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

Eight and a half quid a pint!

I was invited to take part in a race in a really far away place in June next year and so that's how I found myself on my way back to Oslo in September - a place in a strange country called Norway. After a brief stopover to re-acquaint myself with that pesky Ski Jump that I was hoyed off last December I flew with the Half Share to a place called Tromso. Its some 300 miles north of the Arctic Circle and so flippin' remote is it that they lift £8.50 off you every time you want a pint of beer!

I was there to check out the training facilities for my proposed visit next June to take part in the Midnight Sun Marathon. The race takes place at a time of year when there's sun right round the clock. Now that might seem attractive to you - but to me it just isn't natural.

Look. Day is day; and night is night. And the good Lord made it easy for us to tell the difference between the two of them by making one of them dark. No wonder these Norwegian persons seem to spend their lives in a permanent state of intoxication - if it doesn't get dark, how in God's name do you know when it's time to go home?

(Above) me and the Half Share in a canoe. We found out that your man here has a lot in common with canoes. we both tip well.
Anyway we did a bit of canoeing in the Fjords, a couple of boat trips and all in all enjoyed having a jolly good sniff around the place. Your man here was just getting to like the place though when I had a bit of an altercation with the local bobby.

It all started innocently enough when I decided to hire a motor and go for a little drive. I was pootling along minding my own business when I was pulled in by the rozzers. Apparently, the nitwit said, I'd failed to stop at a stop sign. But whilst I hold my hands up to not stopping per se - I explained that I'd slowed down sufficiently for it to make no difference at all. There then followed a ridiculous argument about the difference between stopping and slowing down - with me insisting there was no difference.

And that's when it got nasty. The bobby only went and got out his truncheon and started beating my round the head with the stick - and let me tell you, it damn well hurt. After he'd rained down about twenty blows he stopped, held the truncheon above my head and said "Now then, would you like me to stop? Or to slow down?".

It was at that point that I understood his point of view.

Despite that rather violent experience, the place is a top notch destination though - and your man here is really looking forward to returning in 2008 for a bash at running at night in the light.


Keep on tapering.

Ron