You're going to have to sit down

What I have to say to you now may come as a great shock - so I suggest you take a seat somewhere comfortable.

I travelled not far away from here to a small event called the Baa Baa 5K. It takes place in New Romney, close to Romney Marsh and a place populated by a race of people with an unhealthy interest in sheep. They say that the people from the Romney Marsh were the first people to discover that the insides of the sheep could be used as a contraceptive. It was some decades later that the process was advanced so that the insides were taken out of the sheep first.

But I digress.

Still with leg stitched, I decided to take part in this little 5K race. The Half Share had beggared off in the grown-ups 10K race which was for people that didn't have stitches in their leg. So, as I stood on the start line batting away small kids pestering me for autographs - there's a time and a place you know. As is my practice I looked around at the competition and, admittedly, I have been in stronger and bigger fields. There were around 50 or so lined up. A few runners, a few kids, a few walkers.

Then the gun went and I was away with my usual blistering pace. After about 500 yards I noticed something rather disconcerting. About 30 yards ahead was a car. It was moving slowly, with its hazard lights flashing. It was as though it was ... well, it looked like ... hang on ... it is/was ... it was the lead car!

Ahead of me I saw a couple of runners and a woman ... and that was it. Apart from a snotty-nosed kid in a woollen running top (please, New Romney, you don't have to wear sheep all the time!).

Then it dawned on me. I was in the leading pack!

Another 200 yards further down the road and I was into second place, having left the others eating my dust. Having never been this far north of the pack before I was a little unsure of running etiquette. When you pass a leading runner, what do you do? Do you apologise? Do you wish him good luck for the rest of the race? Being unsure I just gave him the middle finger and told him/her to get a shove on. And then, after 800 yards, something happened that I didn't think would happen until the summer of 2012.

I found myself leading a race.

Well I damn near dobbed myself.

What happens next? I had no idea - having never been in that position before. And, you know, leading a race is not actually all that its made out to be. Leading a race brings with it lots of unwelcome responsibilities. If you're leading, all the spectators are watching you - so there's no hiding place. I couldn't stop for a blow. I just had to keep running.

The race was run over 2 laps and so, for the rest of the distance I was the one to catch. But, Ronettes, there was no way. Nobody but nobody was going to take that lead away from me. So, I carried on and on and on and on until the finish line was in sight. A quick glance behind to see where the second placed runners was, another display of blistering speed and that was it, I was propelled over the line to break a tape (yes - a tape!!) and crossed to finish first in 31 mins 3 seconds. To, I must say, a tumultuous round of applause from the gathered spectators and the bloke on the PA system. Indeed if it wasn't for the bloke on the PA asking me over for a post race interview I was due to make a visit to his tent for a quiet word anyway. Because the only thing to take the gloss of my magnificent victory was his commentary as I came to start the second lap and I heard him announce "Oh no! There's a bloke jogging behind the lead car. Oh sorry., Hang on. No, he's the leader". Cheeky blighter.

So there you have it.

I won. I won a real race. With real people. Me. I came first in a race. I won, I won, i won.

I won.

Keep on tapering.

Ron.

Damn, blast and set fire to it

Picture the scene.

Its Ron Towers on a sunny July afternoon.

Youngest Cash Drainer The Sod leaves bike in garden.

Said bike throws itself at me as I walk past.

I go Blair over Brown and stott myself against a stone step.

Step enters leg and leaves yours truly with a gash the size of the River Severn.

Medical back up team not available (are you listening UK Athletics?) so have to go to hospital in back of Ernie's Transit.

Undignified scenes in a cubicle involving your hero, a nurse and a hyperdermic needle. I took exception to her "Its only a little prick" comment.

Now sat sitting here with leg bandaged and seventeen stitches holding it together*.

No running for at least a week.

And who was it that said life was a bowl of blackberries?

Keep on tapering.

Ron

* OK two stitches. But it hurt a lot.

Up the Downs

Bonsoir!!

Or, as Bobby Davro would say 'Nice to see you'.

I've been rather pre occupied watching the old World Cup over the last couple of weeks and like the rest of you have had to put up with the embarrassment of watching a bunch of overpaid pansies masquerading as footballers. I almost got out my dubbin and started practising keepy-uppy with my casey on the off chance I got a call up. And I tell you this m uch Ronnettes, this kiddie couldn't have done any worse than that bunch of jessies. It just goes to show that, yours truly excepted, what a dearth of sporting talent we have in this otherwise fine country of ours.

It has made decent watching though and its good to see another bit of the Empire getting a sniff of the big sporting action – makes you proud to be a Brit and just goes to show that the old saying about the custard never setting in the British Empire is true.

But being distracted with what's been going on in Africaland has put the brakes on a promising international sporting career for a short time. A couple of weeks sat sitting drinking beer and watching football with ne'er but a pie to keep me company has meant that I've had precious little time for pounding the streets.

I did have a little jaunt out a couple of weeks ago when the Half Share said she'd get me out of the armchair by taking me for a little jog. She only took me to Caravan County to do something called the North Down Run.

Right. Note to organisers.

There are a couple of things wrong with this thing. First of all its not a North Down Run – its a North Up Run. I've never been up so many bally hills. The race is all off road along and through what those in the know call the North Downs Way. Thats just a fancy, posh name for a shockingly hilly excuse for a bad joke. Secondly ... its a long way. Over 30 kilograms in fact. Thats a tad in the region of 18 miles.

As a consequence it took me and the Half Share more than 4 hours 40 minutes to finish the damn thing – it was though a BP. Its the first time we'd actually tun together for some time ... and oh dear, what a msiatke that tuned out to be. Talk about rabbit. I mean I didn't moan when she kept stopping to do her hair or find something in her handbag or put a bit more lippy on did I? Talk about stroppy. She doesn't seem to understand that I'm a highly tuned athlete and I need to keep to the training schedule that fits my physique, mental state and body clock. So I was in no real hurry on this particular day. She, though, had other ideas. Furthermore I did think some of her comments particularly hurtful. “Its not rocket science you just put one foot in front of the other and run” is hardly encouraging at the 29 kilograms mark is it?

Anyway you'll not be surprised to hear that that experience kind of put me off pounding the pavements for a couple of weeks. I have though got myself into gear this week and I've been down to my local Jim to do a few workout things. The next big event on my agenda is the Dartford Half Marathon next week so I need to get mind and body fresh for that challenge.
A week of living like a nun might help.

Keep on tapering.

Ron