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