Time to settle down now

I apologise for a couple of weeks silence but, for obvious reasons it was only fair that I kept my head down whilst there was an election in progress.

Us celebrities are not just roly models you know, we have a responsibility not to influence unduly the voting intentions of those who, perhaps (and I say this with a heavy heart) probably are not really in a position to know how to vote sensibly. It might be controversial to say it, but there is a school of thought that still casts doubt on our decision to give the vote to people like prisoners, those with mental disorders, women and students. But whatever the rights and wrongs of what my friend Nick Clogg says is a flawed voting system, we have to abide by the rules. So, that's why I decided to keep my head down and that's why you haven’t seen or heard from me for a couple of weeks. And likewise, you'll have noticed neither sight nor sound of the Krankies, Val Doonican, Moira Stewart or that bloke off the news.

As for the results of the election it all seems to have gone pear-shaped for Graham Brown and the fact that we now have a Bung Parliament is probably down to all those silly votes by those people referred to above - well I reckon they deserve what they got. Brown, to be honest, was never my cup of tea. He never once wrote to me with any form of congratulations or encouragement in my quest for Olympic immortality. And the only time I wrote to him to ask if I could buy some kind of gong for my services to the public he couldn’t even be bothered to reply.

So now we have a government that is full of public schoolboys - which should please our local MP Greg Barker who is himself well reared - though what he and his painter and decorator boyfriend get up to in their spare time is no business of ours. But I just hope that the present lot get their act together, grasp the moment, consider the opportunities - and get behind me (except that Barker chap, I don’t want him behind me.) The Half Share in the House did ask me whether the joining together of the Conservatory Party and the Glib Dems means they should now be called the Condem coalition - which I was pleased to hear because that's her first attempt at humour since 1998.

So what have I been doing apart from oiling the wheels of government?

Well the weekend before last Ernie and I and the Half Share met up with the eldest Cash Drainer and did a kind of Exhibition race in Burkeshire. The Shinfield 10K was a pleasant enough experience and I posted an impressive time of 1 hr 5 mins. Just slightly outside my preferred Olympic pace but I had been out on the lash the night before so it wasn’t a bad time on a hangover. On Sunday just gone I made the mistake of doing the Sevenoaks Seven. I had forgotten what an unpleasant place it was. Rough tracks, dog poo and deer poo all over the place, people in various states of undress and an overwhelming stench of sweat. And that was on the bally High Street!! The race is a bit of a dog’s dinner of a race for me - too many hills. But, when faced with adversity I always think to myself "Now, what would Bobby Davro do?"

Well that was an inspired piece of psychology - because I only went and got another BP - my best time over the distance of 1 hr 21 minutes 14 seconds - about a minute and a half better than last year.

This weekend I'm off on my foreign travels when I visit Luxembourg again for the Night Run. Those Luxembuggers certainly know how to put on a show and I was looking forward to running my second marathon in three weeks. However, Ernie reckons that with the time spent in the Nice Work van I'll not be in a fit state to do the full 26.2 - so I'll be looking to win the Half Marathon instead.

I'll let you know how I get on. In the meantime I've got a sad duty to do today. I'm at the funeral of an old mate who died recently. He died of dyslexia - choked on his own Vimto.

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

Never run with children or animals

To Barkland yesterday. Eldest Cash Drainer Haille Minogue has decided that the Olympic Running miracle that simmers within my highly toned athletic frame is, somehow, a genetic phenonemon. So, not content with basking in my glory she decides that she's going to take up the sport although, obviously, being a) a kid and b) a female one, she's never going to scale the dizzy heights experienced by your man here.

However, I don't like to let the thing down, so the Half Share and I, with The Sod in tow made the long journey to a place called Reading in Barkland for a spot of missionary work.

Reading is the kind of place the newspapers write about when they want to talk about the Credit Crunch. Riding on the crest of an economic slump it is famous for having a suicide pact with Baghdad. Its poor residents shuffle aimlessly along streets lined with Chicken Shops, Kebab Take-Aways, Pubs and Curry Shops. In short, being a person from the north, its the kind of place I could quite happily settle in.

And if you'd like to know what Reading was like in the 1960's - why not pop along and visit it?

So, to the race and the locals in Barkland had their first opportunity to see at close hand the phenomenon that is me. My, how they enjoyed my famous warm-up prugramme of anal crunches and pelvic aquirts - although the Half Share did comment again that I ought to mend the rip in my orange lycra all-in-one.

Haille and her Student friend spent the pre-race period putting on make-up and generally behaving like a couple of 18 year olds - sticking their tongues out at old men, giggling at my lycra and stealing sweets from the kids etc etc. Though they did see some things they havent seen for some time - soap, morning and a smoke free environment spring to mind. But getting them to prepare themselves properly became a bit of a nightmare and after taking the fourth bottle of WKD off them I decided to lay the law down and slapped round the head with a current issue of the NME.

The race began in typical fashion for your man here. A crowded start with dozens of Ronettes all trying to get a glimpse of me made for something of a sluggish start and although I soon picked up the pace it took some scything through the field to make my mark on the leaderboard.

I eventually finished the race in just over the hour - a time considerably quicker than that Kenyan managed in the London Marathon last week or so - and hung around waiting for Half Share and Haille. Imagine my disappointment when I discovered them hanging around at the water table waiting, so they claimed, for me! Both reckoned to have finished before me!! Imagine that!

As if.

So I clocked Haille round the lug once more for telling lies and made my way to one of three pubs adjacent to the finish line - which made me muse what a way that would be to liven up the Olympic Marathon! Cross the line - me leading a couple of Kenyans and Tangerenians - and there you have it! A couple of bars, a barbecue and a kebab wagon - hey, how cool is that? Much better than having to wait for some bloke with a blazer, a stretched-faced blonde bimbo and a couple of orphans to give you your medal. And as for that effeminate bunch of flowers - no thank you!

Anyway the Olympics remain my goal - kebab wagon or not - and my training is going well. I just did a kind of homecoming 2 mile cool down along the sea front this evening. Next up on the competetion front is a little trip to one of my favourite places - Montreuil-sur-Mer in Northern France for an international race against a bunch of foreigners.

Cant wait!

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

Well if that doesn't have the Kenyans dobbing themselves I don't now what will

Popped down to Hastings this morning and starred in their Hastings Runners 5 Mile Race.

I like the Hastings Runners - think it must be the alcohol that knits us together - and they usually put on a good show.

And your man here did us all proud with a blistering run. Although I'm still waiting for the results, I heard a few people comment on just how quick I looked. A tad over 50 minutes when I dipped over the line and I only saw two people ahead of me so I reckon I came third.

So, come on Kenyans, come on Tangerinians, come on Upper Voltaists - what have you got in your tank to respond to that? As the famous Newsreader Huw Edwards once said - its not how you respond to victory that counts, its .... well I can't remember, but it was good what he said.

So, it was a happy kiddie that took the plaudits, signed a few chests and made my way back to Ron Towers for an afternoon on the sofa watching the footie and sinking a few tubes. I do have a little soft spot for the red half of Manchester and so I was feeling a little miffed about the final score. I blame it on that Tevez bloke. I saw him once when I ventured to London for a spot of autograph signing - and I tell you something. There's nothing wrong with your telly - he really is that ugly.

Anyway, feeling rather chuffed with my week of Olympic training. Another solid week ahead of me with my next race a double header in Reading and Chesham on Bank Holiday Monday.

Till then Ronettes.

Keep on tapering.

Ron