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

Wee wee my cherry

Hee haw hee haw hee haw!!

Yep - this kiddie can speak foreign if he wants too!

Just back from a trip to one of those foreign suburbs and a guest appearance at the Paris Marathon, near a place called France. Its an event I get invited to every year. Rather like that bloke tennis player - Billy Bob King? - who won the Wimbledon Cup and then goes back every year to milk the applause, I took part and damn nearly won the Paris Marathon a couple of years ago and its kind of on my itinerary every year now. To be fair they don’t actually formally invite me back - but I know they really want me there.



I travelled with the Nice Work crew in the back of their Dormobile and, between cans of Stones Bitter, kept my fellow athletes regaled with some fantastic tales from my glorious running career. One or two of them were so impressed they actually suggested that I stay in Paris rather than come back here - they reckoned I could really teach the Frenchies a thing or two about running! It wasn’t a bad trip but the flippin' price of food - almost a fiver for a half pint???? Only trouble I had was at a small bar close to Blackpool Tower. The waiter said I could have two wines for 10 Euros so I told him he had a body odour problem and I didn’t think much of his beer.

No sense of humour these foreigners eh?

But I had a fairly pleasant weekend. I went for a small run in and around the city. And I tell you what - they're such a tolerant lot. I had a bit of bother with my orange Lycra mankini running outfit which I thought I'd try out ahead of its official debut in Dartford next month. Well, was I popular!! Although starting to run on my own I soon had a whole posse of French runners following me - and what appeared to be half the Paris Police Athletic team also kindly ran with me back to the hotel - now how kind was that?

I must hold my hands up to slightly over celebrating though. I have absolutely no memory of the return trip whatsoever following my discovery of a strange drink. I asked the chap in the shop for a pasty – but he gave me a bottle of aniseed ball-tasting stuff. I had a couple of slurps and, well, that was it. The next thing I remember was waking up in a bus shelter in Dover.

I’m doing more celebrity stuff this weekend. Although my training is still in full swing (out with the Old People of Hastings again on Tuesday) I’ll be taking a break on Sunday morning to add a touch of glamour to the Brighton Marathon. I’ll be on hand at the finish to shake a few hands and pass on a few rehydration tips – so if you’re in Needle City on Sunday why not give me a wave?

Then, of course the week after I take centre stage again – this time for my appearance in this year’s London Marathon. As Dale Winton says – ‘You can't beat a bit of bully can you?’.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Easter Eggy thump

You cant beat Easter can you?

A bulk buy from Thorntons used to be the norm at Ron Towers but with the credit snatch still biting it was a trolley dash round Poundstretcher to stock up on Easter goodies. Then we were off to Lidl to get some tubes in - then a couple of carrier bags of take away fodder later it was off to the Barnacle and Bicycle for some decent Easter rehydration sessions. And, you know, that's why I like Easter. As long as the kids enjoy it then its job done eh?

I did a spot of training too as Good Friday approached with a session with the Old People of Hastings and then it was off to Caravan County to take part in the Folkestone 10. Its a race I enjoy because I can enjoy a spot of anonymity there. The locals by and large are used to celebrity. Well why wouldn't they? It is, after all, the birthplace of one of this country's finest classical actresses Hattie Jacques.

So I nipped along the 10 miler in an hour and 47 minutes-ish. Didn’t quite get on the podium - so I found out later - but there's nothing wrong with letting some ordinary people and those less fortunate then me (i.e. women) having a bit of the limelight eh?

So, after my race I retired to enjoy a rather subdued post race celebration with just a couple of Leffes to keep me company.

Mentally though I was as sharp as a zip because in the back of my mind, of course, I've got one of the pinnacles of an Olympians year coming up in a couple of weeks - the London Marathon. And with Paul Radcliffe having bottled out again and some of his Kenyan mates also chucking in the towel - well, lets just say 'who knows' eh? Could I win it? Well stranger things have happened. Just ask that woman in the Bovril adverts.

I'm getting a little bit of big race experience this weekend too with a trip to Paris for their laughable attempt at organising a marathon!!

If you're there - well, wee, give me a wave!

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 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.

Great news Ronettes!!

I know its Christmas Day but I have some great news my friends, which I know you'd want me to share with you.

Following my magnificent performance in the Hastings Marathon, I've received a place in next year's London Marathon.

I'm assuming that Sir David Bedford has awarded me the place to try and boost the prestige of the event - and I expect I'll be in amongst the other elite and celebrity compertitors.

Of course, it means I'm going to have to crack on a bit - I'm already booked in for the Paris Marathon which takes place three weeks before.

And if that doesnt prick up the ears of the selectors I don't know what will.

Anyway, on this day of jolly excess, remember that life for an elite athlete goes on - so I'm on my third tube of Guinness!!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Don't panic - I'm back!!!

Well I hasten to utter the words too loudly .... but ... yup. I'm back.

Yer old mucker has wiped the sleep from his eyes and emerged fresh faced and lily livered to face his legion of fans and Ronnettes. No more hiding under stones. No more dodging the media. No more looking away embarrassed when eye contact is made with an adoring fan.

For too long now this kiddie has been hiding his light under a bushel.

But now its fess time.

Where have I been? What have I been doing? Why have I kept quiet? What am I going to do now? And what of that highly publicised Olympic ambition?

Well I'll tell you.

I began the year on a bit of a low. Training wasn't going well. I only had to look at a menu and another 10 pounds in weight clamped itself, limpet-wise to my midriff. The Half Share in the House was giving me grief that I seemed to love my career as an Olympic Champion-in-Waiting more than I loved her. (Bit of a tricky one to defend that one entre nous). But, to be fair, this kiddie was still pulling in the crowds. Like a kind of modern day equivalent of a road running George Best, I continued attracting huge crowds wherever I went. (Mind you I also seemed to attract more than my fair share of nutters, liberal democrats and people from Yorkshire too, but that just goes with the territory I suppose).

But what really caused me to nip behind the bike shed for a few months was a result of some devastating news I received just around the New Year.

I wasn't going to Peking for the Chinese Olympics.

I know. I can sense that you share my disappointment. My shock. My despair.

Now I acknowledge that my Olympic ambitions might appear lofty to mere mortals but I firmly believe that the road I'm on will lead inexorably to Gold in 2012. As sure as retired 110 metre hurdlers are uphill gardeners. So, whilst I was pretty chilled about the Peking bash, twixt you and I, I did think it would have been good to have a bash at the Marathon. I know that I've probably got another six months training needed to bring me up to Olympic standard. But this glorious sport of ours is not just about winning gongs. Its about fellowship. About supporting your team mates. About flying that flag. So that's why I offered myself to the British team off to Peking as a kind of talisman. Just imagine the impact I would have on the team as a mentor to the likes of Paul Radcliffe and that bloke who jumps.

But it wasn't to be. I got blown out. The team bosses just refused to have me along. I know finances are tight – but come on you blazers!!

Anyway that's in the past now. My rejection though did leave some scars that have taken some time to heal And that's why I've kept myself quiet.

But as Peking got off the ground last weekend, I decided to let bygones be hasbeens.

Its time to pull on my Green Flash Dunlops and get back into the groove.

Ron is back.

Not that I've been entirely idle this year mind you. I've pottered around the fine city of Bruges for the Ostend to Bruges 10 Mile Race; I've been to Paris for the Marathon in April – did it in 5 hours 7 minutes (I think I finished 5th); I've been rfto Luxembourg for the Night Run and to the Arctic Circle for the Midnight Sun events in Tromso, Norway (food was eight and half quid a pint!!).

But the biggest is yet to come.

Because in November I'm off with the Half Share in the House to win the Himalaya 100 Mile Race.

How exciting is that?

And so it was that on Sunday, with around 105 kgs in added weight I took in my first proper training race. I travelled to a place called the North to take part in the Great Warford 10 Mile Race.

Now I don't mind missionary work - but let me tell you that is some distance to travel – but indicative of the sacrifices an elite athlete has to make. It took me some 6 hours to get there – although granted we did stop off in the Midlands to get used to funny accents.

I did OK. Went through my anal crunch routine for the locals then zipped through the race in what I thought was a rather nippy 1.52.33. Now, if you think that Paul Radcliffe is aiming to do the Peking Marathon in 2.20 – well, wow, I'm half an hour ahead of him!!

So that's race 1 under my belt – here's to the next ones.

Anyway I'll keep in touch with you once again. I promise no more sulks and no more unexplained absences.

Himalaya here I come!!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

24 hours from now ...

Just a quick update on your favourite Olympic Gold Medal kiddie.

It's less than 24 hours to go before my practice attempt at the 2012 Marathon route. It will be a quiet intimate run with just myself and 35,000 other runners at this, the World's favourite marathon. Speaking to organisers yesterday I was pleased to see that my appearance has boosted the number of spectators anticpated to line the route - half a million plus should be there to cheer me on.

How do I feel?

Well, to be honest, I'm dobbing myself. Fear is all part of the mental battle though and you can rest assured that I'll be doing my all - and I'll be thinking about you on my way around. I'll especially be thinking of my Ronettes who live a long way away in a place called Canadialand who, apparently, have still got snow. Here - well the weather numptie is promising 24 degrees and high humidity.

Brilliant.

Anyway, I thought you might appreciate a couple of pics that were taken of me by the paparazzi in Paris last weekend and London yesterday.

Keep on tapering.

Ron.



Ron - trying to avoid the photographer



Ron looking at a replica of Blackpool Tower



Ron signing on for his practice shot at the 2012 marathon.

Globetrotting Ron

Phew!

That’s all I can say.

Phew!

It’s no bed of roses being an elite athlete I can tell you – and the added pressure of being an Olympic Gold Medallist-in-waiting just adds to the workload heaped upon me. But, you know, I just take it in my stride. Because I know that the time spent invested in you and my other fans now will be repaid a million times over when I’m stood on that podium in 2012. (And when I’ve got a boot load of commercial endorsements as well but that’s for later!).

To cut a long story short, I’ve been as busy as the pox doctor’s receptionist these last few days – but I’ll tell you what, it’s been a little eye opener.

I went to Paris last weekend for the Marathon. I wasn’t taking part – but I went to try and source some commercial deals for your man here. As well as shoe and sock deals, I’m also mulling over my idea to launch my own fan magazine – Ronners World – which will chronicle my amazing rise to athletic super-stardom.

And, of course, I went to have another gloat at the Olympics coming home to England.

Travelling with the gin-soaked wasters at Nice Work, I met up with a youngster from Zimbabwe who was doing his first marathon in some 9 years. We discussed the situation in that tragic country and I expounded my theory that it’s all the fault of Yorkshire.

That’s right. I’m of the firm opinion that the leader of Zimbabwe is a former postman from Barnsley who, after being caught red-handed with a bag full of giros decided to do a runner and flit to Zimbabwe. His name may now be Mugabe but he’s as Yorkshire as they come - anyway he simply reversed the letters in his real name – Ebagum to become this nasty bit of dictator stuff.

Anyway, I digress again. Back to my pupil. Do you know what? I think I became something of a father figure to the chap over the course of the weekend. I took him under my wing and gave him the benefit of an elite athlete’s experience. I gave him his pep talk, some tactical tips and I showed him some Leffe locations in the City of Love. In fact he only flinched twice throughout the entire weekend. The first time was when I demonstrated my anal crunch routine on Saturday night at the Trocadero (And I’ll tell you something too - this kiddie still hasn’t lost it. What a crowd I drew!).

And I must admit he also flinched a bit when I offered to Vaseline him – but I can assure you, your man here’s no Uphill Gardener – I was referring to the bits he couldn’t reach and nothing else! Cheeky monkey! Anyway, it was all worth it when he'd finished because I swear there was a little tear in his eye as he hobbled along the Champs Elysee and threw his arms round me. Emotional maybe – and it took me three snifters to get rid of the taste of salt!

I’m not really sure whether the Parisians really deserve their marathon. I mean, they get all precious about it because they think it lives under the shadow of London (yes – so?) – but then do precious little to embrace the thing when it does happen. On a blistering hot day – and certainly not one for running 26.2 miles – the runners needed every bit of support they could get – and from where I was at the 31K mark it was sorely lacking. I stood there from 30 minutes before the leaders came though until their approach – and at its peak I had no more than 20 people stood with me. Around midday the temperature had climbed to just a shade under 28 degrees – and I have to say that seeing some of those brave kiddies didn’t exactly inspire me to look forward to this weekend’s big one in London. I’d already done a sharp 10 myself on Sunday morning at around 7 am and the heat then was debilitating - even for an Olympian like myself.

Anyway I did enjoy Paris. I enjoyed meeting a few of my Ronettes and fans from far flung outposts of civilisation like Cornwall, Bournemouth, Portugal and the USA. But what I liked best was watching the front runners. You see it’s very seldom I can relax with a couple of beers in my hand and watch the front runners. And doing so got me thinking about the difference between those at the front of a distinguished field of athletes and those who are normally to be seen trophy-free at the Blair end.

And so, here’s Ron’s Guide to the Differences Between Front Runners and Club Runners

1. None of the leading 100 or so girl runners had their jackets tied round their waist
2. Not one of the Kenyan or Ethiopian athletes I saw was running with an IMacPod3 thing
3. Not one – I repeat – not one - of the first 1,000 or so runners thought it a good idea – or indeed a fashion statement, to run in rabbit ears. Those of you who know of my last London Marathon will know how hacked off this kiddie was when his London Marathon photos were delivered with a crowd of rabbit-eared numpties in the background – and ruined what could turn out to be a future record of a piece of sporting history.
4. Strangely enough, none of the leaders were nattering away to each other. No mention of shopping amongst the leading ladies – and a similar lack of BMW acceleration stats between the chap from Qatar and his running buddie from Ethiopia.
5. No body piercing or tattoos. You listening Essex?
6. Girls at the front don’t wear them long trouser things – they’re in .. ahem .. little bikini bottom things. To be encouraged, I think. And, I might add, those nippy fillies doing the 2 hour 20-odd minute thing are not afraid of sweating! How many times have we finished a race and there’s some young gal with ne’er a bead of sweat on her brow? But those long kex? I saw only English girls running in those flared jogging bottoms that look as though they’ve been knitted by some overbearing mum – girls, it was 28 chuffing degrees!!
7. Leading runners don’t run six abreast pointing and saying “ooh there’s Darren from the gym”
8. I think I saw about an hour and a half of runners before I saw my first nipple bleed. Now then chaps – we know how painful that can be eh? So, how come those fast blokes don’t get it?
9. Sorry chaps again. About finisher number 5,000 before I saw a beer belly. But best if we gloss over that one eh?
10. Armour. What do I mean? Those at the front get up, put on their pumps, their shorts, a pair of socks and a vest – and that’s it. So how come those at the southern end think it necessary to start a race with their clothing, a computer on their wrist, an IpmacP3 thing on their arm, heart monitor, earplugs, a belt with four water bottles – plus a bottle of water to carry for the first half, another belt with gel tubes, a bum bag, a hat, mobile phone to ring Brenda, bag of jelly babies, a backpack thing with a tube full of water, vest, t shirt, bin liner and an old 1989 Canterbury 10 Mile t-shirt to discard at the off? It’s no wonder we’re slower than the flippin’ Kenyans, we’re carrying half our chuffing house round with us!!

Anyway, from Paris, I then had to spend a couple of days working in Birmingham with my mate Buttocks – where I have to say I’ve suffered more from the language barrier than I did throughout my time in Paris. I thought somebody was presenting me with a souvenir Kipper Tie and I got given a cup of Tetleys! Then, on Wednesday I flew to Germany to tie up a rather exciting long distance project for your man here.

Intrigued?

Tell you more soon.

Oh – and I’m running the London Marathon on Sunday.

It’s at times like this that you realise that adrenaline is brown and smelly.

Keep on tapering.

Ron