Well at least I know where I stand

They're a crafty bunch these Frenchies you know.

Over the channel I popped last week to take part in one of those piddling 10Ks. We were going to head for Etaples for their little bash but, from what I gather, some shady goings-on in the town seemed to have put paid to the event. Of course, being the French, they’d got the message through to me about the cancellation about 12 hours before I was due to travel! However, this kiddie has his ear close to the ground and I'd found about the postponement a full week before the pesky Johnny Foreigners had the decency to tell me!

Anyway, the French were obviously keen to have an eyeball at yours truly and I was pointed in the direction of a place called Saint Hilaire Cotte - which was celebrating the 33rd running of its 5K and 10K events. So, I called Monsieur Roseaux - the Mayor - told him who I was - and that was it – Robert was votre Oncle and I was in!!

I cadged a lift with 20 or so has-beens who were making their way with the Nice Work crew - and, I have to say, I've never seen such a beer-soaked, gin sodden excuse for athletes in all my life.

So I felt perfectly at home.

After a full English on P & O, it was off for a spot of R & R in Le Touquet - kind of like Deal with a touch more class. And do you know? No matter how much I could feel the weekend slipping downhill I was powerless to stop it. The sun was shining so we had a couple of Leffes to slake the old thirst - then it seemed rude not to take wine with the locals and, after checking into some digs in Montreuil it was off for a decent carbo loading three courser at a local restaurant.

They were quite a pleasant lot we troughed with - a couple of dodgy characters from Essex who knew all about hydrating - he went for it hammer and tongs during happy hour and was still propping up the bar at gone bedtime. There were also some peculiar people from Sussex who I felt sorry for and took them under my wing. So now they know what a Leffe hangover is.

Sunday morning and there were more than a few scratchy bodies at breakfast. But a plate and a half of scrambled eggs later and we were all fit to race.

We arrived in Saint Hilaire to a wonderful sight - registration and sign-on was in the village bar! That shows the event had class. But that was probably the last smile yours truly had on his boat race for a good couple of hours I can tell you.

The course was quite simple. So simple in fact that you had to run the chuffing thing four times to make up the 10K distance. And it was a tad of a grueller. Four times we went up a hill for 3/4 of a mile - and four times we ran downhill. I decided pretty early on - after half a lap to be precise - that I was going to treat the run as a training exercise rather than a proper race. A decision partly prompted by the fact that I couldn't see any of the other runners. They’d disappeared into the flippin' distance. All I was left with was the rump of the coach party that had drunk its way from Dover - and what a wheezing, gasping sight we were too.

The bottom line is that it took me nigh on an hour to finish the damn thing!

More to the point when the results were published some six or seven beers after crossing the line we looked through the first eight pages for the finishing times – no sign! Turning to the last page - page nine to be precise - and there we were! Occupying eight of the last nine places in the race. And so, dear reader, that's when the French excuse for hilarity began and from thereon in we were referred to as ‘Les Page Neufs’. The cheek of it.

One nice touch from the Johnnies though was when they presented me with a trophy for turning up to their event. Yes - you read that correctly. I received a trophy - just for turning up. I'm not proud - its there on the sideboard now with my Esso World Cup medals.



Anyway, after a very pleasant lunch and a few bottles of the local poison shared with the Mayor we bade him farewell and made our way back to Calais. Not before I’d signed a few autographs and gone through the old photo routine – I felt humble really because they won’t get many opportunities to share bread and wine with a future Olympic medallist (Gold, natch).

Your man here though has arrived back in Blighty with renewed determination. First of all - never - repeat never - will I appear on his flippin Page Neuf again – and we’ll be back next year to have another bash. Secondly - that's my foreign racing done for a couple of months and I'm now concentrating on getting some of this Leffe stuff off my midriff. Thirdly - I've decided to have a dry run for London 2012 and accept an entry into the London Marathon next year. Apparently my name's on the list - and so the old training needs to step up a gear.

In the meantime though I'm still waiting for a reply from those chaps at UK Athletics - and I'm still waiting for my elite kit. I'll be pushing some buttons this week on those issues too I can tell you.

Finally for now, I've been asked to make an appearance at a sweet little event in Brighton on Sunday - that's two consecutive Sundays in the City of Filth and Needles, with the Brighton 10K the week after.

Got a sneaky feeling it could be another Page Neuf experience though - it’s the Phoenix Park Races run over an odd distance of 7.3K. Having done it before - it's another flippin' three or four lapper by the way - I can tell you that there's only one focus for an athlete of my persuasion and it isn't trying to win.

It's trying not to finish last!

Last year I was fifth from the end - but three of the four behind had pulled hammies.

Ho hum.

Keep on tapering.

Ron.

What is it with the Italians?

They’re completely obsessed with food, drink and rummpy pump!

Sorry about the silence chaps but don't think for one minute that I've been idle. Life for any Olympic hopeful is hectic enough but for this kiddie with my substantial and ever growing fan base it is manic, I can tell you.

Last thing you heard I was popping off for a spot of warm weather training.

Big mistake. On two counts.

Mistake number 1 was even thinking that I could focus on my Olympic 2012 schedule with the distractions posed by the Ron family in tow. The Half Share in the House had insisted on coming along and bringing with her the three Cash Drainers - Haille-Minogue, The Droog and The Sod and so we pitched up en masse in the rather charming town of Bergamo. Of course what was once a pretty, quiet, charming, mediaeval walled town far enough away from Milan to be worth visiting has now ended up overwhelmed with Ryanair punters. I haven't got a problem with Ryanair per se - if you like flying with the airborne equivalent of the Reliant Robin then that's your choice - but it was fine when it was simply the preserve of us weekend trippers from the Home Counties. We could pretend that, ‘of course, we wouldn’t normally be seen dead on a budget airline, but it’s fine for the third half-term break of the year.’ Now, for God's sake, they’ve started flying them in from the north! Can you believe that they now operate flights from Durham, from Hull, from Leeds and ... wait for it ... from Doncaster! Now forgive me for sounding cruel but should we really be inflicting the residents of Doncaster on any location more than ten miles from that miserable place? Doncaster – where the phone book has only one page and the MacDonald’s only one arch.

Anyway, to Bergamo for warm weather training. Well, it was warm and perfect for running. Did I run? Never got the pumps out of the case chaps! The pasta, pizza, polenta and Peroni were simply too tempting! To cut a long story short I ended up spending four days hydrating and carb loading leaving very little time for anything other than belching and breaking wind. The bottom line my friends is that I arrived back in the UK on Friday weighing a full 8 pounds more than when I left for the pesky place.

Mind you I did pick up a couple of tips on dealing with fans whilst I was out there. Obviously very few Italians had heard of me - although my famous Ron wink did elicit a couple of responses. To be honest I thought a couple of the fillies I winked at in Luigi's pizza parlour could have been a little more respectful to a visitor to their country. You'd have thought I was the first guy they'd seen enjoying pizza in Lycra. And don't tell me they haven't seen that single finger press-up routine before!

Anyway I think I’ve found out how to impress these Latin girlies. And, to be honest, it takes very little! Back here, of course, when Ron wants to impress the Half Share and drop a little evening post-kebab hint, I know exactly what is required. A little glass of sherry for her, a bit of love food - she normally likes the green chillies - a little hug, a compliment here or there - "new duffle coat dear?", that little Ron wink and a hint of a smile before smooching into romance mode. The Italians? Well as far as I could see, you simply show up naked with a beer in one hand, a slice of Margherita in the other and a sprig of Oregano between your teeth!

So you can forget that warm weather training lark - from now on it's Hastings for me.

Back in Blighty on Friday I had the little matter of a visit to the local Constabulary to sign some bit of paper. They did question me about the black eye I was sporting - and the oaf behind the desk mumbled something about receiving a call from some uniform in Italy about a pizza parlour incident. This delayed me so much I missed out on my pre-Sunday race shake down. And that - more than my Italian adventure - I think contributed to a bit of a struggle down in deepest Sussex on Sunday morning.

I toddled off for a bash at the Barns Green half marathon - probably my last opportunity to hit that sub 2 hour time before Christmas. It was great to see such a turnout to greet me. In fact I was slightly overwhelmed - they were such a modest crowd too. Not one of those I approached took up my offer of an autograph or a photo - how thoughtful of them not wanting to disrupt my pre-race routine of anal squeezes and groin crunches! But don't be so bashful chums - I'm fully aware of my responsibilities as a celebrity and I'm only too pleased to oblige. So if you do see me, come up and I'll give you one of those famous Ron winks and my unique Ron-grip handshake!

My God was it warm though on Sunday. At 20 plus degrees I realised I’d wasted the best part of a month’s wages on my trip to Italy. I could have stayed in flippin’ Horsham! Anyway, I think a fourth half marathon in five weeks finally took its toll on the Ron body. I'd discounted the extra weight and gut full of pasta and beer - after all you can't run a Formula 1 car on paraffin can you? But boy did I struggle! The prospect of a sub 2 hour time disappeared after about 400 yards as I struggled to find any rhythm at all. I managed to make an effort though and up to around 10 miles I was on a steady 9.30 pace - which put me on target for a 2 hour 5 minutes finish. To be honest I would have been happy with 5 seconds less than this - my time last year at BG was 2.04.57 - but at 11 miles I blew up and hit a brick wall and that last mile took me 12 sodding minutes!

I eventually wobbled over the line in an exhausting 2.07. To be honest I wasn't very good company and I declined the opportunity to attend the prize giving - I didn't feel in the mood for any kind of token trophy just for turning up and helping to put 500 extra runners on the start line.

On reflection though, it was my fourth half in five weeks - and my time was my quickest half of the autumn season. So maybe I should be satisfied. The Mall in 2012 still beckons!

The problem is that I'm desperate to prove to the selectors that my place in the 2012 squad is one awarded on merit not simply on the back of a wave of popular support. I'm no Ashley Cole. I’m no Matthew Kelly. I've got real talent as well as mass popular support.

Anyway the exertions of Sunday sent me to my sick bed with some rather grumpy memories of Barns Green for a day or so - which is a shame because the event is a top day out - a huge field, good support and a cracking Burger Van.

This weekend I've been invited to join the Nice Work crew - a kind of celebrity endorsement if you like - as they take a bunch of over-the-hill old soaks to a race in France. The problem is that we're staying in a rather agreeable place called Montreuil-sur-Mer - which, apart from anything else, is just a shed load of calories opportunities. On Sunday we travel to the small village of Saint Hilaire Cottes to take part in the 33rd running of the Circuit Pedestre. The Nice Work chaps had a bit of a set back when their original race in Etaples was called off last week, so your man here used his extensive contacts to grab hold of the mayor of Saint Hilaire - Monsieur Roseau - who fixed us some entries for this cracking little race.

I'll let you know how we get on.

Keep on tapering.

Ron.