OK then - whilst I'm here

I suppose I might as well give you a quick run down of what I've been doing. Not, of course, that it appears to have been worth all the effort, but hey ho.

I've managed a few decent lumps of training in the weeks leading up to Easter. But, as with most elite athletes I have had my share of disappointments too.

March was looking very good. I popped over to Belgiumland to take part in the Ostend to Bruges 10 Mile Race and I had a remarkable race finishing in 1.41.38 which was my fastest 10 mile time in over three years, so happy, happy days indeed. We also had a great time in one my spiritual heartlands and I certainly gave my sponsors at Leffe a great boost to their profile.

Its a funny little country but I do enjoy going there. They're nice people (although I did notice that all the children have square mouths - apparently its to make it easier for them to eat chips) and they are always very hospitable. And, of course, they certainly know how to make a beer. Its also great for running because its mainly flat too! I'll be back Belgiumites!

But what happened after Belgium? Hmm a familiar story Ronnettes. I have to work now for a living thanks to this new Government and so because none of my running exploits are sponsored I found the rest of the month very difficult to find training time. I did a fair amount of PR work though - I was the official starter for the Lydd Half Marathon (gimme six all you Lydd people!!) and undertook a similar job for a race organised by students at Reading University. A strange experience for most of the students because the race started really early in the morning and I'm sure many of them had to go through a real personal journey to get up for 11 o'clock - so well done you chaps. I'll try to remember to bring some soap next year!

I haven't done any more races since Belgium although I did travel with the Nice Work laggards to Paris for the Paris Marathon a couple of weeks ago. I didn't want to run the thing and so I was there as a kind of ambassador for this great country of ours - though if I'd know then what I know now I wouldn't have bothered (yes I am bitter, Coe).

But as we were standing beneath their fake Blackpool Tower the realisation hit me that I wouldn't be able to make one of my biggest appearances of the year - and so I made the decision to withdraw from this year's London Marathon. I am aware, of course, that my decision not to run was greeted with dismay by most (the Kenyans, of course, were delighted) and I just hope that the event was able to recover at least financially. I did offer to lend my mankini to Gordon Ramsay but he was already running in a plastic bum costume so I'll hopefully be able to use it again next year. And you can rest assured that there will be a next year - because take it from me, this kiddie will be running at least one great Marathon on the streets of London in 2012. And my entry has already been confirmed - so stick that in your fridge and smoke it Coe-ey. Take note too Lord Coe - the London mMrathon will always be better than your little one off event. And we'll have better costumes.

But life is for living and as Moira Stewart says 'Let's not get too bitter Henry'. So, I have picked up my running boots and carried on with my training.

My goal for the year now is to train up for an August Marathon and I have decided to take part in the Reykjavik Marathon in Iceland - how cool is that? Iceland is a bleak, desolate landscape with featureless communities full of people who never see daylight from one month to the next. So, to acclimatise I went to the Isle of Wight last weekend and did an 8 mile training run - my longest run since Bruges. On Tuesday evening I also went out with the Old People of Hastings for a tough 6 mile hilly run. Both should hold me in good stead for my next race - which is on Good Friday. The Folkestone 10 is a decent race and I'll be looking to post my fastest Folkestone time since 2007 - and I will if I can dip below 1 hr 47 minutes.

Next Friday I'll be popping over to Bexhill to take part in a little 5K race to celebrate the Royal Wedding (I know, another invite I got. Not.).

So, I'll be back soon to see if we have sorted out this little Olympic entry business thing.

In the meantime - have a good Easter, Ronnetes and may all your eggs be unfertilised.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

I scythed through the field like a spoon through butter

Well if you missed my interview with Steve Crumb on the BBC, it’s because it didn’t take place. God knows what has happened to decent chivalry and respect though. One of this country's greatest Olympians ignored. And Crumb wasn’t the only one to ignore me. I got off the train in London yesterday and hung around for ages waiting for Roland Branston to welcome me. Not a whiff of the chap.

So, I made my way to the start of the London Marathon feeling, if truth be known, a tad grumpy. I've had a strong feeling all week that the organisers seemed to be more interested in getting those Kenyans and Ethiopians on board than they were getting me to the start line. And that feeling turned to reality on Sunday morning when - and I know you'll be flabbergasted as well - I was denied access to the Elite Men's start pen.

And, Ronettes, if you can imagine the scene. There was I, peering through the 6 ft high fence at the hand-picked cluster of Johnny Foreigners masquerading as London Marathon winners-in-waiting. And, do you know, I swear I caught that Sammy Whostisname's eyes lock on to my gaze and his face turned to stare at the floor in embarrassment. Yes, even though he was dressed in a giraffe outfit, he was embarrassed too.

Anyway - enough of egos. How did my race go?

Well, I have to be pleased. I'd paced myself through the race and crossed the line at 3.50 which I thought wasn’t bad. Mind you, if truth be known I'd actually hoped to get there for half three - but ten to four was good enough. My time was a blistering 5 hours 53 minutes - a full 14 minutes quicker than my last marathon - but, oh dear Ronettes. Does it hurt.

Yes, it hurt yesterday and it bally well hurts today I can tell you. But I did it and that’s the main thing. So, what were the highlights of my magnificent victory?

Well there was plenty of anticipation as we lined up to prepare for the race. Unlike my fellow lightweights I popped into O’Neil’s in Blackheath for a last minute carbo loading bacon sarny - and that really set me up. Just stripped down to my orange Lycra ... and the bally heavens opened and drenched the lot of us. Got some funny responses from what were obviously first-time athletes who didn’t seem to understand that my offer to lubricate their wobbly bits with Vaseline was a perfectly reasonable thing to say on an athlete to athlete basis.

The race got underway and I stormed past my first Kenyan at just 400 yards - he was adjusting his Womble outfit and I took advantage of that to leave him for dust. Saw some pretty remarkable sites - Sally Gunnell dressed up as the back end of a bus was one early highlight. Felt a bit demoralised when a bloke carrying a fridge ran past me at 2 miles but I felt a whole lot better when somebody pointed out that the fridge was empty - well anybody could do that couldn’t they?

My race nearly came to a shuddering premature halt when a woman pushing a pram crossed the road in front of me – and then as I ran past her she rammed it on to my Achilles – now what was that about????

I was stalked throughout the first 10 miles by a flippin' partially sighted soldier who was dressed in full camouflage gear. I kept running past him only for him to come right up behind me poking me with his white stick thing. Now I have the utmost respect for people like that but his stick kept hurting the backs of my leg. But then something happened for which I have since reflected was probably not in the spirit of the race - and I apologise now. He came up on my inside for the last time at about 10 or 11 miles and for the umpteenth time I moved aside after being jabbed yet again by his stick. Just at that point, however there was a sharp left hand turn in the course - but your man carried straight on. And he was so determinedly walking straight that the marshals on the corner obviously thought he wanted to come off the course - so they removed the barrier to allow him through. The last I saw of him he was tip-tapping his way away from the course down some main road - presumably wondering why the field had thinned out. I know I should have done something about it but ….

Some blokes with one leg sprung past me at 4 miles followed a few minutes later by a huffing and puffing bloke with a rucksack with a load of spare legs sticking out of the top - what was that all about?

But the early parts of my race were OK. I had decided on a 5/1 walk-run strategy where I would run for 5 minutes and walk for 1 minute - to conserve my energy. At my pace I reckoned that would get me round in 5 hours 27 minutes - and I would have taken that. The plan worked well up until 13 miles when I felt my groin go - but I carried on regardless and at 17 miles I was doing OK and about five minutes ahead of my target time - but by then I was feeling tired and groin-sore. I decided to take a couple of minutes to recover and then set off again but I was soon feeling quite sore and although I struggled on to 20 miles - still about on-target - the wheels began to fall off as I hit the dreaded hedge.

All marathon runners will know the feeling when you do hit the hedge – your legs turn to jelly, you cant control your breathing, you have no energy and every muscle in your legs and arms starts to burn.

The last six miles took me an age to get through. My thighs were really burning and my right calf had stiffened up. The groin strain was making me limp - oh do stop sniggering - and both my knees had taken just about as much as they could. But at 20 miles and then 21 miles I reckoned that if I could just struggle through to run, say half a mile per mile, I could still have made the target time or thereabouts. But it wasn’t to be.

At 22 miles I had a blazing row with myself - and I tell you I damn near hit myself I was so annoyed. Whether it was the heat or whether my brain had just scrambled because of the intense effort I don’t know. But it had so turned to jelly that I just couldn’t calculate where my five minute runs and 1 minute walks started and finished. It is, of course quite easy - you run for five minutes and then walk for one minute - which means that every sixth minute should be the end of the walk - at 6, 12, 18, 24 etc minutes past the hour. Well my brain worked perfectly well for most of the afternoon - but like my legs it just it seemed to give up. I was stopping at 13 past the hour starting walking at 16 - and then I eventually had to stop and start to manually calculate what I should be doing. Am I supposed to be running now … or walking? I almost asked a woman in the crowd for some pencil and paper - and that, Ronettes, is what marathon running does for you.

The last four miles were pretty tough on your man here - but there was a kind of Eureka moment when it suddenly struck me that I had stumbled upon my problem. You see when I was running I was keeping up with those around me. But when I stopped to walk, all those walkers around me were walking past me. So, that I surmised, was my problem. It wasn’t that I can’t run fast - it’s that I walk too slowly!

24 miles came and I was not a happy hamster. I was barely walking and barely thinking straight. Humiliation complete when a bloke ran past me dragging a half-built brick wall.

At the 40K mark I should have been about 12 minutes from the finish line - but it took me damn near on half an hour to get there. Turning the corner into the Mall I summoned one last effort to run to the tape - and effort made slightly more difficult by having to avoid two apples, a donkey, a small giraffe and two Star Wars characters - I needed to have that finish line photo with real athletes in it - not half the cast from some bally pantomime.

And there you have it - the marathon from the perspective of an Olympic hero.

The Half Share had shot off from yard 1 and nipped round in 5 hours 20 and was waiting for me with a Guinness and a pie for dehydrating purposes after the race. And you know, sometimes you get no credit do you? Her mood darkened somewhat when Ernie picked me up in the Transit - now there was only room for me in the van and anyway there was a perfectly good taxi service from the train station to the Cucumber and Trumpet where I was being feted last night for my magnificent achievement. I gave her most of the money for the flippin’ taxi – so just what was the problem eh? But I was not going to let anything spoil my perfect day. After a couple of tubes with well wishers I retired to the bottom of the stairs to wait for morning – well there was no way I was going to climb the things!

And so, to today. How do I feel?

Sore that's how.

But at least I did the thing. And the race was good experience for my next big event which is not far away - I'm planning on running the marathon in Luxembourg next month and yesterday should, at least, help my preparations. In the meantime I'm going to take it easy this week - pop into a few local pubs to show off my medal etc. And then, on Sunday the relentless treadmill that is training for the 2012 Olympics gets switched on again when I travel to Reading to take part in the Shinfield 10K.

Keep on tapering

Ron

All set

Just been out in Ernie's van to check for Volcanic ash and all seems to be OK.

You know something - I can definitely see myself on the podium tomorrow.

For those of you unable to travel down to London to see me, the race is being televised on the BBC. And if that Steve Crumb bloke doesn't mention my name, I'll be having words at my post race press conference in the Scout and Vicar tomorrow evening. In any event though, you should be able to spot me - I'll be the bloke in a white vest.

I'll be reporting in on Monday after the race - so wish me luck Ronettes - and watch out you Kenyans!!

Keep on tapering

Ron

PS Anybody know where I can buy a podium?

A bone to pick

Look - I don't mind roughing it. I mean the Half Share comes from Essex so I know what hardship is all about. But when I am an elite athlete I expect to be treated with the hard-earned respect I like to think I've earned.

So, Mr Roland Branston. The next time you ask me to star in your London Marathon a few hints - or I wont use your flippin' pickle again.

1. I didn’t see Paul Radcliffe queuing with the ordinary people for their number - so why did I have to?

2. You apparently spent £150,000 flying in some foreign runners from Africa. So, was it too much to expect an Oyster card? Or a couple of quid petrol money for Ernie's van?



3. My number is 24,000 and something - so who Roland, is wearing Number 1 then?

4. My sponsor's gift pack appeared to be the same as everybody else's - packet of crisps made by some company nobody has ever heard of, a packet of seed stuff, a cereal bar that'll take me a fortnight to chew through, some girly spray stuff and an apple. Now seriously Mr Branston - is that what the Kenyans are having? Is that what you really consider a quality gift to an Olympic champion in the offing?

5.No red carpet for me. Well OK, there was a red carpet - in fact the whole bally place was covered in red carpet - but OTHER PEOPLE WERE WALKING ON IT MR BRANSTON!! That was supposed to be my red carpet.

6. No private dining facilities - I had to sit with an old bloke with wind problem and eat a plastic bowl of pasta and an apple. Hardly Hoot Cuisine eh Roland? Hardly Gordon Blue I would suggest?

7. I know you're a busy man - what with your record shop and pickle factory. But could you not have spared just a couple of minutes to say 'hello'? First of all I had the humiliating experience of queuing with ordinary people - and yes that did include women, Roland - and then when I got to the front of the queue guess what? You're right. Only two of the four people on the desk recognised me.

8. No free costume. I'm really miffed about this. I bet you gave all them Kenyans and Ethiopians a load of fancy dress stuff to wear - but all I got was a red rain mac.

9. My shoe manufacturers weren’t there. Oh yes, you have your fancy-dan-fancy-pants Adidoss and Asucks - but, come on - no Dunlop Green Flash? A big doo doo I'm afraid Roland.

So, all in all Ronettes I'm not best pleased with this London Marathon bloke at the moment.

I didn’t get treated like this in Hastings.

Keep on tapering.

Ron.

Starting to ramp up now

Well its that time that all elite athletes dread - the Saturday after the Friday night. Naturally I've not been on the lash because ... well because I am elite! Plus Ernie's van broke down last night and he couldn't pick me up from the kebab wagon, so I did without the usual Friday night half keg. Instead I thought I'd try and pick up some tips from a contemporary of mine and watched Trevor Wogan on Children Indeed last night.

Well if anything can give you a bally hangover its watching that drivel. I mean I know us celebs are rolly models and I know we have to put our bit back into the community. But I tell you this I'm giving that charity a wide berth when I'm an Olympic champion. Its just so full of dreary people! Nope - when I get to choose my telly appearances for poor people I'm going to go on one of those jollies to somewhere hot and sunny like those comedians do - always assuming that the money is right of course.

But sitting there last night with the Half Share I did get to thinking of some of the places that I've been lucky enough to visit in this so-far glittering career of mine - Indialand, France, Belgium, Welwyn Garden City, that place where they wear clogs and drink a lot, Norway and who could forget Luxembourg? And, you know, in that time I must have whipped the backsides of many different personalities representing many different countries. I've enjoyed the company of some of them, I've felt like decking some of them - but they all have something in common - I stuffed them where it mattered. Here's some of them:

Paul Ratcliffe - I used to respect him and we often shared a few tubes after a race. I usually beat him but I ignore his time of 2 hours and a few minutes for that London Marathon race because I didn't feel well. But I went right off him when he stopped for a poo in the middle of a race. Some of us have standards you know.

Haille Gebrselassie - well he might have the current marathon world record but I beat him in a 10K in Bexhill a couple of years ago and he hasn't spoken to me since.

Paul Tergat - had a memorable battle with him at the 2007 London Marathon. The race between us was made a bit more difficult than we first anticipated because he was running dressed in a Motorola Mobile Phone costume and he blamed that for the fact he had to drop out. Who finished? Who didn't? I rest my bag.

Ron Hill - oh very funny. I bowled up to race in Bolton near a place called the north and this bloke turned up claiming to be Ron Hill. I have to say he pigged me off a bit because some of the crowd actually thought he was the famous Ron. As Ronnie Corbett used to say, "Say La V".

Eddie Large - mullered him in a 5 miler in Reading. Good bloke though - bought me a kebab afterwards.

Mildred Sampson - claimed to be an Olympic Marathon runner but I made her eat dust when I beat her in the Folkestone 10 a few years ago. I did feel a bit embarrassed when I gave her a bit of lip and accused her of being an umposter - then when I got home she had, indeed, competed at the Olympics in 1924.

Beth Wilkinson - she might have designs on making the GB squad but she's yet to beat me fair and square in the marathon.

Anyway, I haven't got time to daydream I went out for a nippy 4 mile run round our lanes this morning and it brought a dash of reality to my otherwise star-studded life. I was amongst my own people, ordinary people and some women too. No crowds, no autographs. Just me and the wind and the chilly air of Good Old Blighty. A vision cruelly stripped from my mind when I went backside over thingy after slipping on some dog poo.

Tomorrow I'm off with the Half Share for a bash at something called the Foxtrot Five. Its in a place called West Sussex but I don't mind. It could be rough, it could be unfriendly, it could get nasty - but once the car journey with the Half Share is over, it could be me bringing home the bacon once again.

What a life I have eh?

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Wet weather training?

Now we all know that elite athletes need to dedicate their lives to training. No Gold Medals were ever won by ordinary people were they? Although, granted some women have been given them. No - it takes a superhuman effort to get on that Olympic podium.

And that's exactly what I thought when I woke up this morning to be greeted by the Sister of all storms. The rain was lashing down and the wind so strong it was blowing Irishmen across the Channel.

But I was cool. I was off to Deal to do a spot of missionary work in Caravan County and take part in their little Deal 5 race. Just as I was about to leave the house though I suddenly remembered the letter I'd received from Sir Sid Coe about my Olympic entry. Now you might think this was just an excuse for me to bottle out of running in the wind and rain. Well yah, boo, sucks. Just take a look at the letter from His Holiness - I've copied it in full below:

Dear Elite Athlete

With the English 2012 Olympic Games just 1000 days away, we need all you elite athletes to be in tip top condition.

We expect you to train hard - at least Tuesdays and Thursday nights if you can manage it, please - but we don't want you to overdo it. Remember you're representing England, the Queen, me and other leading people such as Simon Cowell when you pull on the vest.

We need you there in one piece in 2012 - so don't take any unnecessary risks please. In particular, you need to watch out if its raining hard and blowing a gale. You could slip on a leaf, trip over a puddle or even pull a hammy if you're not warmed up.

So, our advice is not to go out if its lashing.

Got that?

Yours

His Highness Sir Sid Coe

PS If any of you know of any potential sponsors for my good friend Ernie's van, give me a bell.


So there you have it! If Sid tells me to stay in, I have no option really. Thats why I didnt.

But whilst I focused on other important stuff like diet and getting sponsors, the Half Share started having a go about the beer cans and kebab boxes that me and Ernie had accidentally chucked in the hedge last night. The bottom line is that I shot out of the house before I got a size nine Timpson up my Davro.

And before I knew I'd done a three and a half mile drudge - arriving back an hour later looking like I'd gone ten rounds with Tommy Cooper.

And you thought the life of an Olympic Elite Gold Medal Athlete was cushty?

Hmmph.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Well done to the teapot

Well there was a tear in this kiddie's eye as Sammy Wanjiru won the London Marathon. Sure his victory was made all the easier due to my absence but it still took some bottle. His time of 2 hours 5 minutes was not as quick as my Hastings 5 time but it was still an impressive time. I particularly liked his teapot costume.

I'm not sure what happened to Paul Radcliffe but there was a bloke who looked just like him dressed as a fire engine - and that may have been him.

I was a little disappointed not to see my old foes the Bakewell Tarts make more of an impact but maybe my absence made them a little complacent eh?

Anyway, of more importance, my training schedule is bang on track after a swift 5 or 6 miles along the seafront - and call me smug, but my time tonight was also faster than Wanjiru on Sunday!

A couple more training sessions and I should be fit for my next personal appearance in Barkland next Monday.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Much the poorer for my absence - but Good Luck Bakewell Tarts

Its a sunny Sunday morning here in Ron Towers and as the Half Share in the House darns the holes in my new orange lycra all-in-one, my thoughts are with those taking part in today's London Marathon.

As you know, your man here did have a celebrity place in the line-up but I have to think of the long -term - do I really want to burn myself out today on a little club event in London when I have an Olympic Marathon to run in 2012?

There will be a little tear in this kiddie's eye though come 10 o'clcok-ish when my old adversaries the Bakewell Tarts line up for what will obviously be a much easier day now for them. But its not just about those Kenyan men, those astonishing Tangerinians and, of course, the Bakewell Tarts. Its about thousands of ordinary people and women lining up for what could be one of the greatest days of their life.

In the words of John Motson "Its not what you do for my country, lend me your ears". Or something like that.

So far as my training is concerned, I've not had a bad week. Less Juice More Whoosh being my slogan for this week. Only a couple of tubes, one kebab and an Indian all week. Impressive eh? On top of that I've managed to do some intensive training on five days - so I'm starting to get back into shape. My short term targets are to enjoy - if an elite athlete can really enjoy a punishing training schedule - another week's training. Next weekend sees me popping over to my spiritual French home - Le 2K - for a spot of beach work. On Monday I'm off to see the eldest, Haille Minogue, and take part in a 10K in a place called Shinfield near Reading in somewhere called Barkland or something (no, I've no idea either). It will be a nice treat for the people of Barkland to see me and I'll look forward to spreading the Ron word.

Anyway I'm off for a 5 miler before the London Marathon.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

No panic - 2012 is back on track

Well, I've just proved again that class is most deffo a permanent fixture in your man's make-up.

After admittedly weighing in a tad over the limit for a Cruiserweight Sumo Bloke I have knocked out a schedule and tonight went for a 3 mile wadddle down the Harbour. It took me about 40 minutes - so if that doesnt put the fear of God up the Kenyans I dont know what will.

2012?

Slice of gateaux Ronettes.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Parasites!!

Back to my globetrotting again last weekend and a visit to France. I was due to take part in the Paris Marathon and grabbed a freebie trip with the gin-soaked bozos that masquerade as Nice Work.

Not taking part in the Marathon was a bit of a disappointment for me but it's just another of those things that us elite athletes have to put up with. And at times like this when the old spirit starts to lag I think about how those other top runners must feel when their races go pear-shaped. Paul Radcliffe has had to put up with some major disappointments but still keeps going - bottling and surrendering in the Grease Marathon, stopping for a poo in the London Marathon - just part and parcel of life as an Olympian.

So, I just decided to crack on with life and go to Paris anyway. Well at least I thought we were going to Paris but we ended up in a place called Paree - but it was still full of French people and so I didn't make a fuss. Popping into the Expo I thought it only right to help contribute towards the intent cordial and nipped into the VIP area to offer my personal apology for the race losing one of its leading celebs.

It was here that the day started to head south down the strasse. No sooner had I got in the room and made my way towards the bar than a French bloke grabbed me, said he was the Mayor - and welcomed me to Gay Paree! And it didnt stop there - he then tried to plant a couple of smackers on my cheeks!! Well, celebrity Olympian or not, there's no way I'm suffering that badly for my art. So I decked the bloke and continued my journey to the bar thinking no more about it.

Unfortunately I didnt make it. I'd not gone 20 feet before I was manhandled back out to the exit and chucked unceremoniously into the throngs of ordinary people queuing for a free energy bar in the Expo Hall. Ernie being the good mate he is did what all good friends would do in the circumstances - continued fighting his way to the buffet and I spied him out of the corner of my eye as I was being hoyed out doing something rather uncivilised into a potted fern.



I decided to wait for Ernie in a local bar but after a couple of hours and a few tubes of the local wallop I'd convinced myself that I could restore civilised relations with the local bigwigs. I thought it would be worth trying to disguise myself as one of the leading athletes so I stripped down to my new all-in-one orange lycra running suit and managed to just get inside the tented VIP area. I'd just started my warm-up routine of anal crunches and pelvic squirts when the same bally goons spotted me. I couldnt even utter a "Buenos Aires Fraulein" before they grabbed me and after a little local difficulty with the revolving door - they were chucking me too hard and I kept ending up back at their feet - I found myself in the Glasgow position (face down in the gutter). One of the goons had managed to damage my new lycra kit and the old jacksie was hanging out the bottom of the bally thing so I had no choice but to wait bum-down in a plant pot until Ernie returned.

By now the old chap had had his fill of the freebie food and drink and he was as oiled as a Yorkshire Chip Shopkeeper by the time he collapsed at my feet. Unfortunately not for the first time I had to have a word with the bloke about his drinking. He alwsys denies he has a problem with drink - "I cant be an alcoholic" he usually claims "Because I don't do meetings" - and to be fair you cant argue with that can you?



We decided to take it easy and sat eating some of the buffet that Ernie had managed to stuff down his trousers and started to muse about the French. We do seem to end up having 'issues' with them whenever our paths cross - but then, we thought, it aint all bad news being French. True, the whole world hates you but consider these good reasons for being French:

1. If their economy is bad, they just blame the Brits. If a war is started anywhere, they just blame the Brits. If their farmers are upset, they just blame the Brits. If they lose their car keys, they just blame the Brits.
2. You dont have to learn French as a foreign language.
3. When speaking fast you can make yourself sound gay.
4. You get to eat insect food like snails and frog's legs.
5. If there's a war you finish really early.
6. You don't have to read the subtitles on those late night black and white films.
7. You can test your own nuclear weapons in other people's countries.
8. You can be ugly and still pull the birds.
9. You don't have to bother with toilets, just wee in the street.
10. Your mates dont laugh at you because your nan has a moustache.

Anyway after wrapping his pac-a-mac around my backside to hide the rips we wendled our way back to the hotel to catch up with our fellow athletes. Not finding anybody around we knocked on a couple of doors - why are people so grumpy at 2 o'clock in the morning? I went to bed convinced that their only problem was simply that they were a few drinks behind us.

Sunday morning and we made our way to what the Fench call the Marathon Start area - and what any sane person with half a brain would call a chaotic shambles masquerading as an international sporting event. I made my way down to the Elite Start to pass on my best wishes to the Kenyans but they couldnt speak much English and didnt really understand what I was saying - and I'm afraid there was another unpleasant altercation between Ernie and I, a couple of Kenyans, a Belgian with a big nose and a few of those goons we'd encountered the prevous evening.

In the end we'd had our fill of French and French authority and decided to keep a low profile for the rest of the day. We found ourselves tucked away in a small bar on the marathon route. From there we watched the 40,000 or so runners making their way towards somewhere called the Chompseleesay. Bizarrely most of the runners were Indian or Pakistani - the locals greeting them all by shouting "Ali". Such fun - an afternoon sampling the local plonk, a couple of omelettes and we were settled.

So, all in all a pleasant enough weekend and we arrived back in Blighty with a few bruises to show but convinced that we had once again very firmly put your man here back in the public domain.

On my return to Blighty I've been working hard at thinking about how to get my Olympic training schedule back into gear. My short term targets have been modified and I'm putting my London Marathon place on the back burner whilst I get myself back into some kind of fighting state.

Instead of doing the London Marathon, I'm hoping to take up an offer of a celebrity place at the Night Run in Luxembourg next month - with the possibility of a marathon run in Iceland in August. Before then I do have a return to the land of snails and garlic with my annual pilgrimage to Montreuil for the Ramparts 10K - will there by fireworks again?

Well lets see what the next couple of weeks bring first!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

The lion is stirring once again

Well, I've had five weeks warm weather training - I stayed in and ate pies - I've decided that a thaw is on its way.

More to the point, I've just realised that I'm six weeks away from the first of two spring marathons.

So, this week I've been out on two exhausting, lung-bursting and extremely testing training runs. two miles on each day was as good as I reckon I needed to claw my way back into the UK rankings and get this bally 2012 Olympic Marathon Gold Medal chase back on track.

OK, I underestimated the task in hand and over estimated the amount of latent fitness slumbering in my body. I'm still of a certain size and shape - still getting that bilyp noise when I run.

But, hey, don't knock it. I need to get myself back on track - so just you watch me go!!

I'll show all you doubters that I can do what I say I can do. But remember that these things are not done overnight - its a long term project and I'll need every bit of that time.

Never doubt me Ronnettes - your man is very firmly on track.

Let's rock and roll as Nicholas Wychell would say.

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