That Belgium experience

I'm still seething about my aborted trip to Belgiumland last weekend to take part in the Ostend to Bruges 10 Mile Race.

You see, the deal was quite straightforward. As a celebrity Olympian the soaks at Nice Work asked to me to join them. Well I thought that's what they'd said but the old phone line was a bit crackly. I don't normally deal with the mucky side of my Olympic quest and I leave all discussions about sponsorship and endorsements to Ernie. But as Ernie was away on a Plumbers convention I took the call myself.

Well I'm sure the bloke asked me to come along to do a spot of coaching. Well that's right up my street I thought and I began looking forward to putting some of the old crocks masquerading as runners through their paces. Imagine my horror when I turn up at Ashford and the bloke chucks me a set of keys, points out where the indicators are and promptly jumps in the back and settles down with a brown ale and a Ginsters.

Coaching? I was driving the bally bus!!

Anyway through a mix of luck and good judgement I got the 1956 Bedford Tourer to a spot that looked vaguely like Belgium, parked the thing up and went straight for the chips and Leffe. We had a pleasant enough evening mixing with my friends and supporters over there. I think they particularly liked the new musical routine I've invented - I've put one of my pelvic squirt routines to music. It went OK - but I did get the feeling that not many of the Frenchies had heard of either Rolf Harris or The Court of King Caractacus - but never mind. And the table was old and nearly broken anyway!

Switch now dear Reader to the morning after the night before - and to where things started to tip the weekend downhill. I have to say that I was feeling on tip top form and after I'd got a couple of the runners to give us a push start I got the Bedford down to the start line, parked up and got stripped off ready for the race.

And then some clever clogs Charlie pointed out that there was a bally puncture on the bus!! Well, I wasn't too chuffed but I thought it would get us home - I mean there was six wheels on the flippin' bus and I reckoned four - one for each corner - plus one spare was quite enough thank you. But no - they started shouting Health and Safety stuff at me. The bottom line was that matey boy here had to pull the old Hi-Vis on over my lycra and wait for the flippin' RAC or whatever they're called in Belgiumland.

And as well as standing around waiting for the bloke to come out and fix it, I missed the race. All that way and all I had to show for it was a fading hangover and a foreign Hi-Vis.

A sore experience and believe me did I tear a strip off Ernie when I got back. Well fair's fair - I need him to sort out the commercial part of my sporting superstar career leaving me to free to focus on what I'm good at.

Winning medals for England.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Water, water everywhere - and only beer to drink

Life as an Olympian can be a grind sometimes you know.

As Harry H Corbett who spent all his life with his hand up Sooty's jacksie was often heard to say "Life as an Olympian can be a grind sometimes you know".

It's now March and although my training has been going well, I've still not managed to put in a single competitive personal appearance. After the washout that was Dover, I mosied over to Wittersham - a kind of southern version of Skelmersdale - for something called the Isle of Oxney Hot Soup 5 Mile Dash. I wasn't running - I was the celebrity starter. Well you would certainly have thought you were on an island the amount of flippin' rain that came down. It was so stormy it was blowing Frenchmen across the channel. So I started the race by shouting 'Go' and beggared off to the pub. I know there's this kind of brotherhood thing about running and athletes - but I wasn't hanging around in that stuff I can tell you.

Despite the inclement weather though I have managed to keep the old training regime up to my usual high standards. I've been out with the Old People of Hastings a few times - it does cheer them up when I bowl up, you know. You see, I've always a little tale to tell, a nudge here, a whispered word of encouragement there. And I know it really does lift them to feel as though they are actually part of my Olympic journey. I've taught them my Anal Crunch and Pelvic Squirt regime though admittedly the ripped lycra episode was a little unseemly. But I could tell by the playful way they all keep flicking my ears that they have an awful ot of affection for me.

Bless their little cotton singlets.

So this weekend just gone, after upping my training to around 20 miles a week (yes, you heard me right Paul and Mr Gebrselassie (or whatever) you heard me right - that's 20 miles a week. Just think how you could do if you decided to put your little backs into it a bit more!).

Anyway, after another 20 miles plus week I decided to go up to Boris's Folly for a half marathon, dodging needles and MacDonald's boxes in Roding Valley. However my mate Ernie called his mate Alan who works at the council and basically he told me not to even bother going out of the door on Sunday. It was going to be torrential.

And so it was.

And so I did.

I stayed in. Instead I did a 10 mile jaunt from Hythe to Folkestone and return on Saturday morning to get me some practice for this coming weekend's first International appearance of the season in Belgium.

Yup I'm going back to the land of my spiritual fathers and Leffemongers. I'm off to Bruges for the annual Ostend to Bruges 10 Mile Race. I'm nipping off with the gin fuelled caravan organised by Nice Work. Its about my sixth time of appearing here and the Belgiumites always put on a good show for us - and I try to reciprocate by ganging up with them and the Dutch to stuff the wind up any Frenchies who happen to be running.

It's a 10 Mile Race and I'm feeling pretty confident of making the top 5 finishers. I reckon if I can dip under 1 hour 50 mins I'll be on the podium.

To help me prepare for my big weekend I shoved away half a dozen Leffe last night and, just to be on the safe side, two waffles.

I just know I'm going to be smokin'!!!

Tomorrow its a training run with the Old People of Hastings then I'll do a spot of carbo-Loading at Stavros's kebab wagon on the way home.

I can't wait.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Orange, Orange and more Orange

So, off I went to Holland at the weekend. My motives were two-fold. First of all to resume my relentless but inevitable journey towards Olympic Gold in 2012; and secondly to do, if you like, a spot of missionary work amongst some of our poorer European allies.

Holland is very orange and as a nod of the cap towards the Dutch people I decided it would be appropriate to wear my new all-in-one Orange lycra running strip.

So, off we set with the Nice Work party - and a right motley, rum sodden bunch they turned out to be! Perfect company I thought. Before landing in Holland we visited somewhere called Netherland and I trekked for ages trying to find that Martin Jackson's ranch but gave up looking. I never liked his music anyway.

Amsterdam was bustling when we got there sometime late in the afternoon and I decided a couple of tubes of the local hooch was in order. Well, that was more or less it until I started feeling a touch peckish. There was a cafe next door to the bar so I popped in for a couple of cakes and a coffee ... well goodness knows what they put in their pastries but I can tell you that I felt like I'd got banjaxed by a steam hammer!

After I'd apologised to the policeman I decided to call it a day and get some shut eye. But do you know, waking up on Sunday morning I felt a familar stirring. And despite having decided to decline the offer of a celebrity place in their Half Marathon - I just felt that I'd be letting down Queen and Country. So, to mimic the words of Bobby Davro, I decided to "Give it a Go Barney".

And my, am I glad I did.

I decided to run in the 7.5K race. And as I lined up outside the Olympic Stadium I could feel the spirits of all those Ancient Italians who are immortalised in the Olympic movement. And you know I think they were trying to tell me something. I could feel a kind of Olympic aura emanating from these ancient Olympians through this Olympic Stadium built in 1928 and then through to yours truly - and as I looked up at the glorious blue sky my thoughts turned to 2012 and my place on that Olympic podium.

Inspired? You bet your middle dollar I was.

So, I decided to treat the locals to my famous anal crunch and pelvic squirt warm-up - but, dear reader, let me advise you of one thing. Never try this famous Ron routine in skin tight Orange lycra. Apology Number 2 required to the local constabulary.

My race was a masterful display of tactics, strategy and sheer animal speed. Once again, I scythed my way through an international field of elite athletes. I finished the race in 49.26 - which wasn't quite a BP but having pipped one Kenyan to the line, how delighted was I to discover that I'd only gone and done it arund an hour quicker than the Kenyan bloke who won the marathon?

OK, maybe he did run a bit further than I did - but, hey, whose fault was that? Nobody asked him to run all that way did they?

After receiving my medal and a quick peck from the Queen or somebody we retired to the bar to celebrate.

I have to say, Ronnettes, I was chuffed to bits to pull on the vest once again - after such a lengthy absence I realised just how much I'd missed the cut and thust of international competition.

That's my lot though for foreign travel for a little while. I'm due to vist Belgium again in March and I also have races planned in Paris, which is near Franec, Luxembourg, Norway, The Somme and India amongst other places next year. Before then I do have a couple of celebrity appearances to make. I realise I have some work to do to get my fitness back on track - and I need to work hard at raising the old profile again.

I'll be in Beckley on Sunday - and I've got my Summer round up to come too. But in the words of that bloke who does the weather on BBC2 - that's the lot for tonight.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Brussels Pouts

Thought I'd tell you about my rather eventful visit to Brussels in midweek.

I was over there for a spot of R & R and found the chance to pass up a couple of glasses in the home of Leffe just too much to resist.

We arrived by Eurostar and as the weather was rather Northern, I found myself in a bar full of Germans. Irritatingly they thought I was some Welsh bloke because they kept shouting 'Morgan' at me, but this apart the place was quite pleasant. As I sat there quaffing the Lovely Juice my eyes were drawn to a rather smart Ferrari that pulled up outside the front door - and out pops this long-legged blonde stunner. When she entered the bar the Germans were silenced and they started the old Euro-drool - but I was shocked when this pretty thing proceeded to order a coffee - in perfect English!

She was one of ours.

I thought I'd impress her with some of my Ron one fingered press-ups and the tactic produced results when she asked if I'd care to join her! I have to say she was a pretty filly and I’m afraid I became captivated with her as she told me her story.

Turns out the girl was a smuggler! A real life smuggler - and she was so brazen about it. Apparently her trick was to smuggle precious stones from the diamond capital of Europe - Antwerp - into the UK where she then had some scam to shift the things to a couple of dodgy jewellers.

"But surely you draw attention to yourself with the fast car and the designer gear" I said. "No" she said "Because I hide the diamonds in a place where the Customs people don't look".

I was getting more and more intrigued and my curiosity turned to incredulity as she explained her modus operandi. She told me that she smuggled the diamonds by encrusting them on to yo-yo's - and to demonstrate, out of her handbag, she produced this child's yo-yo and, sure enough, it was studded with thousands of pounds worth of diamonds and other precious stones!

"But I still don't get it" I said "How do you manage to get the things past the Customs people?". "Easy" she says "Us girls have a little pocket that you boys don't have – and that’s where I hide the yo-yo"

I was stunned "What you put it .... up there?" I stammered, pointing towards her naught bits.

"Yup" she says "And I leave the bit of string showing - and then when I get home, I slip out of my undies and, with one tug of the string the diamonds are mine"

"Aaah - but what if they did a body search?" I countered.

"Listen, sweetie, I've been body-searched a dozen times" she said coolly and, with a long, sleeky pull on her cigarette, turned to me and whispered "But I still haven't come across a Customs Numptie brave enough to pull that string"

You do see life don't you?

Keep on tapering.

Ron

You have to go backwards to know what forwards feels like!

Well what an eventful week for this kiddie!

I started the week feeling a tad tender after my efforts in Dover last Sunday so I popped down to the local gym on Tuesday for a session of anal crunches and groin thrusts. The young fillies have some sort of shouting class on Tuesday evening and I often position myself close to their class to have a butchers. And I'm sure they appreciate me going through my extensive routine so close to them so they can watch me and, perhaps learn something. And, let's face it, some of them might be better off following the old Ron routine rather than wasting their time doing their silly dance things. They spend 45 minutes getting ready - designer kex, shoes, t-shirt and headband, tight little shorts – and then, of course, they have to tie their coat round their waist and then prance around for half an hour to old Bee Gees songs before sitting down for a thousand calories worth of Weight Watchers Puddings and Cakes. And the day one of them breaks sweat is the day I'll put the old leotard on myself too!

Anyway, the week has gone very much south for me since Tuesday. I've spent an agreeable - and eventful - couple of days in Brussels and I'd decided that after my gruelling training and dietary effort of the first few weeks of the year, this old kiddie deserved a break. So, I spent two days eating and drinking - and, well I carried on where I left off as soon as the old Eurostar hit Britain. So, my training for tomorrow's piddling 10K in Ashford has, to be honest, been non-existent. So my strategy is to treat tomorrow as a bit of an 'ease back into it' event. I should be able to complete the course in under 54 minutes - but twixt you and I this kiddie will be hammering away trying to get as close to 52 minutes as I can. But who knows? Maybe the excesses of the week will take their toll?

Then, after a decent spot of re-hydration with some members of my fan club in the afternoon and a decent kip in front of the footie I'll be ready to face the regime once again next week. I've a hard week of good behaviour - and on Tuesday I'm due to complete a 16 mile run as part of my marathon training. Then, on Sunday it's off to Livingstone's Pit and a stab at the Roding Valley Half Marathon in North London.

But whilst my week has been less than brilliant training-wise, I've had some news off the track. First of all my chum Seb Coe has endorsed my quest for Olympic Gold - and I'll stick a copy of his letter (personally signed, mind you) here for you to see. But whilst it's great that his Seb-ship has taken the trouble to personally acknowledge my journey to bring home the Olympic bacon, there is a sting in the tail of his letter.

He's not accepted my entry!

But this potentially devastating state of affairs ain't going to put this kiddie off! But you know I would have thought it would be in their interests to accept entries now - can you imagine the chaos there's going to be in 2012 if they're planning on accepting entries on the day? And surely the Olympic movement can't be that hard up it needs the extra £2 for on the day entries? Anyway, I'm grateful to him for at least endorsing my Olympic struggle.

I've also had a response from the Sports Minister regarding my offer to become an Olympic Ambassador for the country. Unfortunately it’s not from the man himself but from one of his numpties. However he does sign off by saying he looks forward to seeing me standing proudly on the podium! At last he knows where I’m headed.

So that's another supporter in high places in the bag and you can see his letter here shortly.

Still no response from my media adviser Max Clifford or from Sue Barker regarding my offer to take over from Ali McBeal on Question of Sport - but there’s time yet. I'm currently in the process of putting my sponsorship proposal together and drawing up a shortlist of potential Official Ron Partners - and I'm also studying the form book to check out a couple of potential media partner - but more news on this soon.

For now it's relax, put my feet up and an early start for Caravan County in the morning. I'll let you know how I get on.

Keep on tapering.

Ron