Back with a vengeance

The training has been going very well if I may say so myself. I've upped my mileage, increased my work rate and started going down to Stallones for something other than an ogle at the ladies in Lycra (there's no hiding place wearing that stuff, you know).

I've also cut out the legendary Ron refuelling sessions and taking to eating this unusual foreign stuff for my lunch - I think they call it salad or something. Anyway the upshot is that I'm not carrying the kind of baggage I was the other week and as a consequence my running performances have improved dramatically. So much so that I'm bound to be a shoe in for the Empire Games.

My first challenge was to up my racing distance and the half marathon was next on the Ron list. Last Sunday I starred in the Kent Half Marathon held up in Caravan County in Margate. Now if you want to see at first hand the effects of a nuclear holocaust then Margate's the place for you. It makes Toxteth look like Mayfair. However, this kiddie wasn’t there for sightseeing - I was there to win.

My underlying objective was to get round the course with as little walking as possible and, Ronnettes, I managed just that. I had the occasional, teensy weensy walk but nothing too much and I reckon I ran well over 12 miles of the course. I finished in just over 2 hours 31 minutes - so I guess that put me in the top ten, so I can't grumble.

Next up this weekend just passed was a trip with the old soaks from Nice Work. I haven’t been away with them for a few months so it was good to catch up with some old friends. And my how old they were too!! But our destination for the weekend was a place called France. We set off on Saturday morning and ended up around lunchtime in a place called The Somme where there was a fight with the Germans once.

We had a very agreeable day on Saturday doing the old touristy bit. Of course it made a real change for me. France is a place I can go without being bothered and I'm virtually unrecognised by the majority of the Frogs. Well, so I thought, but I snuck off to a little bar for a tube or three and happened to pick one I'd been in last year and ... ahem .. well I kind of left without paying the bill. Anyway, that little domestic incident out of the way and I planned an early-ish no-kebab night.

Then I was dragged out for a nightcap.

Well I ask you. I spend all week living like a nunk, starving myself and refusing all tubes and bevs only to let it all go the night before a race. The upshot of it was that I lined up at the start of the Somme Half Marathon with the old nut bouncing like a steam hammer and a mouth as dry as a budgie's cage.

Away from the start - and what do I find? Yup. A Hill. Not just any old hill but a hill that went on for over a kilogram. Well I made it to the top of the hill without stopping ... and promptly brought up my breakfast. Ronnettes, when I tell you that things did not bode well for the next 12 and three quarter miles I am not exaggerating.

But then something happened. I set off on my way and a gentle downhill slope soon had me picking off the backmarkers and after about 3 kilograms I came across a very agreeable young gal who was pottering around and who seemed to want me to latch on to her.
So latch on I did.

In fact we stuck to each other like glue for the rest of the race. The course was hilly and needed some effort but do you know something Ronnettes? Through mutual respect for each other and because we both helped each other in our time of need we not only completed the race without stopping - a major, major achievement for yours truly - but I did it in 2.27.16. Now I know that sounds fast - I came about 7th I think - but it was five minutes quicker than Kent and, indeed, my quickest half for two years.

Impress mange tout?

So I came back from France full of confidence and full of beans - and not a little pride in my achievements.

What's next?

Well I went to Stallones on Monday for a loosener, got in the wrong queue and ended up in the swimming pool. Doesn’t wool get heavy when it’s wet? Last night I went out for a run with The Old People of Hastings and did an hour or so. This weekend we get shut of the Droog as she goes off to spend her inheritance on drugs and LPs at university. That leaves Sunday free so we're off to Caravan County again for a 10K in Faversham. Next up will be two further half marathons in Folkestone and Amsterdam before we make that rather special return journey to Indialand for the Himalaya 100 Mile race.

But more on that later.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

All quiet on the Western thing?

Oi Oi!

Long time no beep!

It might have gone quiet a bit - but that doesn't mean to say it's been ... err quiet.

August has been and gone but my what an eventful month for your popular Olympic hopeful. It was all going swimmingly well until a nip down to see the local quack Crippen threw a spoke in the wheelbarrow. Seems like all my health measurements have gone pear-shaped - well either that or Crippen was reading my notes upside down.

Now I know what you're thinking. How can a super fit Olympian like me have a blood sugar level of 28? Cholesterol levels higher than a Chavettes skirt - and a kidney and pancreas which are, apparently, on the verge of jacking in. Well you're not alone there and you could have knocked me down with a spoon when I got the news.

So, where to from here?

Well first thing was to try and get my blood sugar levels to below their then near-fatal level. I've had to spend the last three weeks popping pills till they came out of my ears; exercising like there's no tomorrow and laying off the rehydration fluid. So far it seems to be having the desired effect with a few kilometers of weight already shed - and those sugar levels down to a still scary - but more manageable - 17 (still a tad above the norm of 6!!)

Of course I got no help from the UK Athletics medical team who seem to have dropped me like a stone just as I come into form - but I'm wasting no time in worrying about them. What's good enough for Wayne Chambers is good enough for me.

One good thing that has come out of it is a dramatic increase in my training - I have races coming up in France, Holland and, of course, a return to see my mates in Indialand next month.

First of all though I had a go at running a 5 miler in Staplehurst. What should have been a straightforward flat run of an easy distance though turned into something of a nightmare. The old health stuff came up nippy-ish and stopped me in my tracks at 3 miles. I had feet of lead and couldn't move - and I was only able to struggle to the finish thanks to a kind marshal who gave me his drinks.

Things did start to get better though as the healthy regime kicked in and I managed to complete a very tough 5 miler the following Thursday in Holtye.

So, it was a time for a break. And I decided to head up a place called the North where I discovered somewhere called the Peak District. Peak District? Don't make me laugh. The only thing peaky were the faces of the poor beggars who have to live in this remote outpost. Rain? Rain? Don't even go there!

However the Half Share said it would do my soul good by living a week under canvas. Well that might sound funny to you but let me tell you after a week of hopping round a bally tent on one leg trying to get my trolleys on and off I was in no mood to enjoy it. We took the Sod with us just to make the tent even more cramped and him and his flippin' sleep walking made for a few entertaining nights.

Whilst we were there though we did get a few miles strong hill walking under our belts - intended to be training for Indialand. And between you, me and the drainpipe I did feel a lot better for it. I have kept the pounds off and lost a bit more and I've edged Ernie and his pub/kebab regime out of the picture. I decided to put my new found fitness to the test - and was suitable rewarded with two fine runs at the weekend.

On Friday evening I starred in the Newstead Abbey 3 Mile Dash in Nottingham. I targeted myself for a sub minute 30 minute dash and came in somewhat below that in 29.06. 48 hours later your favourite globe trotter was the elite runner in the Stratford-upon-Avon 10K. Here I hadn't really thought about times but, on a hilly-ish course, I had to get round the thing without either stopping or walking up the hills. A non-stop storming run achieved exactly that in a blistering time of 1.05.48 - I think I came about 4th.

I've kept up the straight and narrow stuff this week - well I have to with the beady eyes watching over me. This Sunday I have a big test with my first half marathon in yonks when I take part in the Kent Half Marathon. Next weekend I do the distance again in the Somme.

So, you see. You thought I'd gone off the boil.

Not on your nelly.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Oh Dear

Well Week 3 of my training to win the Himalaya 100 Mile Race in Indialand passed by with just a couple of notable incidents - which, I have to say, pale into insignificance compared with Week 4.

But more of that later.

I travelled over to France the weekend before last to try and get some endurance training under my belt. Not strictly a running weekend, the three days were spent walking the 30 or so miles between Boulogne and Le 2K in Northern France. Now isn't that just typical of the French? Naming a seaside town after five laps of the track!! The route took us three days or so and was comfortably interspersed with a liberal quantity of wine bars, food shops and a rather tasty hotel to lay my head.

In a way it was a humbling experience for your man here. Not being in the company of fans, admirers and other runners I felt more able to relax - I wasn't having to hide from a legion of well wishers or feel as though I had to put on a show for my fellow travellers.

Indeed it was almost like what it used to be before I became a celebrity. In fact I thought I struck a somewhat anonymous figure amongst a group of, lets face it, ordinary people. People with dogs; people with jobs. (Hell fire two of them even lived in a council house!).

Mind you I got a tad bored with it. Its all right not being noticed on sight. But after a while enough is enough. And so, after a couple of hours when, intros completed, and not one of them had posed even a single question about my Olympic ambitions I decided to let them into my little world. And right after Dinner on the Friday I decided "right - I'll show 'em!" So I did my 3 minute one fingered press-up routine, finishing off with a 10 rep session of anal crunches and pelvic squirts. My how they laughed in the restaurant! The locals even entered into the spirit of things and began chanting what I can only imagine is a French colloquialism for 'Olympic Champion'. Homber Seal they chanted Homber Seal Homber Seal .

What a great bunch of foreigners they were.

Unfortunately the English lot I was with couldn't stay to the end of my routine which I thought was rather grumpy of them - but there you go, there's no accounting for taste. Anyway, one of the couples were from Wales. Nuff said.

So the Saturday I felt in good shape and covered 10 miles and then the day after I managed a quite impressive 17 miles. And after a night in the French equivalent of the Royal Oak I went to bed believing that the jaunt up Everest was all but in the bag.

But, on the Monday morning, I awoke and my knee had done a Ratcliffe on me. It had decided to stop running. I could hardly get the thing off the bed. So the final stage of the walk was completed for me in the back of a Transit and then it was the long, lonely way home for me. I have to say a feeling of hopelessness came over me. I might be able to win a few marathons on one leg - but 100 miles?

It called for drastic action. On Wednesday last week, after giving the old leg a couple of days to get better, I went to see a man called a Sports Psycho. Apparently with his Kango fingers he'd sort my knee out a treat and, so he promised me over the phone, he'd soon have me back on the training ground and I'd be back on track with Himalaya Charlie.

Now three things annoyed me about this Psycho. It started when I went into his treatment room. And he acted as though he'd never heard of me! How rude is that! Well that got my goat up right away and I was forced to do a bit of an Eric Morecambe and warn him that if he and I were going to get along, he'd better start showing some flippin' respect. I'll give hime 'Ron Who?'.

Secondly, he said he was going to give me a little prick - and I pulled another flippin' muscle turning round pretty sharpish. Turned out he wanted to give me a puncture. And so he did. Have you tried having a puncture? He stuck these four ruddy long needles into my knee. And told me to relax!! Relax?? It was sodding painful!!

But the thing that really hacked off this kiddie was his diagnosis. He reckons I've done my cartilage in? Oh yeah? And tell me this Mr Clever Flipping Psycho Man - how could you possibly tell that when you never even looked in my ear??

The bottom line is I gave the Psycho bloke short shrift and instead toddled off to see my GP, Dr Crippen. Well ... what can I say? His diagnosis was swift and immediate. "You've got GOK" he said. Which apparently is medical jargon for God Only Knows.

He then insisted I'd just "banged my leg"! Hell fire these blokes study at medical school for half a lifetime. And the best they can come up with is "Sorry Ron, you've banged your leg".

The bottom line Ronnettes though is not good. I've hardly exercised for a month; I've not run for a month. I'm eight weeks away from leaving for the Himalayas - it just ain't going to happen is it?

So, I've come to what I think is a mature, professional, pragmatic decision.

I'm going to deck that Psycho.

This Sunday I was due to travel to Caravan County for the Kent Half Marathon - but there's just no way I'll make the distance. So it looks as though my Himalayan Dream is over before it even began. I'm still going over there - but it looks like the race is off and we'll just have to complete some of the distance by walking.

Say La Vee as they say in Poland.

I'm sick, I'm gutted. And its going to be a huge psychological and medical problem for me to deal with. What is lurking deep in the recesses of this razor sharp brain of mine is ... will I ever get back to Olympic Gold Medal winning form?

I'm going to have to sleep on that for now.

Talking of Olympics I was sad to see that my old mate Dave Collins has been rubber pumped from the job of my coach and jacket holder for the English national team. I hate to tell you I told you so and I hate to see myself proved right in such tragic circumstances. But I'll just pose one question.

Would he have been bulleted if he'd taken me to the Chinese Olympics in Peking?

Makes you think eh?

Keep on tapering.

Ron