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

The perils of being an elite athlete

Its all right for you ordinary people - and you women!!

The last six weeks have been an utter tale of woe, woe and woe again - and its at times like this that you begin to understand what it must have been like when Paul Radcliffe bottled out of the Olympic Marathon in Grease.

Six weeks ago I had it all mapped out - a few weeks back in training and the old Olympic dream was back on track again. Right? Wrong!!

Sure I managed to get my first two weeks of training in - but my attempt at putting that training to competitive use was washed out - literally - by the torrential rain we had last month. “Oh right - fair weather runner”, I hear you saying. Well yah boo sucks as Andrew Marr would say - does Haille Gabriellwotsit train in Manchester? Does Paul Radcliffe spend his winter months in Brentwood? Of course they don't - they beggar off to sunnier climes! Well what's good for the goose is good for the seagull as far as I'm concerned. So there was no way I was venturing out in sub-zero temperatures and hissing rain.

Yeah, OK then - fair weather running.

Things looked up a bit at the beginning of the month though when I accompanied the Nice Work mob on their annual junket to Bruges for the Ostend to Bruges 10 Mile Race. Its normally a gin-fuelled weekend and this year was no exception. Meeting the rest of the party at some God unearthly hour In Ashford and the scene resembled a fire drill outside my local Lidl. However after a weekend diet of God's Own Brew, chocolate, chips and some kind of salad cream stuff and I was ready to rumble on race day.



The race was full of Belgiumites and French people but the rest of the field was OK and they looked on in obvious awe as I went through my new Credit Crunch and Pelvic Thrust Warm Up routine - a routine made all the more memorable with my new tangerine Lycra all-in-one running suit. Unfortunately I'd overdone it a bit on the old Leffe and chocolate bit the night before and the ripping noise on my third anal crunch confirmed my worst fear - there was a tad more of this kiddie showing than I would have wished.

However a tear in the backside of my shorts was not going to stop me and as I crouched at the line ready for my first competitive race of 2009 I felt a surge of confidence run through my body – and down my leg. Although I hoped it was sweat my worst fears were soon confirmed and I had to nip to the loo rather sharpish – and I had beggared up my start.

Nevertheless I soon ramped up and enjoyed the run out – I finished in an impressive 1 hour 48 minutes – and let me tell you, if that hasn't put the fear of God up the Kenyans I don't know what will!!

So, with my season under way I returned to training with the Paris Marathon firmly in my sights – and my are those Parasites in for a treat.

Or so I thought.

First of all I collected a foot injury and that put me out of training for ten days. Just got over that in time to turn up for our local shindig down in Hastings where the Half Marathon is an opportunity for many thousands of locals to catch a glimpse of me. I'm a kind of local hero in this part of Sussex and I always try and put on a show for them – its a kind of reward for all those ordinary people who do so much to support me through the year. Well this year they had rather more time to catch that glimpse than in previous years – still recovering from my foot injury meant I had to take the event rather more easier than I would have wished – and I ended up taking a little under 3 hours to completer the course!

One of the reasons for my 'touch off world record pace' time became apparent the day after when the foot injury that had plagued me in the week leading up to Hastings returned with a vengeance – wiping out another flippin' week of training.

Never mind, I thought, I'd soon be back.

Wrong!! A snuffly nose, a a sore throat, aching limbs. Yep – my annual dose of lurgy arrived bang on cue. Actually I started having an urge to have an illogical argument, wanted to go shopping and couldn't parallel park – so I reckon I've got Bird Flu.

But whatever it is I have got, it means another week without training and my Doctor now tells me that my planned assault on the Paris Marathon is now in Jeopardy, which I can't understand because I was certain it was in Paris.

But the next few weeks do look to be crucial weeks – not only do I have Paris, but three weeks later I feature as a guest celebrity in this year's London Marathon and then shortly afterwards I travel down to Luxembourg for the Night Marathon. All sounds good – but if the body ain't working .......

And you thought the life of a elite athlete was a bed of violets!!

But never let it be said that this kiddie hasn't got bottle.

Like Barrack Osama says “I'll be Back!”.

Keep on tapering.

Ron.

I know an old runner who swallowed a fly

And I don't know why he swallowed a fly.

There I was, like a coiled spring. I lunged over the start line like a yorkshireman with his eyes on a pie. But not only did I take myself and the rest of field by surprise at my sudden immense turn of speed, a Belgian fly, minding its own business, had the misfortune to be flying past, with its entire family, at exactly the time I sucked in my first lungful of race time air.

Now this kiddie here likes his protein like the rest of them, but a couple of dozen of these pesky herberts was not on my lunchtime menu I can tell you. As a result, my start was a catastrophy. I veered 90 degrees to the left, thumped into the canal wall and deposited my continental breakfast into the stagnant waters of the Zeebrugge Canal below me.



An inauspicuos start you might think. But your man here is made of sterner stuff. And so I metaphorically picked up the baton, thought of England and began to cut a swathe through the field. Now one thing you are allowed to do in Belgium is to abuse the French and after being elbowed, kicked, shoved and verbally abused far too many times by the old Cheese Monkeys I decided to get my retaliation in first and nudged a couple of them out of the way as I threaded my way through the field. And, you know? I think I had far more satisfaction knowing I'd taken a couple of the Frenchies out of the race than I had with my own performance.

I crossed what I thought was the finish line in 1 hour 26.12 seconds and stopped my watch at 1.26.12. Only to find out I hadn't crossed the pesky line - and by the time I'd ambled over the thing I and a couple of dozen other chaps had spent the best part of half a minute exchanging pleasantries! Imagine my annoyance then to discover that my failure to cross the mark quickly had given me a time of 1.26.47. Now that was around a minute slower than I would have liked and half a minute slower than it should have been. But there was a fairly stiff cross wind along the course so conditions weren't ideal - and it's still a good four minutes quicker than my last 10 mile race. So now I've got my eyes on that 1.25 mark in Folkestone on Good Friday.



More important, the road to 2012 looks as smooth as a Leffe Blonde. With a little over five years left of my training programme a quick calculation shows that if I continue to improve at my present rate I could even be on to a world record. My current best time for a marathon is 4.31 - and so, if I can improve by just 2 mins 30 secs a month between now and 2012 - I'll be on to a projected finish time of just over 2 hours. Bring it on I say!!

So, progress continues to be made. But one of my more redeeming attributes is my complete lack of airs and graces and an endearing and sincere dose of modesty. If you're ever lucky enough to meet with me you too will be struck by my quiet and sensitive nature and my desire to see others less fortunate than myself looked after. So, that's why, as soon as I'd crossed the line, I wasn't interested in my own performance. Nope I was straight on to the locals to ask about my erstwhile colleagues in the GB Olympic team. Unlike your man here they're not yet quite ready to run in foreign countries like Belgium, France and Scotland - nope, they were stuck in Birmingham having to run in some town hall gym. But nevertheless, I thought it really gratifying to see them doing so well.

Well done teammates.

I will, though, have a word with my mate Dave Collins at UK Athletics. Doesn't he realise that you can't replicate the Olympic Games in some indoor competition - do they have Indoor Football? Indoor Cricket? Indoor Rugby? I rest my case.

But, back to the weekend. Now, I've obviously turned over a new leaf when it comes to the lovely Belgian juice but I was pleased when my mate Ernie, who sometimes accompanies me on my foreign trips, told me that Belgian Beer and Chocolate contained as many calories as a tomato! How ridiculous is that??? But you can't be too dismissive about these things - so to be on the safe side I troughed a couple of kilos of pralines and sunk half a dozen Leffes on the Saturday night as part of my pre-race hydration.

My main problem was that I'd cadged a freebie with a charabanc that set off from Ashford on Saturday morning. In exchange for a lift from those Nice Work people (http://nice-work.org.uk) I'd agreed to mingle with some of the ordinary people who were making the trip. It's good for the soul you know. And as I looked around at the rest of the group it reminded me of when I had nothing. I was humbled.

There were some nice people with us as well as some northeners - a couple of old soaks from Essex that I seem to recall merting in some bar somewhere before; a very nice elderly man who'd started running in the Boer War; some nippy young things who spent the pre-race period sipping water thinking it would give them some advantage over me! But we had a pleasant time - I demonstrated my anal crunch, groin thrust and one-fingered press-up routine - my, how the other diners in the restaurant appreciated that!! But I was also pleased to see that the Ron diet of old is still in vogue - you've never seen so much food and drink troughed!

The race itself is run alongside the main canal that links Ostend to Bruges and I can only think the original concept was developed when somebody actually took a look at Ostend - and then promptly legged it in the opposite direction pronto! Ostend makes Walsall look like Venice!

Anyway it was an agreeable journey and one that I'm keen to repeat. But, for the moment, that's my first little overseas jaunt of the year out of the way. I've got visits to France, Luxembourg and a couple of other more significant countries planned over the next few weeks. In the meantime we've a big bash this weekend with the Hastings Half Marathon - and I'm looking to get as close to 1.55 as I can.

I'll be back later this week with some exciting news on off the track activities - until then:

Keep on tapering.


Ron

Bibbetty Bobbetty Boo

You see, you lot just don't understand the pain and suffering us Olympic Hopefuls (I hate that word - it sounds so defeatist - but I can't say Olympic Cert can I? Yup, I can) have to go through.

I'm just back from a short training run - 18 flippin' miles!!

That's right 18 miles. I can't move a muscle and I hurt all over. So, why do I do it?

Let me tell you why I do it.

I do it for you. Not for me. But for you and the rest of my fellow countrymen. You see, I remember the pride I felt when I saw Sally Gunnell win Gold all those years ago. The pride I felt when I watched Seb and that scruffy one battling it out for 800 and 1500 metres Olympic glory. I felt pride when the French Triple Jumper fouled on all of his attempts. So, I want you to feel that same pride when I turn that corner in the Mall and sprint over the line in 2012. I want you to share the moment when that Gold Medal is placed around my neck (incidentally, memo to Olympic organisers - forget those flippin' flowers. They make hardened athletes look like wussies and they only bin them when the cameras have gone). So, that's why I turned out for an 18 miler today.

It was a bit of a milestone run for me actually. You see I'm a bit of a traditionalist when I run - none of these fancy gadgets for me. But I was persuaded by the Half Share in the House to try running with one of those IMacpodmp3 things today.

Never again.

First of all, the flippin' ear plug things wouldn't stay in my ears - so I had to run in a chuffin' hat. And the only hat I could find was The Droog's Barbie Girl pink bobble hat. Secondly I made the mistake of asking the Cash Drainers to put some decent music on. Big mistake.

So, I set off and on comes the noise. And when I say noise I mean noise. Some band called Mucus played their greatest hits and that set me off trying to run to keep time with a drummer out of his pea brain on cocaine - so by the time I reached Mile 3 I was shattered. Eventually some proper quality music came on and I was jogging along to some Gerry & the Pacemakers and Lonnie Donnegan. However the whole thing went south when I approached a particularly steep hill at Mile 6. Hoping for some inspiring music to get me up the hill, I ramped up the volume and just as I approached the hill the track changed.

To Bibbetty Bobbetty Boo.

Yup, that's right. Our youngest, The Sod, had only loaded a load of his kids stuff on and there was I trying to run a hill to the rhythm of some spell from Disney's Cinderella!

It got worse.

I had to endure themes from The Simpsons, The Birdie Song, The JCB Song and countless other kiddie songs. But the ultimate insult happened at a hill close to the finish around 17 miles into the run. Just when I needed the inspiration, the motivation and the get up and go - what came on?

Only the bloody theme from Tellytubbies.

So that ‘whoosh’ you heard was the IMacpodmp3 being ditched in a hedge.

Getting ready now for my first International run of the year on Sunday. I'm off to Bruges to take part in their 10 Mile Ostend to Bruges race. And, in talking to the Race Numptie yesterday I was delighted that my appearance has boosted the entry to well over 1350 runners. Of course, one of the downsides of running in Belgium is that it does tend to attract some of those pesky French types. Not that I've anything against them (OK, I lie) - but they're just so flippin' competitive. Even at the southern end of the field they just can't go out and enjoy a nice run - they have to finish in front of you.

Reminds me of a little race I did in France a couple of years ago. I was, not to put too fine a point on it, struggling. In fact I was last. But I was hard on the heels of this French chappie. To my utter horror he then started to abuse me "Hee haaw, hee haw - aren't you embarrassed by being the last person in the race?" he shouted. Well I ignored the abuse but pointed out that he wasn't exactly going to trouble the engraver with his run "But at least I have somebody behind me" he said.

"Not now you haven't" I said.

And I retired from the race.

Keep on tapering.


Ron