Hey, ho - things are looking up

Well, it's been an interesting week.

First of all my schedule - carefully structured to enable me to peak in 5 years time - progressed smoothly enough this week. I had another of my 'lose 2 lbs' weeks - but to be honest I've no idea whether or not I achieved that particular target. I toddled off down to the gym and, well, frankly, I was distracted by this pretty young filly on the Arc Trainer. So distracted in fact that, having introduced myself, I thought she may be interested in one or two of my stretch and thrust pelvic exercices which have done me proud in my athletic career.

All I can say is what has this flippin' world come to when you can't even have a chat with a young thing without being slung out of the place? The bottom line is that I had to leave in such a hurry that I didn't have time to stand on the old scales. That means I'm focusing on this Friday when a double-week weigh-in will, hopefully, see me dip through that important psychological barrier - clinical obesity.

On the track I ventured forth once more into Caravan County on Sunday for the Canterbury 10. My entry had attracted a huge crowd of both athletes and spectators and I busied nyself pre-race, signing a few autographs for onlookers. I know that it's a chore - but I also realise that a few minutes spent now will pay dividends in the future. And I'm not referring to small potatoes here - without spelling it out, just think Sports Personality of the Year 2012!

Anyway - my race time target was to knock back my Dartford 10 time by a couple of minutes and try and finish in around 91 minutes. And that's exactly what I did, sprinting over the line in 91 minutes 15 secs - so job done there!

I have to say that my preparation wasn't 100% - it was the Half Share's birthday and we celebrated by cracking open a couple of Leffes the night before. The fact that I've only had the forbidden juice on four occasions this year contributed to my early Sunday Morning sluggishness. However the race started brightly enough for me - at 11.00 but not for a dog walker who decided that 11.01 would be the best time to take her dog for a walk along a quite, narrow country lane - against the flow of over 700 runners. Her cursing and attempts to knock over as many competitors as she could made even her poor dog try to hide its face in embarrasment.

I managed fairly consistent, just over 9 minute miles through to the half way mark and I crossed the 5 mile mark in 46 minutes - which made my target of 91 mins look something of a tall order. However a monumental effort by your kiddie here saw me return what those of us in the know refer to as a negative split - and I zipped round the second half quicker than the first.

Unfortunately the day ended in something of a disaster on the personal front for yours truly.

The day was rather spoilt somewhat by the Half Share in the House throwing a strop at the finish. She decided to nip off a bit sharpish and I lost her after about half a mile. As luck would have it though I spotted her ahead of me around 2 miles in and decided to maintain sight of her - she was around 200 metres ahead - and the plan was to use her as a sprint target at the 9 mile mark - and then to catch her up on the line. All went swimmingly and at 9 miles I made my move and started to reel the old bird in. As I got closer I do recall thinking that it was ironic that on this day of all days - her birthday - she did seem to be carrying a fair amount of undercarriage. What I hadn't realised though was how bandy her legs had become. 400 metres from home and it all became apparent. I'd been shadowing a 62 year old fella.

That wasn't my mistake.

My mistake was being honest and telling her. A mistake compounded by me shouting at the top of my voice and gesticulating enthusiastically - "That's the bloke I thought was you".

Not the nicest journey home.

Some fantastic news off-track though. Whilst there's been a deafening silence from both the Sports Minister and Seb, I have had an interesting letter from Dave (that's Dave Collins, Performance Director at UK Atletics) who had some very encouraging words for me. I'll publish his letter just as soon as I work out which buttons to press - but he's come up with an interesting couple of suggestions.

Quite apart from endorsing my training schedule and confirming that your man here is now very firmly "on the radar", he reckons that I might well have a future in two other athletic disciplines. First of all he reckons I'd cut it as a sprinter and all that I need is "some quality bling" and a "pronounced strut" He also suggested a strong lead for some commercial backing by suggesting I approach Ratners. And that's obviously what I'll do - quoting Dave's ringing endorsement,of course. As for the sprint thing - sorry Dave. Any bloke who can only run 100 yards is not a proper athlete in my book. For goodness sake I've run further chasing a bus!

His other suggestion is that I consider myself as an endurance athlete - he mentions signing up to run the Great Wall of China. Well that's too flat for ths kiddie.

I want a hill to run up.

So I'm signing up to run the Himalayan 100 - its held in October each year and includes a couple of runs up Everest. So, I'm going in 2008 and I'll let you know more about this in due course.

This week sees another monk-like period as I prepare for my first half marathon of the year on Sunday. I've accepted an invitation to run in Essex and the temptation to hire a white Escort for the weekend and dye the half share's hair blonde is almost as irresistable as it is stereotypical. Reminds me of the time when I courted a rather brash she-girl from Southend all those years ago. She came back from the library saying she'd borrowed a book called 'How to Hug'. Turned out she'd got Volume 7 of Encyclopedia Brittanica.

So, its the Great Bentley Half Marathon on Sunday - and I'm torn between going for that psychologically important sub-two hour mark and being sensible and aiming for 2.05. I'll sort this little connundrum out before the weekend and let you know how training goes this week.

Keep on tapering.


Ron.

Sitting here. Poised. Like a coiled spring.

Well, the weather's been blowing Irishmen across the channel and as I sit here with a right old storm raging it's bringing home to me what it really takes to become an Olympic athlete.

Because, forget the 60 mph winds that are raging; forget the peeing rain; forget the biting cold - some of us kiddies are going to have to brave the lot of it. Today's a 7 mile training run and I'm sat here in my pumps and vest like a coiled spring waiting to venture out.

But no need to be too hasty eh?

The weather numpty on the radio says it should quieten down by 4 pm - so I've told the team to stand easy till half three and we'll revisit the situation then.

I'm feeling fit to run though and, even after a speedy 4 miler last night, the enthusiasm is still there. Only problem is the facial injury that I'm carrying at the moment. All a misunderstanding but it got a bit dodgy down at MFI last night. I'd gone there with the Half Share in the House who wanted to buy a new bed for our middle daughter The Droog. I thought there was another couple of years left in her cot to be honest, but the Half Share seems to think that just because she's 15 she should have something more up to date.

Anyway I'm stood in MFI and I couldn't find where the beds were. After a couple of enquiries went unanswered by the 28 year old YTS blobs these places seem to employ, a rather pretty filly approached me and said 'Do you want bedding?'. Well it just went downhill from there - she got upset, her boss and hubbie got involved and, well let's just say we won't be darkening MFI's doorstep again.

What else has happened? Well, I've finally got round to sorting out my entry and kit for the 2012 marathon.

You can view my letter to Lord Coe here and I'll let you know when I get a reply. http://www.nice-work.org.uk/blog/Letter to Lord Coe.doc.

Whilst I was in 'write' mode I also dropped a note to the UK Athletics bloke to sort out kit and training - have a neb here. http://www.nice-work.org.uk/blog/Letter to Dave Colllins.doc.

Finally - after some suggestions from a couple of Ronners I thought it only fair to offer my services to the Sports Minister. http://www.nice-work.org.uk/blog/Letter to Richard Caborn.doc.

I'll let you know when I get a reply and my kit arrives.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

The problem with elitism

Mentally I'm now completely focused on that Gold Medal in 2012.

OK, physically I could do with a bit of an MOT, but it’s nothing that can't be sorted with a couple of weeks of salads and Cup-a-Soups. I've now got my own posh kit – though obviously I’m hoping to get my official Elite Athletes stuff soon. So all that is needed now to support my push towards Olympic glory is the support mechanism you'd expect an international runner of my class to have and I presume that this will all be provided in due course by the chaps who run the Elite squad.

I decided to check their website to see exactly how I proceed with getting my name down for kit, training, an agent, freebies etc and there appears to be three levels of Elite Athlete. There's the World Class Podium for those who have already got Olympic titles under their belt - I presume this refers to people like Lord Coe and Fanny Blankers Cohen; then there's World Class Development for those who are three to six years away from Olympic glory (which, I think is a category unique to the Brits, for those who are happy to finish as also rans. Such as our swimmers and field athletes). Then there's the category which appears to refer to athletes like myself. They call it World Class Talent and it's supposed to be for athletes considered to be gifted and motivated and who show the potential for a podium finish. I've a slight worry about that reference to podium so let me reassure you, this kiddie isn't lowering his sights.

As far as I'm concerned, there only one step on a podium and that's the one slightly raised and in the middle. Those two on the left and right are purely for the cameras. And Canadians.

Anyway, back to the website and curiosity got the better of me so I clicked on the list of "athletes" (and I use that term very sparingly) who are included in this programme to see whether my name was there yet and do you know - I've never heard of one of them! I do find that slightly worrying because, if things stay as they are, I’m going to be stuck with a bunch of nobodies! Now, correct me if I'm wrong but I thought the purpose of being elite was to be ahead of the best not just ahead of the rest. Not to put too fine a point on it, I’ll be a household name stuck with a load of … well ... who are they for God’s sake??

I know it’s cruel – but winning is a tough game. Am I right? Of course I am! So why on earth they've padded the list with a bunch of losing ne'er do well's God only knows but I'll tell you one thing, they'd better be on their mettle when this buddy turns up for his track suit fitting. I'm a winner and want nothing to do with a load of 'potential finalists' or 'runners-up' or 'game performers' who run 'out of their skins' or to their 'full potential'. Only to come second last.

Of course I blame the blokes that run it - it’s not the poor kids fault. Their so-called ‘performance objectives’ are all wrong. They are asking for 'potential podium finishers' to be part of their squad. And what does ‘potential’ mean? Well, in my book ‘potential’ means ‘not a winner’. Potential? It's a cop out! It means a bunch of silvers and bronzes at best. Silver? Bronze? Pah! Might as well be made of plastic in my eyes.

Have you ever really thought about the power of winning? Do you really know how much better than silver and bronze a gold medal is?

Let’s go forward in time for a minute shall we? To the summer of 2012. It's the penultimate day of the London Olympic Games and its marathon day. Now, unfortunately, the UK team haven't had a good games. In fact they've only secured one solitary bronze medal – probably for shooting something. And so, as the athletes line up for the start of the marathon, the UK languishes in 184th place with that one bronze. True, we'd be 163rd but for the fact that we begin with 'U' - but, hey, that's life. Why do you think Burkina Faso changed its name from Upper Volta?

But 2 hours and a couple of minutes later what's changed? I'll tell you what’s changed sunshine. We've only gone and shot up to 34th in the medal table. Why? Because my Gold Medal puts the UK way above the also rans - countries like Belgium who win 18 silvers and 22 bronze's are now below us because of my single Gold medal! It's as simple as that. The power of Gold you see?

I shall be writing to the Senior Edam at UK Athletics to tell him exactly what I think of them setting out to recruit losers and I’ll be hammering home a few home truths too. I pull no punches when it comes to ambition and I'll be offering them my ideas on how to recruit the best to get the best.

I'll let you know when they reply.

Anyway it's back to the schedule. Don’t forget that if you're in Ashford on Sunday don't feel embarrassed - I'm always happy to sign autographs or pose for a photograph. My reputation is apparently spreading far and wide and the organisers tell me that because of my appearance they are expecting around a thousand runners on the day. And that's great. I do think it important that we continue to encourage the social joggers and your average club runners - because, who knows? I've shown them that it is possible to achieve star status and notoriety - so there's a ray of hope, even for them.

The local Kent rag hasn’t been in touch yet but no doubt, like all small newspapers and parish mags it’s staffed by a bunch of lazy old soaks sitting around doing Sodukus until deadline day, so I’m expecting a last minute request for an interview. Mind you, it’s not all a bed of roses for us chaps in the media spotlight, you know. Take last night. I was in the middle of a series of anal crunch exercises in the local park, watched by a small crowd of kids and a policeman, when Haille-Minogue my eldest Cash Drainer arrives to say that a chap from Sky was on the phone. I dashed home and put on my best media voice only to find some Scottish oik trying to flog me a subscription!

Such is the price of fame.

Yours, with feet firmly on the strasse.

Keep on tapering.

Ron