On the crest of a slump

Sometimes its very, very difficult being an elite athlete.

You see, because I am one of the leading lights in the sport, I have to ration my time very precisely so that all my sporting priorities are placed very firmly where they should be - and this sometimes causes me some difficulties when people say to me 'Hey Ron, why the big silence?'.

And without being patronising, the fact of the matter is that if I spent all day writing replies to fan letters, jotting down my thoughts on this, that and the bally other, sorting out begging letters (though I don't send many these days) then I'd have very little time left for the proper things in life. I mean sometimes its a heck of a job for Ernie and I to try and slip away for a hard earned tube - sometimes we can only get a couple of hours a day.

So the next time you start whingeing and having a go at me for not doing my Internet thing - just remember that, OK? And if that appears heartless and cruel well then you'll just have to deal with it won't you?

You may by now sense that your man here isn't in the best frames of mind - and you know what? You're dead right. Why? I'll flippin' tell you why.

I have given my all for this great country of ours. I've made sacrifices - some of them have cost me money too, I can tell you; I've shed blood, sweat and other body fluids for Queen, Country and Cameron; I've worn my vest and underpants with pride; and you know what? In most cases I've done it without demanding anything back in return (apart from a few exes for me and Ernie and the van).

I've travelled the globe competing on behalf of this great country of ours - sometimes I've even embraced the Welsh in my quest to see Great Britain reach the peak of sporting number one-ness. And if I'd have known now what I knew then, you know what? I might not have bothered. Remember - when I first started running it was just so I could hear that heavy breathing stuff again. I had no great ambitions for myself in this sport other than maybe to appear at an Olympic Games. My mind often drifts. And sometimes it drifts back to those days all those years ago when I first started puinding the pavements. There was nothing like getting up at 5 in the morning, doing a quick six miler and then jumping into an ice bath. Indeed, there is still nothing like it. That's why I've never done it.

But what have all these achievements and sacrifices got me? Nowt is the short answer. Well nowt but a kick in the teeth with a size 10 Timpson.

Because today I have just received my Olympic notifications. Not,as you would expect, my number, safety pins, baggage label, van parking instructions etc Nope - I've received ... an invitation to apply for tickets!!

Let me just run that by you again so that it sinks in.

After all these years of toil and sweat ... they have sent me an invitation to apply for tickets. That is tickets - to buy. Tickets ... to watch. I am shattered, I don't mind confiding in you. And do you know what? I don't even know if I have the mental thingy to go on.

To add insult to perjury, they're not even VIP tickets. Plus - and here's the rub. They are expecting me to pay!! What planet do these people live on?? Do they send a letter to Ces Fibreglass asking him if he wants to buy a ticket to watch Manchester United win the Premiership? Do they send a letter to Bobby Davro asking him if he wants to buy a ticket to watch Britain's Got Talent? I don't think so, do you? So, what's going on your Lord Coeship?

(Just an observation by the way, I don't understand why they're selling Olympic tickets anyway - they might as well just give them to blokes from Liverpool and save a lot of messing about - they always end up with them anyway).

Well you're hearing this here now first - and this includes you Lord Coe. If you think that this kiddie here is going to buy tickets to watch a bunch of second rate athletes, who can't hold a candle to me, puff and pant their way round and round a running track - then think again. And another thing Coe-ey - you have exactly one week (well, OK a week and a bit because its a bank holiday) to get my number and pins in an envelope and round here to Ron Towers. Pronto you understand?

And you know what happens if I don't get them?

You can stick your Olympics up your Oxo Tower mate - and I'll go to a country that does want me. Yes, I mean exactly that. If Jack Charlton can pretend to be another country person - like an Irish man then so can I. So, from May 1st - I will become a proud member of Burkino Faso's Olympic Marathon Squad.

Ernie - get the paint ready. the van might need a makeover.

Keep on tapering

Ron.

Dykes, Dog Poo and Mad Dutchmen - all in a days work for an Olympic hopeful.

I've stepped up my training this week. You see, the likes of Paula Wotsit and co. all relaxing by the pool or spending their hard-earned in Monte Carlo might be OK for them - but to this kiddie here, the Gold Medal in 2012 will only be in my mitts if I keep up the training. You have to have a strong work ethic. And because my summer of discontent has upped the old weight a tad, I reckoned a couple of weeks hard work now will soon have me back to running near-world class times again.

I'm currently in a place called France - and in a town that seems to be obsessed with running.

Its called Le 2K.

How cool is that?

Mind you I can run that distance in my sleep - but isn't it just typical of the French to aim low? The Greeks had a town called Marathon. And the French have a town called Le 2K. I think that says it all don't you?

I mean, just how unambitious can you get?? That's why the French are tosh when it comes to running and Olympic success and why the Greeks are ... well, drug cheats.

The other thing about France that makes running such an ordeal is the dog poo. This Le 2K place is right on the beach - its got a smart prom, some decent bars, good restaurants and fancy shopping. But try and go for a run along the prom and you spend the entire session dodging big dollops of dog poo. Perhaps that's why the French are so good at skiing - they have to slalom just to walk to work!!

Anyway, I managed a four mile run tonight and tomorrow morning its a 6 miler and then its back to Blighty in time for the Kent Christmas Cracker race on Sunday. I'm not running myself but will be there to start the race, sign a few autographs etc.

Of course, I'm still in catch up mode with you Ronettes - and there's an adventure or two I've still to tell you about. For instance, I didn't tell you about my little trip to Arnhem in a flat country called Holland - and yes, I did get into trouble over some comment about Dykes but that's for another day. I stayed there to take in a local race which, not to put too fine a point on it - is sheer lunacy.

The Bergrace By Nacht race is an event held in Wageningen, near Arnhem. The race is run from the top of one mountain to the peak of another. Great. But the peaks are no more than 40 ft! So, yes, it is a flat country!!

To make things interesting though, the race is held in darkness - with the top event, run over 11.6K, setting off at 10.30 pm. The runners have to negotiate their way along dark, country lanes with no street lighting - and the finish line is in a zoo. With a cheesy 70's disco in full swing as you cross the line.

And this barking mad event attracts over 3,000 runners.

From there we travelled on to Saint Hillaire Cotte in Northern France for another embarrassing shot at trying to get one over the French. Yours truly did manage to prise a trophy from the Frogs, but, apparently it was only given to me on account of my celebrity status. This kiddie doesn't do patronising. So, after politely but firmly telling the Mayor of Saint Hillaire what I felt about his gesture and where he could stick his trophy, I decided to do the decent thing.

I got trolloped at his expense.

In fact so begorrah-ed was I that I left my wallet, my door key, my Dunlop Green Flashes and my passport in his chuffing bar!! So, how was I to get back to Blighty?

I decided to front up and when I arrived back in Calais I made my way to HM's Immigration Numpties - and what a bunch of humourless toe rags they are too eh? I tried to explain who I was - I don't like using the 'Don't you know who I am' trick, but, hey, needs must. Anyway, they were having none of it.

So, I held my hands up. I said I'd got no passport, no money, nowhere to stay (I hammed that one up a bit for a bit of sympathy) - and, because I'd enjoyed a few Leffes, I ventured to say that I had no obvious means of support.

At that, the Numptie raised his eyebrows, gave me a smile - and before you could say Olympic Dream, he'd arranged for me to have a house, some money, new clothes for the kids, a whole heap of furniture and more Tesco food vouchers than you could shake a stick at!!

And all for turning up at the border with no passport or money!

So, all's well that ends well eh?

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Yep - bigger than ever!

I sat watching the debacle that passed for the England football team on Wednesday night - and I realised it.

My country needs me.

Yep. My country needs a sporting hero and I owe it to my fellow countrymen to get myself off my backside and start to bring a little cheer to the miserable lives of the people in England. Especially those in Birmingham and Yorkshire who have a miserable existence anyway.

"But where have you been Ron?" I hear you say. "And are you still up for that Olympic Gold in 2012?" Well I've been lots of places my little Ronettes but I can assure you, the dream is still very much alive.

There has been a little hiccup in the old training regime department though - which is why never a truer word was spoken when I say "I'm back - and bigger than ever". You see my athletic life simply wasn't paying the bills so the Half Share in the House delivered an ultimatum - either I got a real job or she scarpered. I mulled that one over for a while then realised that even for no other reason than I'd be guaranteed clean socks once a fortnight, it was probably worth getting some work.

So that's how I ended up working at the local biscuit factory. For the first couple of weeks I was in charge of putting the jam in Jammy Dodgers - and, well I just couldn't resist having a nibble or two. And although I've progressed through to Dunk testing Digestives and onto spreading the vanilla in Vanilla Creams, I've been unable to resist the temptations -and I've packed on the weight.

But you can't hold back a good athlete.

I've found myself assuming what can only be described as an Ambassadorial role - and I've visited a few countries to greet and meet some of my overseas fans.

I'll bring you news of some of my adventures in due course - and mark my words there have been some! - but take a look at this list of places that your man here has been seen in:

Norway - for the Arctic Circle
Luxembourg - for the Route du Vin
Amsterdam - for ... well never mind what for
Arnhem - for a quick scoot around
Amsterdam - again, this time for the Marathon
Arnhem - again - for a bizarre race in the dark
France - for a 10K run in the country.

I've only taken part in a couple of UK races since the summer - and pretty disastrous they were too. But I'm now back in training - because 2008 is going to be a huge year for your man here.

Let's see if this little lot indicates how serious my Olympic training is set to become - I'm in for the Paris Marathon in April, I'm in for the Midnight Sun Marathon some 300 miles north of the Arctic Circle in June - and I'm looking at possibly doing the Himalayas 100 Mile run next November.

So, as you can see, once an athlete, always an athlete.

So let's get together again shall we? I'll bring you news of my adventures to date over the course of this week - in the meantime, I'll be sharing with you, once again, my life as an athletic superstar.

Oh - it's great to be back.

Keep on tapering

Ron