction – so I gave them a wave and a quick series of five one fingered press ups before some of HC's numpties shooed me away – jealousy it was. Just didn’t like somebody else taking the limelight.

So, I’m feeling pretty good about life this morning. I’ve got a whole new legion of fans in this far flung part of the English Empire – wow how popular am I now then???

Today also saw a slight sea change in my relationship with the Half Share. Because I’d declined the chance to win this event I’d kind of seen myself as a sort of mentor to her during the week. And to get the best out of people I believe in using the cucumber and stick approach to motivation. So – the cucumber bit was my daily cursory hand shake and a nod – how motivating that must have been for her, particularly during the low points of her week? But, of course, with every bit of cucumber there has to be a bit of stick. So, I quietly, but firmly, asked her to consider something. OK so she’d taken part in one of the toughest races on the planet. And, yes, she’d finished each day, including the gruelling Everest Challenge Marathon. But was she really happy with her times? I mean – getting on for 11 hours for a marathon – that bloke with the diving suit didn’t take that long in the London Marathon did he? Her time for the 20 mile stage on Monday was way slower than she’d done in Gravesend – and Gravesend was hilly!! And her half marathon time would have been beaten by those four firemen who carry a wooden house round the Hastings Half Marathon.

So I thought my comments were constructuive and fair – harsh maybe – but fair. And I hoped that my little pep talk would really fire her up for today’s final 17 miles.

Well she must have got out of the Himalayasian bed on the wrong side this morning. And she went off on one of those illogical rants - ridiculously accusing me of being insensitive. Me insensitive? Is that calling the kettle brown or what? And there was more. “Out of touch”, “Did I have my head up my …?”, “I hadn’t a clue what she’d been through” etc etc. Errr ‘Hello’ – you’re talking to Ron here – I deal with pain, dedication, commitment, mental strength and pushing myself to the limit every day of the week you know. And if I hadn’t how come I’ve got such an impressive reputation for myself eh? How come I’ve created a celebrity culture amongst my Ronnettes?

Anyway no matter how much I tried to put my case forward she was having none of it.

And that’s how I found myself on the start line for the 17 mile race.

She was forcing me to run the ruddy thing.

No walking with my new friend Joe from Canadia. No trekking with my British friend George. And no shopping with MOS and her personal shopper.

So, by running the stage, said the Half Share I’d get a feel for what she’d been through. No matter this kiddie has been on the treatment table with a bad knee injury for the last three months; no matter I’d not run a single step in three months. But at the end of the day I was an athlete and I had a duty to perform. I’d had four hard days of trekking, covering around 45 miles – and the knee seemed to have stood up OK. And to be honest I knew that my presence on the start line would be a real morale boost to the other international athletes – and it would certainly provide a shot up the jacksie for Captain Underpants.

The route today took us by bus to Palmajua – basically the side of a hill – some 13 miles outside Rimbik, to a spot where the previous day’s half marathon had finished. The first 10K of today’s stage was all uphill – great! But the final 10 miles would be a mix of downhill and flat with a bit of uphill chucked in as we made our way back down to 6,000 ft.

From the off I made quite a determined start and we reached the top of the hill in just under 1 hour 50 minutes. By the time we’d reached the summit I was pretty confident I was in the lead – well I couldn’t see anybody but the Half Share around – and I was a good 6 inches in front of her!! Along the way we had some final but spectacular views of Mount Kanchenjunga and Mount Everest. At the top we arrived at a village full of those gherkin people who smiled and clapped and cheered us through. Three small children ran with us for about a mile – but I was feeling a bit puffed so I let them run on – the joys of youth eh? But from the summit down I once again felt the joy of running and realised just why I’d make such a wonderful Olympic Champion in 2012. I was good – and humble with it.

That joy of running thing lasted for about 10 minutes mind until I came across another uphill bit! We kept up the walk/run routine for the next 11 miles – and I have to admit to feeling a little jaded by the time I approached the end of the race. Mind you a 17 mile race up and down the Himalayas is hardly easing my way back in is it? But as we ran the last few hundred metres towards the finish line my thoughts turned to 2012 and my soon to be Olympic crowning.

Yep. Your man was back.

The last 100 yards down to the finish was packed with well wishers – there was also most of the rest of the field who must have dropped out and got a lift to the finish to cheer us in – and a band played that Nippall music which, to be honest, is a bit of a racket.

As we crossed the finish line we were presented with ribbons by local schoolchildren who had been given the day off to see an athletic icon in the flesh. The Half Share insisted we cross the line together and as we did so she started all that sloppy wet mouth stuff that I find so distasteful in public. I’d always prefer the cursory hand shake and a nod – much more professional in my view. Anyway I unhooked myself form the slobbering wreck and headed straight for the beer tent!

And the best thing about the day was that I managed to get a PB for 17 miles – an impressive 4 hours 49 minutes!!

Then it was back on the bus for the long journey back to Mirik – where after a shower and a kip I joined my fellow athletes in the bar for a few sherbets. The Half Share had managed to complete the full 100 miles over 5 days in 34 hours 50 minutes – so not for the first time in our life had she failed to come up with the full 35 hours in a week.

By contrast Captain Underpants won the event in a time of 14 hours 10 minutes.

Ridiculous if you ask me.

And so to a final dinner, a couple of beers, a presentation from Himalaya Charlie – and we then stayed up late till 9 o’clock!

Tomorrow it would be back to Delhi for a couple of days R & R before flying back to Blighty. The end of my adventure in Indialand? Not a bit of it matey.

Just you wait and hear what I got up to tomorrow!!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Himalyan 100 Mile Stage Race. Day 4. Rimbik to Palmajua

Woke up this morning to the sun shining. It was going to be a hot and sunny day and with glorious views of the Himalayas today was one of those days when it was just going to be great in my company.



Bumped into the MOS and Personal Shopper first thing – she was trying to persuade a Sherpa to take her back up the mountain to exchange something she'd picked up in a small shop. The six hour one way jeep journey didn't seem to worry her.

Effort-wise, today was going to be an easier day. The runners had a simple half marathon – on road as well. Us intrepid Trekkers could do what we wanted – so we decided on a 10 miler to a nice little place called Shrikola – famous for its wobbly rope bridge – where we'd enjoy a quick lemonade before walking back in time for lunch and, hopefully, we'd meet the half marathon finishers. The route was very pleasant and we enjoyed some neat little views of the area – it was nicer than Bournemouth in parts. We passed a few Buddhist Monks on the way who blessed me and my friends – dunno what that was about but I felt a bit special afterwards. I offered to sign autographs but I think it got lost in translation.


We saw lots of interesting house-type places where the local people lived and I don't mind saying some of the sights I saw made your man here feel almost humble. I mean, I'm used to meeting ordinary people back home in England and I've experienced some of the poor parts of our own country like The North and Scotland. But this was different. But do you know – everybody we met had a smile on their face. Are you listening Yorkshire people?? There's just no need to keep moaning is there?

So, a very pleasant bit of diplomatic mission work by yours truly. I told as many people as I could about who I was and how I was an Olympic Champion – it was just so nice to bring a bit of extra sunshine into their little lives.

When we returned to Rimbik the runners had started to bowl in – the Half Share finished in 3 hours 15 minutes, I gave her the cursory hand shake and nod – but really, 3 hours for a half marathon? Not very quick was it? However I had to bow to her today – she was back in Rimbik before me so we were now drawing in the race to win the 100 Mile Race.



After lunch – Rupeee!! We had an afternoon off!!

After a couple of hours well earned kip it was what the organisers called a Cultural Evening. Evening. Culture? Don't make me laugh. I'd have had a better cultural evening sitting at the fridge door watching a yoghurt go off. The deal was that each nationality had to present something that was representative of their country – in a cultural way.

Well the Brits were an embarrassment. They mumbled and shuffled their way to the centre of the garden and proceeded to present some English culture to the local villagers. What was it? A pathetic rendition of London's Burning. God help us. I decided to try and rectify the situation by grabbing a couple of the local Buddhist monks and some of the youngsters and taking them through my Ron Warm Up – anal crunches, pelvic squirts, one fingered press ups and an old favourite of mine – the Groin Shuffle.


Did I wow them into a stunned silence or what???? Brilliant – they obviously felt I couldn't be topped and that more or less finished the evening off. I was satisfied that I'd made a significant contribution to England/Indialand relations.




I then gave the organisers some tips for the future. Rather than asking the athletes to do something cultural – just ask them to present their national pastimes. Forget the musical bits. So the Welsh could just have sat there and moaned; the Scottish people could just drink and fall over; the Spanish could spit, the Scandinavians could put some cheesy music on and taken their clothes off, the Americans eat pies, the Austrians yodel with funny shorts and the Dutch have bottom sex.

Despite daytime temperatures in the 80's, the night time saw the old mercury plummet to below zero – so after a couple of sherbets and a curry, it was bed at 8 o'clock. Tomorrow was a big day – it was the final day of the 100 mile race.

There was no doubting who would win the race – Captain Underpants was about a day and a half ahead of the field. But tomorrow's 17 mile final stage would provide a surprising little sting in the tail for those of you who know me ......

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Himalayan 100 Mile Stage Race Day 3. The Everest Challenge Marathon

The problem with staying on the top of a mountain is that there is not a lot to do. Our Sherpa Huts are very nice Sherpa Huts – but they are still just Sherpa Huts. Wooden huts, with wooden floors and a load of twigs burning in a tin can on the floor. No lights, no heating and the only facility a hole in the ground. In fact our huts are so basic that even the Sherpas sleep outside.

But I took comfort by mentally rebranding the place as my Olympic Village – but without Sue Barker.



After our stuff that tasted a bit like food – and remember that it was dark by 5 o'clock – the only entertainment available to the field of international athletes was ... me! Well I tried my best. I tried to talk to people about my achievements, about my Olympic Gold Medal in 2012, about my training regimes, about how I could have won this Indialand event if I'd wanted to etc etc.

Unfortunately most of them were obviously a little too tired and so by about 5.30 I was left with the bloke from Italy who ran with a packet of Benson and Hedges down his shorts. So, I chatted to him for about an hour or so – he was obviously enthralled by some of my stories, yarns and anecdotes because he just sat there listening intently – never uttered a word. Not even when I stood up and said 'Goodnight'. He just sat there staring at the floor.

So, it was bed by 6.30 for your man here. Which is fine. No need to get undressed because I slept in what I'd been wearing for the last two days. By 7 o'clock I was in the land of Nod. The problem is, though, that I'd had enough kip after 6 hours – and so at 1 am I'm wide awake – and I then had another restless four hours until it got to 'Up Time'. The wind was howling all night too as a storm raged outside our hut and the temperature had, once again, headed south of Zero. Inside our Hut, the air was so damp that everything – including bedding – was soaked in a film of ice cold moisture.



Am I describing the scene in a best seller kind of way for you?

Up I sprung then out of my bed and to my first job of the day - medication. More Dimox. Decongestion, malaraia, neurofen and some anti poo pills.

Today's stage is a special one – its the Everest Challenge Marathon – a 27 mile stage which has some bits of uphill, retracing some of yesterday's route, and then features a steep decline from 12,000 ft to 6,000 ft, finishing in the village of Rimbik. We're joined today by three particpants who have arrived just to do the Everest Challenge Marathon – they had arrived after a seven hour journey in a jeep up the mountain. It is of much comfort to yours truly that all the Jeeps being used are, in fact, Land Rovers – and British to boot. The comfort is tempered only by the fact that the newest in their fleet was manaufactured in 1947!!



Even though there were now two Swedish girls and a Finish man with a beard in our midst, everybody kept their clothes on.

As we waited for the start of today's stage I was suddenly overwhelmed by an urge to poo. I go red with the effort of preventing an embarrasing situation and try to take my mind off it by thinking of some of my favourite Cannon and Ball sketches and humming 'I'm a Little Teapot'.

The marathon runners set off at 6.00 bang on Himalayan Time at 6.45 and as its a big day for the Half Share I ask some American bloke to tell her to have a good race. At 7.15 we board our Jeeps for the 2 mile downhill journey to the start of our 8 mile trek to Rimbik. The journey is nothing short of hairy as we attempt to negotiate the steep switchback tracks – with sheer drops of hundreds of feet inches away from the door. Our driver tells us that its a tradition that visitors to Nippall are drawn to the beauty of the mountains so much that they swear to return within seven years. I remind him that there is a British tradition that if the driver didnt keep his chuffing eyes on the road I'd lamp him one.

So, off we set on our 8 mile trek – pah!! The distance was actually a tad more than 8 miles. We did 15 miles!



It is, though, a very pleasant route as we walk through the cloud cover from 10,500 ft down to 9,000 ft – at which point we enter the jungle. Now this is no pretend jungle – its a real live jungle with lots of green things hanging around, loads of different types of poo and, in fact, the place had a real Tarzan feel to it – heck it even had proper noises like they used to have on Daktari. The jungle in this part of West Bengal is home to Red Panda, Wild Boar (oh no!), Snow Leopards and lots of other animals that would have made Billy Smart happy. But though we heard lots of scary noises we didn't see any animals. Turns out most of the noises were made by a nutty woman in our group anyway.


The nutter was some kind of Red Indian woman from America. I walked the first five miles with her and got very annoyed at having to keep picking her up. The stupid woman had insisted on meditating as she walked – with her chuffing eyes closed! She kept saying that God would get her to the bottom of the mountain and how she didn't need her eyes. Well, if God was going to get her down he was having a bad day – and to be honest, just a casual observer though I may have been, God seemed to be pretty rubbish at getting people down mountains.

I eventually tired of the pesky woman and so, after, five miles I did the British thing. I dumped her and told her to liaise directly with her maker – and I'd see her at the bottom. I then caught up with MOS and her Personal Shopper who were composing a shopping list for when we arrived in Rimbik. Also walked a little way with my new friend Joe from Canadia and my British friend George. The last couple of miles were quite tough as we entered the village of Rimbik at 8,000 ft via a steep downhill cobbled track. The poo business was becoming a real problem and I had one of those embarrassing moments when I tripped over a tree root and did one of those trip/stumble/little run type sequences to regain my balance - with each step I took being accompanied by a short burst of wind breaking each time my right foot hit the ground. Our Sherpas seemed to appreciate my 'performance' and broke into a round of applause. I did shout loudly at them that though I might be a celebrity I wasn't a ruddy cabaret act – and told them to stop staring at me. I did subsequently apologise – but I just so needed the toilet I was just a tad grumpy I suppose.



Eventually we arrived at the Sherpa Lodge in Rimbik and I threw down my rucksack and dashed to the toilet – only emerging red in face some twenty minutes later. Thank God I can now forget about lavatorial issues.

The Sherpa Lodge in Rimbik is a stunning place perched on the mountainside with spectacular views and my welcome was complete when we were given a plate of chips with tomato ketchup and a bottle of beer. Heaven!! I was also able to change out of the clothes I'd been living, walking and sleeping in – and even enjoyed a hot shower. Heaven again.



Captain Underpants had been back in for hours after having finished the marathon in a ridiculous time of 4 hours 32 minutes, with the first girl finishing in 5 hours 10 minutes. Pah! Was I supposed to be impressed?

I then settled down and somewhat irritatingly had to wait the arrival of the Half Share. Nightfall came and we were still sitting in pitch blackness waiting for the bally woman to turn up. Whilst outwardly showing some signs of concern – particularly after hearing some of the horror stories from the finishers – inwardly I was feeling quite smug. For the second day in a row I'd beaten her to the finish – so I was now winning. Of course she would later claim that she'd done more miles than me – but, hey, whose fault was that?????

To be honest I was getting a bit miffed with all the hanging around and it was beginning to look as though I'd have to do my unpacking myself when she eventually bowled over the line after 10 hours 36 minutes. I suppose I was mildly impressed at her achievement and so, in addition to a cursory hand shake and a nod I gave her a bit of my Chunky Kit Kat. I reminded her that her time was slower than any of her previous marathons but she started to say how tough it was. Yeah yeah yeah – its just another marathon for God's sake!! Apparently the descent was very steep. So? I did the Loch Ness Marathon without whinging. I did the Bexhill 10K without muttering how windy it was on the sea front didn't I? Just deal with it!



Anyway my irritation was complete after she'd described every inch of the so-called murderous descent, down dried up river beds and gullies, how they had to run through the jungle and then across the bridge over the canyon at Srikhola. But apparently it was OK because Darren helped her down the steep bits. And Darren helped her across the rope bridge. Oh - and Darren looked after her when it got dark and she couldnt see where she was going. It was Darren this and Darren that and Darren the chuffing other. And then to top the night this bloke Darren - some South African bozo with acne - then started sniffing around "just checking to see if she's all right Mate".

Mate? Mate?

So I decked him and went for another poo.

Bed and sleep came rather more easily tonight. The problems with altitude would now start to ease, I could poo, I'd had a couple of beers and I'd decked a South African. Life couldn't get any better I thought.

Tomorrow - a pleasant day spent on a diplomatic mission to mingle with lots of foreigners. I'll tell you all about it soon.

Keep on tapering.

Ron