Nothing changes

Back to Blighty - after a ten hour journey from Montenegro to Ron Towers which included a 5 hour journey by road to Dubrovnik and a fabulous 2 hour wait at the border. What is it about these Johnny Foreigners? They are all so desperate to join the EU - and what is one of the principles of EU membership? Yup - unhindered travel across borders.

Let me tell you these Croats could't even spell the word 'unhindered'!

Anyway, we eventually arrived at the airport, frazzled and pretty hacked off. Fortunately I didn't have to use the dreaded celebrity phrase "Don't you know who I am?" As soon as I arrived at the check-in - guess what? Yep - free upgrade to Business Travel. Now that's more like it chaps.

So, I had a very comfortable journey back. The Half Share and Cash Drainers were firmly ensconsed in steerage - but, "hey" as I said to them "don't give me grief - just deal with it".

I think my diplomatic approach to what could have been a tricky family situation was spot on. Mind you, I had breakfast on my own this morning.

Anyway, the fun now starts. I've had my warm weather/altitude training - it's now back to reality. Of course, Blighty welcomed us with its traditional open arms - and it's lashing down with rain and cold. But I'm an athlete - so tomorrow sees my first day of cold weather training and I'm due to cycle 30 miles or so to get the old limbs back in use. I'm going to have to disappoint the people of Henfield who, I know, were looking forward to watching me tomorrow - but jet lag, weather lag and a general 'bugger that' lag means I ain't doing no half marathon tomorrow.

But I will be pounding the streets this week prior to a PA at the Rye Summer Classic series on Friday evening - an event organised by my old muckers at Nice Work. Then, next weekend, I'm off with those very same people to that fine city of Bruges for a 35 mile charity walk which they organise to raise funds for a local Hospice.

Phew! the life of an Olympian isn't always a barrel of laughs you know.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

I think I've made an impression!

Well, your kiddie here has reached the end of his first warm weather training session - and I have to say it's done me the world of good!

Bring on Beachy Head! Bring on the Himalayas! Bring on 2012!

I'm a good few pounds lighter - both fiscal and avoir dupois! And I think I've made some friends amongst the Montenegro public.

As our last day approaches the thermometer has reached the 100 degree mark and to celebrate the Half Share decided to .... take me on another 8 mile hike to the top of a flippin' mountain.

Now I don't know about you, but I'm getting pretty frigged off with hill training - and 4 miles in an upward direction is not my idea of a box of chocolates I can tell you. So, I sit here now with a bum like a box of figs and calf muscles crying out for some relief. But fair's fair - it was a wonderful view from the top of the flippin' thing!

We have also completed our medical traumas - our fifth visit to the local hospital to have the stitches removed from the Half Share's lower limb was a bit of a red letter day for us - at last she can drink and she can swim!

Unfortunately the day then went south when the middle Cash Drainer,The Droog, decided it would be fun to collapse face first into a plate of Minestrone Soup - a bit of a frightener I have to say but it turns out to be nothing more than reaction to the sun. I was more concerned with the reaction to my wallet as I'd already ordered her Cod 'n' Chips before she decided that a bubble in the soup would fun - but we got over that. And blonde hair does go well with red soup!

My final training run of the break was a strange one though. I have noticed that my daily training session has attracted an increasing number of people. Nothing too special but I usually start with some pelvic thrusts, a couple of my notorious anal crunch routines before breaking for autographs. I know that the sessions have done wonders for Anglo-Balkan relations and I was delighted that as the days have progressed then more and more of the locals have bowled up to watch me. This morning I had the pleasure of the local Chief Constable watching me - and his admiring glances were much appreciated I can tell you! In fact, so impressed was he that he offered me a lift to the airport - how about that for fraternal Balkan greetings?

In fact, so insistent was he that I had a hell of a job persuading him that I wasn't actually leaving this morning - so the offer of a lift in his Patrol Car, whilst much appreciated, was unnecessary. Great news is though that he has promised to drive me to Dubrovnik tomorrow morning and personally escort me out of the country.

How 'Wow!!' is that?

So, I'm back to Blighty tomorrow and I can tell you one thing - I'm just so full of beans! I really feel that I'm back to my Olympic best - and I'll be cranking up the old training regime accordingly.

I'll have a chat when I'm back.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Now I feel like an Olympian

You know, I quite like this warm weather training lark.

Bit of sun on your back - it's still 30 plus degrees out here in Montenegro-land - and because I'm in a third floor appartment I'm getting in some much-needed altitude training to prepare myself for the Himalayan jaunt next year.

My training only actually takes about an hour or so in the morning. I usually pop along to the village square here in Przno and go through my anal crunches, pelvic squirts and other well rehearsed Ron routines. I can see I'm making an impression because the local taxi rank now has a queue of people waiting for me and they seem to really enjoy my routine. They get a bit animated but I'm sure that's just them being Balkan.

Yesterday, for a change I showed them my one fingered press-up routine and you should have heard them whooping and hollering! Mind you, in the excitement, I'd split my Lycra shorts and they were seeing just a tad more of Ron than I intended. I think they still enjoyed it though - they even recognised that the heat could be getting to me and playfully sprayed me with water. Wasn't that nice of them? They got a bit carried away though - some of them were so excited they hadn't even took the tops off the bottles before chucking them at me!

Anyhow I've just been running a few k's - nothing too far. I'm finding the heat very sapping - but I did manage a nice 6K jog yesterday. Then it was back to the room for a spot of good dietary intake before sloping off for a day on the beach.

I'm a very well read bloke so I brought a couple of books with me to chill out with. I brought a biography of Tommy Cooper and a bio of Houdini. Trouble is the Tommy Cooper book has disappeared and I buried the Houdini book in the sand and I can't find it now!

Yesterday's lunchtime training session consisted of a walk. We visited the city of Kotor - a stunning place which is now a World Heritage site under the auspices of the UN (so let's see how long it takes for the bally place to fall down then eh?). I like to think that these are kind of like missionary visits for me - I mean it was another place that perhaps hadn't heard of the phenomenum that is Ron.

Whenever I visit a new place I always go out of my way to introduce myself to the locals - do a quick demo of one of my training routines - you know, just be friendly with these people. You have to remember that places like Montenegro, Belgium and Canada just don't know what it's like to win anything - so I try to empathise with them. I even handed a few sweets out to some of the local kids and paraded my new yellow lycra shorts but I suspect that may have gone right over their heads because no sooner had I handed out a few mint imperials than the kids had been ushered away by what I took to be a load of blokes in black dresses but which subsequently turned out to be their mothers!

Dunno why the place was suddenly filled with local militia either. They seemed more interested in where I was staying rather than the fact that I'm a real live Olympian. And it's a problem asking me where I'm staying anyway because I can't say the name of the place without filling somebody's face with spittle.

It really is a country that could do with some vowels.

Anyhow, the Half Share decides we should go for a little walk. And so at precisely midday we set off to walk to the local church. Which is located 4,000 feet up a chuffing mountain!! 4,000 ft - at midday. In 35 degrees temp.

I've now got two sore feet and can't even run for a bus this morning.

Anyway, I'm just off for a Montenegrian version of a full English. Can't beat a spot of cucumber and carrots first thing can you?

Keep on tapering.

Ron.

Montenegro's Revenge

It had to happen.

I have to admit that, much as I like this place, I've given it some stick. I'm particularly struck by the attitude of the public servants we come into contact with on a daily basis. Every building, be it hotel, a hut in a beach area or just a plain old building site with some derelict property - just has to have a small army of security guards. These guards are not picked for their good lucks, civility or sense of humour either! But it's the buses that really get this kiddie. A 20 seater bus is not a proper 20 seater bus - unless it has a driver, a ticket collector - or two - and an inspector of tickets - or two. 20% of the flippin' seats are taken up by these damned officials!

Anyway, somebody in authority has obviously been overhearing my comments because good old Montenegro really bit your man here on the bum today.

It started innocently enough with a straightforward 5 mile run. Which degenerated into a 4 mile torture trail. The heat just got to me. I was running easily enough - but in 30 degrees plus temperatures. After two stops for a cold beach shower and three water stops I finally gave up and limped back to my beach towel thoroughly overheated, with a stubbed toe and not feeling very well at all.

Spot of lunch should beat that though eh? Wrong! The blessed stuff went straight through me and the rest of the day and evening has just about headed as far south as it could.

So picture the scene. Half Share in the House bandaged up like an Egyptian mummy and unable to walk or to hold anything because of her road injuries. On antibiotics so can't drink. Me - I'm just on Neurofen and limping. Stomach so tender can't drink. Haille-Minogue, the eldest Cash Drainer has earache. On antibiotics. So can't drink. The Sod has sunburnt feet and a stubbed toe. The only fit one amongst the five of us is The Droog - and she's retired early with a headache.

Cracking holiday eh?

Anyway, in catch up mode I thought I'd bring you up to speed with a cracking little event we came across a couple of weeks ago. The Wedding Day 7K is now in its 27th year and commemorates the wedding of Prince Charles and Princes Diana - the race was first run on their wedding day.

It was a Friday night bash and attracted over 700 runners for a very nice run through Bushy Park in London. Now my entry obviously boosted the number of people that bowled up - but imagine my surprise to discover that I wasn't the only Olympian taking part! A woman called Sonia O'Sullivan who has won medals at previous Olympics, whilst representing Ireland - which is a small country near Liverpool - was there. Now she obviously wasn't a proper Irish woman because half way through her career she became an Australian! Imagine that! Anyway despite her now being classified as an Australian she was still wearing shoes when she turned up. And by the left can the gal still run! I decided that chivalry was the order of the day and after introducing myself, offering to share my anal crunch routine and asking her if she fancied a spot of warm weather training with me in Lanzarotte - I decided not to belch on her parade - so I let her win.

Me and the Half Share ran the thing though - and we were absolutely delighted when the organisers presented us with a real three tiered wedding cake. I thought it was a lovely gesture and I was half way through my acceptance and vote of thanks speech when some eejit told me it wasn't an award - but that we'd won the bally raffle!

Anyway a very pleasant run out indeed - and, of course another pb to chalk up.

Anyway - must dash - I need the damned loo again.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Old habits die hard

So, here I am still in Montenegro and nearing the end of Day 4 of my resurgence as a genuine world class athlete. This is the life - proper warm weather training!

We're staying in a place called Przno - so God help me if I ever get lost cos I haven't a clue how to pronounce it. I did have one bash at explaining where I was staying to a pretty filly I met in a beachside bar but succeeded only in covering her in spittle!

I arrived in Przno in the early hours of Saturday morning after a three hour flight and a three hour road journey from Dubrovnik which involved crossing the Croatia/Montenegro border. Now, I don't want to reopen old wounds here - but it ain't five mintes since these two states were all part of the same blessed country. Now I know they had a bit of a slapping fest a few years ago - but you'd think they'd give something up for the sake of good neighbourlyness wouldn't you?

Przno - our base in Montenegro.
Not a bit of it.

A queue as long as the Adriatic just to cross the border with forms and God knows what else needed. And then when you get here - its like a pre-Cold War state beurocracy. Not one public servant we've encountered is able or willing to break into a smile. A four mile stetch of beach and surrounds is out of bounds cos some Government Numpty is having his hols in the place! It is! It's just like an old fashioned commy state!

That said it's a lovely place and I've managed to do a morning training run each day - and I think my fame must have travelled. I certainly attracted a knowing, knowledgeable and animated crowd outside the local Taverna when I performed my well known programme of anal crunches and pelvic thrusts! They got so excited that even the local plod turned up to have a word with me too - I presumed they just wanted my autograph and I happily signed a few bits of paper thrust in front of me.

Sveti Stefan - our training run visits this pretty little island.

The problem with these short (5K-ish) runs is that we're staying in the bottom of a valley - so no matter which way I run I'm faced with a road that feels like I'm attempting the North Face of the Eiger! Still I have at least managed to get myself out - and I intend to do so for next 11 or so days too.

Today was rather botched somewhat though - we'll have to call it a non-day. The Half Share in the House decided to run with me rather than cook breakfast and pack my beach bag. And wasn't that just a fine and dandy thing to do?

You see there's usually a crowd of chaps watch me and on the previous three days as I've run past they've whistled their appreciation at my running style - and being that sort of a guy I usually wave back and acknowledge their support. Anyway, it turns out they were'nt a hunch of chaps - it was a collection of WOMEN!! I thought the hairy arms and upper lips were restricted to those of a masculine persuaion - but not here! Anyway, the Half Share being a jealous type, and on hearing these females having a toot at your man here - only turns round and aims a size 8 Timpson in their general direction, misses and falls flat on her face.

Now this could have been funny - but believe me I've been in her debt long enough to know when something is funny. And this was not an occasion to laugh.

The bottom line is that we've spent three hours this afternoon in a Montenegran hospital whilst she had a stitch put in a rather nasty cut - and it cost me 52 euros for the privelege! Thank God I didn't want my socks darned that's all I can say!. She's also a bit bruised and shaken by the whole affair - so I've told her to leave the washing up till the cleaner comes in on Friday.

Mind you, the bruises will mend - but the absence of alcohol for five days until she finishes her antbiotics are deffo not for chuckling at.

Hopefully thngs will turn northwards tomorrow - I'm due to do my first 10K training run for weeks. In 32 degree heat too!

I'll let you know how I get on.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Don't panic - I'm here!

What ho my old pining groupies.

It’s so good to be back with you – and I’m grateful for your concern about my health and welfare. The truth is that whilst I am alive and well, I’ve had a tricky dicky couple of months. The running biz has been weighed down with … well just weighed down really. I’ve suffered a few injury probs and these have held me back. So too has the fourteen stone of extra weight I now seem to be carrying – I think I have a medical condition which manifests itself whenever I see a glass of beer or a menu. One glance/sip and I’m seven pounds heavier.

I’ve also discovered that being a full-time Olympic hopeful isn’t all its cracked up to be either! Whilst I can’t say that the adulation hasn’t been fun – it doesn’t put bread on the table! My three cash drainers Haillie-Minogue, The Droog and The Sod have continued making noises about me contributing to their welfare – such as buying them food and clothes. The end result, sadly, was that I was faced with an ultimatum – either earn some dosh out of this running business or, gulp, get some work done.

So, I’m afraid that the running has had to take a second place whilst I tuned me hand to a spot of earning. I was going to have one last bash at trying to secure a place on the GB team at the World Athletic Championships in Japan later this month – but then I noticed that it clashed with the Hove Prom 5 – and I don’t want to miss that event so I ducked out.

Running-wise then I’ve done very little – apart from a couple of small events. I wandered aimlessly round a 5K in Ashford in a dreary 27.02; then a week or so ago I proved that class will always tell when I took part in the Wedding Day 7K – and only purred round in a personal best of 43.02.

OK it’s the first time I’ve ever done the 7K distance but I ain’t complaining!

So, why am I back now?

Well I’ll tell you.

The Olympic Dream is still on course – but I’ve decided to up the ante by sticking a couple of additional challenges to help me on the way.

In October this year I’ve been persuaded to do the Beach Head Marathon and three or four weeks later I’m off to the land of Chianti and Pasta to take part in the Florence Marathon.

Now for those who I consider to be my colonial friends, Beachy Head may mean nothing to you – but let me tell you its enough to strike fear into anybody.

For a start, it’s probably the number 1 suicide spot in the UK – with a stream of people bowling up on an evening to hoy themselves off the cliffs into the sea below. For runners it’s a challenge too – think of your fastest marathon – then add 50% to that time. And there’s your fairly stiff target to aim for.

But Beachy Head is a stroll in the park compared to our 2008 challenge – the 100 Mile Himalaya Challenge. That’s 100 miles in a very hilly part of the world indeed.

So, the training and ‘get back to reality’ 14 day training programme began on Saturday morning and I’m now focused on restoring my Olympic Gold Medal reputation.
But not for me a boring couple of weeks running the lanes of Sussex.

Nope. I’m in warm weather training mode in a strange place called Montenegro. It’s a place where there are more public servants than grains of sand – and not one of them smiles. However, it is perfect for me to reassert my athletic prowess.

So, over the next couple of weeks I’ll bring you up to speed with what I’ve been up to in some more detail. I’ll tell you about your man here’s performance in Luxembourg at the Night Run (you’d have been proud of me!). I’ve also been noseying around a place called Slovenia to look for places to run next year and I think I might also bring you some news on a campaign me and my cash drainers are running here in Montenegro – it’s called ‘Make a Montenegran Smile’ – and we’re failing miserably.

Coming up we’ve got races planned in Luxembourg, France, Holland and Belgium – plus we’re to have a look at the Arctic Circle next month. So much to tell you.

And “Yes, I’ve missed you too!”

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Never run with children or animals

The Olympic roadshow just keeps on rolling.

Your man here is having to really knuckle down though to try and lose a bit of pie and Leffe from the midriff and, not to put too fine a point on it, until I do, there ain't gonna be any World Records come 2012. I'm not saying I won’t win the Gold Medal - that's a foregone conclusion - but my time might be a tad slower than I would wish.

Unless, of course, I can slim down a tad. I'm currently on a Monday to Friday, lettuce, cup-a-soup and snack-a-jack diet - with the odd belt loosening blow-out allowed as a treat on a weekend. It seems to be doing the trick too - but time will tell.

On Friday I popped up to Stiletto City to take part in a very agreeable event organised by Springfield Striders. It's a 5 mile race around the country lanes of a village just outside Chelmsford. If you've never been to Chelmsford it's very much commuters-ville with all those who've passed their insurance exams congregating on one big estate. They’re a strange bunch - the kind of people who get a thrill out of buying electrical gadgets, personal number plates and sitting on trains for hours at a time.

But the chaps out running on the Friday were a different breed - very approachable, pleasant, and appreciative of our turning up. In fact they didn't behave like Essex people at all! Obviously, my appearance had attracted a bit of a crowd but I'm not sure they were ready for me. For some reason my display of anal crunches, pelvic squelches and groin thrusts didn't go down too well with the spectators - a few of whom just turned their backs on me and ushered their kids away.

Their loss I thought.

Anyway, the race started and finished in a pub - so after I'd thrashed my way round the course in 44 sizzling minutes I settled down for a couple of beers, a free burger and offered to sign autographs for the assembled masses - a very pleasant evening.

But Sunday was not pleasant.

The Half Share in the House decided she wanted to take part in the North Downs Run - a gruelling 30K race in, along and around the North Downs Way. I'm just coming back from my post London injury scare so I've not really got 30K in my legs yet. In any event to be honest I couldn't be arsed. Instead I decided to accompany my youngest - The Sod - in the Fun Run, a gentle 2.5K jog.

Never again.

For a start off it was full of bally kids. Not the kind of kid who appreciates and respects the event. But the kind of kid to whom manners and respect are just two words that they might have to spell in a Citizenship class.

So, here's what happened. It turns out that there are 40 kids and two adults - me and a woman who looked like a Jehovah’s Witness and wearing, wait for it - OPEN-TOED SANDALS!! She'd turned up to run in open-chuffing-toed sandals. For goodness sake, I'm an Olympic bloody athlete and I'm lining up next to somebody dressed to go shopping!

The gun went off. That’s normally a signal for people to run in one direction - towards the finish line. Not this lot. The gun goes bang - and they scattered in all directions. Some heading for the correct course, others walking from side to side, and some inexplicably running back towards the start line to collect sweets and drinks off their parents. It was bloody chaotic.

Three young oiks decided it would be great fun to run in front of me. And then just stop. I shimmied past them - but they caught me up and stopped in front of me again. Great fun for them. For the first four times anyway but not quite so funny after I had I delivered a size 9 Timpson up the jacksy of the eldest one - caught him a cracker I did. He retired from the race complaining to his single parent that "That fat bloke just booted me up the bum". "Sorry - tripped" I yelled apologetically as I ran past them.

Of course after 400 metres the vast majority of the kids had stopped, most clutching their sides, crying or complaining about having a stitch. The Sod, meanwhile, who is supposed to be running with his father has become a dot in the distance and is running with that 'eat my dust' style so common amongst little Herbert’s of that age. So I decided just to take it easy. But then, 500 metres from the finish, the bloody woman in Jesus boots only went and overtook me! She was flying. The straps on her open toed sandals were flapping away in the breeze - but she went past me at some rate of knots. I wasn't having that, of course - but it took all my strength to catch the bloody woman. Eventually doing so just 50 metres from the finish – and let me tell you the temptation to turn round and give her the Ron finger was almost unbearable.

I suppose what really hurt though was running in this race for oiks and nobody having a clue who I was. Olympic hopeful? Gold medal cert? I might just as well have been George Bush for all the notice they took of me. But what really, really, really grated was entering the finishing funnel to be told by a helpful marshal - "just a few more yards to go - come on, you can do it".

Err, excuse me. I can do it? Of course I can chuffing do it - it's only 6 weeks since I finished the London Bloody Marathon - so I know I can run 2.5K!!!

I suppose you can sense my feelings of annoyance and frustration - I don't normally use expletives. But I was so pigged off by the experience I promptly went home and got absolutely lashed at my mate Ernie's Birthday Bash.

That’ll learn 'em I thought!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

That flippin' logo thing!

There's been an awful lot of fuss about the new London 2012 Olympics (I love the sound of those words when I'm in earshot of a Frenchman, don't you?) logo that my mate Seb drew.



Now Seb is a mate of mine so I'm reluctant to enter the fray and fuel the controversy. But let me just make one point. If you're going to draw a logo - then at least have the decency to talk to those blokes who are going to have to wear the chuffing thing - ie Me!!

Suffice to say that this kiddie will not be running the 2012 London Olympic Marathon with my chest emblazoned with something that was copied from the side of a tube train in Harrow!

Fortunately, my mate Buttocks has come to the rescue and he's designed a proper logo - and this one didn't cost £400,000 I can tell you.



So no prizes for guessing which one I'll be wearing come 2012 eh?

Keep on tapering.


Ron

Bit of catch up news

You know - I've got so much to tell you about your man here's exploits over the last month.

But first I have to confide in you, I've just had a shock. The numpties who run our country have determined that we must now recycle everything we use - and one consequence of this is a whole load of different dustbins for our rubbish. Presumably because of who I am - an Olympic athlete-in-waiting - I've been given my very own bins. One of them I presume is for pie wrappers and one is for my Leffe empties. Well, strewth - I've now filled the damned things up with old wrappers and empties that had collected in the car, by my bed etc. And there's still a week and a half before the bin men come to collect them. Fortunately I've been on the straight and narrow for a couple of weeks now so the only contemporary rubbish I've collected is a few old lettuce leaves, some empty cup-a-soup wrappers and screwed-up Snack-a-Jack bags - so whilst the future may look rosie (or green), I was concerned - how would I get rid of my old rubbish?

Then I had an idea.

I'll go to Essex.

So tomorrow night I'm spreading my wings and popping up to Stiletto City - to take part in a small 5 miler in Chelmsford.

And whilst I'm there I'll litter the A12 with my rubbish.



Now I know that this is environmentally unsound, not to mention very un-neighbourly. But in my defence can I just mention .... Brentwood? Have you been there? Let's just agree that a few pounds of rubbish might actually make that place a bit more interesting shall we?

So, my immediate public appearances have been settled – and then on Sunday I'm off to Caravan County to watch the Half Share in the House take part in the 30K North Downs run. You have to be a nutter to do that one - so I'll let her do it. It'll give me an opportunity to mingle with my supporters and sign a few autographs - and to be there in my civvies will make a nice change because sometimes, I have to say, I do get a tad weary of people ogling my lycra.

I'm also busy trying to secure some new lucrative sponsorship deals - and I'll have some news for you soon on this front.

Now then, I thought I'd also bring you up to speed with a boozy little weekend spent in France in the middle of last month. I'd been invited along to take part in the Montreuil Ramparts 10K by those nice people at Nice Work who organise running trips to Europe - I think I'm kind of like a talisman for them. Certainly I'm the nearest they’ll ever get to a celebrity - so I always enjoy my weekends away with them.



I have to admit I was a little shocked though when I first clapped eyes on the motley crew I was due to spend a weekend with - if I hadn't been invited specially I think it would have been one of those weekends where I "had the flu" and "will have to stay in my room" all weekend. Not to put too fine a point on it - they were a gin-fuelled lot. From the first beer at breakfast on the boat, to the final squeeze of the barmaid's apron on the boat back - they didn't stop throwing booze down their necks.



That said, they were a nice bunch and it was good to see that I inspired a couple of them to run their first ever race. I also appreciated the relaxed way they treated me. Most of the time they gave me a pretty wide berth and let me get on with my media and promotional duties. And they weren't forever asking me for training tips or whether I'd got a celebrity girlfriend. In fact, because they treated me just like a normal person, then that’s the way I acted. Most of the time. I have to admit, a few Leffes were dropped over the 48 hours we were there - but, hey, life is for living eh?



I was sorry to miss the running bit of the weekend though - this kiddie here never shies away from rubbing the old frog's noses in the doo-doo. Fortunately we did come away with a few pots - the Half Share in the House won a prize for being a nippy old woman and - and this really smacked me in the gob - my youngest, the Sod, who'd stowed away on the bus - only went and won the nippers race. Winning it knocked me for six - mind you, he's just a chip off the old block. What really made my weekend was seeing the kid's face when he went to collect the trophy and had to give the old Frenchie a couple of smackeroons on the cheek! (see below for the proof!)



I was a tad miffed not to have been able to run in the race - but I did content myself with a Leffe or two. I also had my last 'Big Breakfast' of the Spring for the foreseeable. I'd already made my mind up it was to be my last blow out - so I did rather go over the strasse on the egg and bacon front. But what the heck!



Anyway, I'll let you know about my little jaunt down to Luxembourg in a day or two - in the meantime, wish me luck as I take the first tentative steps back to world-class elite athleticism.

Starting tomorrow in Chelmsford- so may see you there? After a rather sluggish 6 miler this evening, I’m looking forward to it!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Don't worry - I'm here!

Don’t worry Ronettes – I’m OK!!

Well only just – but I am OK.

Where have I been? What have I been doing? And who with?

All these questions and much, much more will be answered in good time. But I just wanted to tell you that I’m really .... just fine-ish!

Have you missed me?

I’ve got so much to tell you that it’ll take me a few days – I’ve been representing my country in foreign places like France and Luxembourg, my favourite small European country; I’ve been competing in Caravan County, I’ve been meeting with dignitaries – but I’ve been also been eating a couple of pies and downing the odd Leffe too.

So where do I start? Well I suppose I should tell you why I’ve been absent.

I know that there were rumours floating around – I’d been kidnapped by dissident Canadians fighting for independence from England, I’d been taken in and offered full board and lodgings by HM Inspector of Secure Premises; I’d been on warm weather training in Scotland etc etc - all very romantic – but some way from the truth.

The truth is I’m afraid much worse than any of those scenarios.

I've had to get a job.

You see, since my magnificent victory over Haille Gebrselassie at the London Marathon this year I really expected the commercial endorsements to come flooding in – but, you know, life’s just not like that. And to be honest I’ve found it difficult to carry on with my full-time Olympic training programme. It was a huge psychological blow – not to mention a pain in the backside – to find myself struggling to pay my own training and dietary expenses (do you know how much food is? Over £3 a pint now!). So, I found myself under a bit of pressure from the Half Share in the House to pop out and get some spondoolicks. Apart from anything else it takes some ackers to support her five times-a-week bingo habit and with further demands on my wallet from Septic Knuckles, the rent man, Haille-Minogue, The Droog and the Sod – my three cash drainers – I had no option.

Fortunately my mates Ernie and Buttocks came to the rescue and got me a job as towel hanger at the local sauna and solarium – that went south after just three days after some pathetic incident with a couple of fillies, an ice cube and a whoopee cushion got blown up out of all proportion. Anyway I ended up working as a car park attendant on the seafront in Hastings – and I tell you it’s been a real uplift for me. My confidence has improved, my social skills have taken a turn for the better, I’m now better able to negotiate, to interact, to debate. And I’m also able to reverse a Ford Transit into a space four and a half feet wide.

So that’s why I’ve been quiet. Your man here has been into shift work and seven days a week working – and all for the benefit of my dear family.

Anyway, that’s enough brownie points in the bag – it’s back to normal now!

But "Hey, Ron" I hear you say “Tell us about your intensive Olympic Training Programme and are you still on course for 2012 glory?”. Well I have to say, there have been times when I’ve wondered myself. But don’t worry – that medal has still got my name on it!

Immediately following London, I became quite ill – my body basically fell to bits. In fact on more than occasion I was forced to my bed and had to rely on the Half Share’s caring nature to see me through the day. My skin started to drop off, my head hurt, my insides were in turmoil – basically I was one big unwell bunny. But not wishing to disappoint my public and those who have followed me through thick and thin – even when I went to Wales – I decided to try and carry on making my hugely popular public appearances.

My biggest mistake was running a 10 mile race in Caravan County. I popped over to Hildenborough at the beginning of last month. I felt OK-ish and finished the 10 miler in 1.32.34. But, my word did I suffer for that. My legs had gone the morning after - and I thought I'd got the dreaded splints. Three days later I went down to my local athletics track to sign a few autographs and attempted to do a lap of honour and to wave to the assembled masses - but, you know, I couldn't manage more than 15 yards before I had to stop.

So, with my anger and frustration all boiling up I threw my pumps under the stairs, took a pie, popped a Leffe and sat there and stewed. I missed my favourite race in France and my even more favouritist race in Luxembourg - and, to be honest, life seemed to be heading downhill fast.

And then I remembered who I was. And of all my fans, my Ronettes, my sponsors (although that's a moot point at the moment), my world.

And that Olympic Medal dangling round my neck.

So, I gave myself a kick up the jacksie two weeks ago - weighed myself, burst into tears and sat down to write myself a recovery training session.

As I sit here now, I've been going for just over a week. In that time, I've cycled around 50 miles, re-started my running - and, believe it or not made three public appearances in four days!

I'll tell you all about it in good time - my trips to France and Luxembourg and my public appearances. But for now, relax,

Your man is back.

Keep on tapering

Ron

Especially for you marathon runners

Those of you who, like your man here, have aspirations above and beyond mere mortals will appreciate this little message from the sponsors of this year's London marathon.

Click here to bring those memories flooding back!

Keep on tapering

Ron

Great news for Luxembourg!!

You know this kiddy can be a sentimental old thing.

I remember many years ago when my mother used to sit me on her knee and bounce me on my head. “Reg” she’d say (she wasn’t very good with names) “Reg, you should always be proud of what you achieve in life – and never be afraid to tell people so”.

So, that’s what I’ve been doing all week. That and sitting on the loo, lying on the bed and driving to the chemist for neurofen. Because, I tell you something, I don’t know how my ex-rival Gebrselassie is feeling this week – but there have been times when I’d wished I’d bottled it as well last week in London.

But I didn’t and I’ve been suffering all week. Nausea, pain, headache, stomach problems, cramps, hot sweats, cold flushes – you name it I’ve had it.

But I’m soldiering through and I must say I’ve enjoyed a week of rehydrating with some of my Ronettes in the hostelries of East Sussex. I love you all girls! (apart from that weighty one with spots from Kent, I don’t like her at all)

So, what have I been up to?

Well I’ve fired off letters to David Bedford, Race Director of the London Marathon asking for a guaranteed entry for next year’s race. I’ve got two chances of getting in. Number 1 because I beat the former Ethiopian ‘Nobody can stay with me’ Haille and number 2 if that doesn’t work I’ll try and get in on a ‘Good for Weight’ basis. I’ve also fired off letters to some of the media chappies to try and capitalise on my success last week – you know the kind of thing - four page pullout, photo sessions etc etc. I’ll get the old tecchy thing working soon and share that correspondence with you here. I’ve written to most of the national newspapers to tell them of my feelings about 2012 but I expect it’s a little too early for them to have Olympic specials yet.

But for Ron, life just goes on. So, I’ll be slipping on the old lycra again this weekend for a special public appearance at one of my local events, the Hastings 5 on Sunday morning.

Without trying to be patronising I think it’s good for the soul to attend these kind of events – and, I kind of like the ‘local hero returns home’ type media coverage that I’m bound to attract.

So far as long distances are concerned I have had many requests for information about my next crack at the 42 K mark and – well here’s some great news if you’re a Luxembourgianese. I’m going to have a crack at the full distance at your Night Run in your cute little country on May 19th. Now that really is great news for the residents of that Dunstable of Central Europe – and will really give you a reason to come out of your little cuckoo clock houses.

Before then I’m in Caravan County for the Hildenborough 10 on May 7th – and not forgetting a little trip to France to ram some more Olympic goodwill up the back end of those cheese eating surrender monkeys.

My, I am being caustic today aren’t I?

Anyway, that’s my lot – must get back to the old correspondence – life doesn’t stop after one London marathon you know.

I’ve got an Olympic Gold medal to win!!


Keep on tapering


Ron

2012 - my first rehearsal

Well, the euphoria of my finish in front of tens of thousands of cheering fans is still around me. Thanks to all you fans – and especially the Ronettes out there who threw items of personal clothing at me on the Mall as well – I’m just sorry that I couldn’t wave back but I was otherwise engaged in a dash for the line.

How do I feel today?

Well, I do have a feeling of satisfaction on completing the toughest run of my life, but I am quite sore. Here’s my list of ailments – beginning at the south end:

1 x blister
1 x tight achilles
2 x aching ankles
2 x knees. Just painful.
1 x troublesome ITB
2 x calf muscles. Shot to bits.
2 x quads – very sore and difficult to move
1 x chaffing injury in the groin region.
1 x bizarre rash on my stomach. Just hoping it isn’t shingles!
1 x pulled muscle in my upper arm
1 x sunburnt neck
1 x sore throat and swollen glands (may not be run-related)
1 x face that looks like its been 10 rounds with Mike Tyson – can’t explain but it’s a mixture of sunburn and something akin to the after effects of a face lift
1 x sore nose – outside with sunburn; inside – I dunno, it just hurts
2 x sore eyes – another bizarre one. My eyes keep leaking tears but I’ve got over the emotional bit.
1 x bouncing headache.



Above. Your man here at the finish. Feeling very tired.

But I’m not moaning – I still feel pretty good with myself. I’ll be firing off letters to the UK Athletics bods and also to the Olympic organisers to remind them that I beat Haile Gebrselassie yesterday. In addition, whilst I have a 100% finishing record in my four marathons, both Gebrselassie and Paula R have inferior records to your man here.

That should sort my guaranteed entry in 2012.

So, how did it go yesterday? Here’s my mile by mile guide to the race.

Pre Race

Did my anal crunch and pelvic thrust routine to an appreciative audience at the warm-up area. A little surprised - as I thought this area was strictly for elite athletes. Attention grabbed by the number of elite athletes wearing fancy dress.

Mile 1

Unfortunate incident with Captain America. Despite two pre-race wees, felt the need to relieve myself on the roundabout a good 50 metres after the start. Whilst watering the flowers in the middle of the roundabout a gust of wind marked the good Captains leggings. Remember thinking he’ll probably think it’s sweat. Decided to forget about target time and concentrate on surviving.

Mile 2

Went storming past 16 convicts tied together with rope and as I turned to give them the “Hey, you’ve just been blown away by Ron. Eat my pants” finger I came across Convict number 17 and tripped over his rope. Thanks to Mother Theresa for picking me up. First sighting of two Bakewell Tarts. Feeling very hot already.



Mile 3

Passed Indiana Jones pulling a 330lb boulder – his anticipated finishing time was 27 hours! Saw Winnie the Pooh vomiting through its eye holes. Had my 4th water stop and running constantly at 10 minute mile pace. Think I can see the Kenyans just ahead of me. Decide to try and catch them to get in the leading pack.

Mile 4.

Caught Kenyans. Turns out that they’re four Round Table guys dressed as South Sea Islanders. Slip on piece of grass skirt. Heat is getting to me already and can’t believe how humid it is. Try to work out where would be the best place to pull out – then decide I’m being wimpish.

Mile 5

Ron gets a round of applause from crowd after picking up young girl who had tripped up. Try to help her straighten her number and fix a safety pin. Crowd seem to be on her side when she slaps my face – honestly, some people!

Mile 6

The first of ten long miles when, just after the Cutty Sark, I catch up with a woman carrying a trombone who plays the opening bars of Chariots of Fire every 10 yards. 10K time is 1 hour and 4 minutes – I’ve never been so slow. Show Teletubby an impressive pair of heels. That’ll teach him to dress up in a woolly TV character.

Mile 7

Teletubby passes me and breaks wind on the way past. Girl in bikini on my right looks at me disgusted - I tell her it wasn't me but she's not convinced. Bakewell Tarts pass me. See argument between Frankenstein and Scooby Doo. No sign of Gebrselassie.

Mile 8

Attempt to stuff Lucozade pouch down the horn of the trombone player. Suffer second fall of the day and trombonists legs it to catch up with her husband. He’s playing the trumpet. Now getting the Chariots of Fire tune every five seconds. Start chatting to a Red Indian. Big mistake – every spectator starts making Indian whooping noises as he passes. Getting a headache.

Mile 9

First sign of redness on my chest. Ouch. Catch up with Bakewell Tarts but get blown away by a Motorola telephone. Didn’t get a glimpse of the chap inside but wonder whether it could have been Gebrselassie. First sign of Tower Bridge and the sun is beating down.



Gebrselassie in his ridiculous attempt to get noticed. Did him no good though, he dropped out after 19 miles

Mile 10

Well you could knock me down with a feather. After Gebrselassie passes me dressed in a Motorola telephone, Paul Tergat overtakes me dressed as Fred Flintstone – remember thinking that he doesn’t suit orange. Feeling quite pleased with my run so far – if it’s taken the world record holder 10 miles to catch me I must be doing OK. Trombonist stops for a break and another Scooby Doo cocks his leg up and pees in the horn.



Paul Tergat manages a wave to the crowd

Mile 11

See a Sumo Wrestler running ahead of me and put a burst on to catch up only to find its Sally Gunnel. Roadside temperatures are reported to be 32 degrees making a mockery of the ‘official’ temperature of 21 degrees.

Mile 12

Second 10K completed in 1.07 and I’m now eager to get half way – first thoughts enter my head of walking. Glance to my right and see a guy dressed in a pink thong. All thoughts of stopping and walking have disappeared.

Mile 13

Over Tower Bridge and recall thinking that I’ve always felt quite fresh at this point. Feel about as fresh as a month old kipper today. Catch up with Bakewell Tarts. Finally manage to shake off the Red Indian. The relief from the constant whooping is so pleasant it takes my mind off the fact that I’m feeling very tired. Distressed to see Mary Poppins having a wee at the side of the road. Childhood illusions shattered. Half marathon time of 2.19 is my slowest ever – but chirp up a bit when I catch sight of what I think to be the leaders just ahead of me. Two Ethiopians seem to have the lead and are doing well dressed as London Bobbies.

Mile 14

Pass a good friend of mine Redhead Suzie – she’s attempting the world record for knitting on a marathon. She looks puzzled when I ask her if she’s dropped one yet. Start the long haul into the Docklands dreading the next six miles. Liquid intake up to 5 litres already – try to get my jelly babies out of my bum bag but drop a black one on the road. Stoop to pick it up (because they’re my favourites) and catch a glimpse between my legs of the bloke with the pink thong. Decide the jelly baby isn’t worth the risk and leg it sharpish.

Mile 15

Finally manage to ditch the trombonist when she gets her slidey-bit thing caught in a drain. Hard to run whilst laughing. Turn to give her the Ron finger and crash into a house being carried by four fire fighters. Think to myself “so that’s what it’s like to hit the wall”. Bakewell Tarts pass me. One cherry is only hanging on by a thread. Feeling of satisfaction in having completed 15 miles tempered by the fact I’ve got another 11 to run.

Mile 16

First of three Elvis’s I pass in the next two miles. Compliment him on being able to recreate the Elvis at the time of his death and realise the crassness of my comments. See who I presume is the leading lady runner so think I’m probably just outside the top 20 – things are looking good.

Mile 17

See the cherry off the leading Bakewell Tart and try to boot it into oblivion. Succeed only in falling on my behind and side-stepping the cherry in front of Ronald Reagan who kicks the cherry back in my face. Suffer safety pin wound to nose.

Mile 18

Run for a while with Shrek. 3rd 10K in 1 hour 11 minutes. Each of my three 10K segments is slower than I’ve ever done a marathon. See Gebrselassie struggling – he’s taken his Motorola Telephone suit off and looks as if he’s got a problem. Can’t say I feel much sympathy – this Olympic stuff is harsh you know.

Mile 19

Without realising it I can see that I might just be able to make this thing. I’ve slowed down considerably – but the sun is till beating down. Fantastic organisation sees water stops with plenty of fluids available now starting to appear at half mile intervals. Gives me no satisfaction though to hear that my main rival Gebrselassie has dropped out. That should leave the way open for me to cruise into the Mall still within sight of the leaders.

Mile 20

The chuffing Bakewell Tarts have overtaken me again – followed in hot pursuit by a teapot and a cup and saucer. That I can take but I’m none too happy I can tell you when a replica of the Champions League trophy barges past and its handles knock me into the side of the road. Starting to really hurt now and have more thoughts of stopping for a walk. See the Thong in my rear view mirror and that keeps me going.

Mile 21

Spartacus zooms past at a right old rate of knots being chased by an irate Strawberry with a hole where its stalk should be. Strawberry trips and bounces into middle of road – Mother Theresa appears again and leaps over the strawberry – all very impressive stuff.

Mile 22

Had a pleasant surprise. Bumped into the Half Share in the House. She should have been 2 miles ahead but had stopped for a Paula Ratcliffe. Not, I hasten to add at the side of the road but in the more dignified surroundings of a Bowls Club. She doesn’t understand my question about perpetual motions so I move on. The finish is now definitely on – and I think if I can kick in I might yet make the leader board.

Mile 23

Managed to reach the Bakewell Tarts but the cup and saucer is eluding me. Puzzled at the site of two Scooby Doos – am I hallucinating? Sorry Ronettes but I have to walk – but only for about 200 yards.

Mile 24

I know I’m going to finish but I’m finding it really hard work. I’m dehydrated – despite taking on enough water to fill a reservoir, I’m sunburnt and – and here’s the strange thing – I can’t clench my fists to dig in because my fingers have swollen to about double size. See Hamlet trying to pick his skull up off the Embankment. 4th 10K time is 1 hour 20 minutes and I’m now actually ahead of my 2005 London Marathon time. Gives me a real boost – as does the tramp who hands me a half eaten Penguin. I’m not proud and so I eat it.

Mile 25

It ain’t over till the fat lady sings and I’m amazed to see a fat lady singing – at the 25 mile mark! Had a teeny, weeny walk to the mile marker – then gather my momentum back again and start off in a final mile shuffle. This is a very, very long mile. It isn’t helped by the breakdown in signage which sees a long drag to the 800, then 600 metre mark. What seems a mile and half passes before I see the 400 metre sign. Eventually I round the corner into the Mall and set off on my famous sprint finish to the line.

Finish

Damn, blast and set fire to them!! The chuffing Bakewell Tarts and Cup and Saucer both pip me at the finish!! Finish alongside a Chicken who looks mortified when an official wraps him in foil.



A Bakewell Tart who, if you ask my opinion, needs to learn a thing or two about humility

Slump in corner. Feel very elated but so, so tired. Accept the congratulations of all those around me but have to apologise for not being able to sign autographs. Pink Thong man approaches and asks me if I'm stiff - so I decked him.

And that was it. My 1st dress rehearsal for London 2012.

I’m now taking a few days off to rehydrate and then the whole journey begins again. And how can you cap running the London marathon?

Easy – I’m doing the Hastings 5 this Sunday.

Can’t wait.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Ouch!

This will be a very brief report - I know that many hundreds of you will want to know how I managed today in my first practice on the 2012 Olympic Marathon course.

Today's London Marathon was staged in blistering heat - a factor which caused not only hundreds of runners to require medical assistance - but also beggared up the chances of one of my 2012 rivals Haile Gebrselassie who bottled it and dropped out after 19 miles. Another so-called world class athlete with an inferior finishing record than your man here.

I survived the damn thing - but it was such a brutal event and your hero now hurts like he's never hurt before. The heat was such that my race tactics switched rapidly from a target time - to simply getting round in one piece. My time of 4 hours 58.46 is my second slowest time at the distance - but nevertheless I was just so chuffed to finish in one piece.

I think I finished just outside the top 10 and certainly I reckon my performance will have the competition quaking in their trainers.

My only disappointment was losing a desperate sprint to the line to two Bakewell Tarts and a cup and saucer.

I'll bring you a full race report and some piccies in due course - but for now, I'm just going to sit here and hurt.

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

A new diet

I've been on a Leffe beer diet and it seems to have worked.

I've lost three days this week.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Ron gets the better of technology!!

I'm getting the hang of this technology lark now. Mind you, I still hanker for the days when a pencil behind the ear held the key to all communications!

Anyway, I've now managed to put on the replies to my correspondence - so click on the list of letters on the left and up should pop the original letter and then the reply!

Just getting to work on posting a whole heap of other correspondence I've had with captains of industry - and there are some shocks in store I can tell you.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

This is my world

As promised by your man here, I've taken a few photos of my regular training run.

So, there'll be no more of those "What planet do you live on?" questions.

OK?

This is a field full of yellow flower-like stuff which produces oil into which we cook our chips.



This is a field.



To those of you in foreign countries, this is proper grass.



The Water Jump.



This is a part of our off-road circuit.



Nothing can beat a sunny day and the Sussex countryside - the perfect combination for a hard-working elite Olympic athlete.



An old house - probably built before we civilised America.



The home stretch.



Ron's eggs come from here.



It's another sunny day here at Ron Towers and your man here has woke with a couple of twinges in my right leg. With the London marathon being an important part of my Olympic build-up, it's vital that I bowl up for that event in tip-top condition. So, although it means letting down hundreds of my fans, today's personal appearance at a piddling 10K in Lewes has had to be cancelled.

Next up is two weeks of rest and carbo-loading. I'm popping down to Paris to gloat at the French this coming weekend and then I've got a training nightmare with trips to Birmingham, Frankfurt and Dorchester to squeeze in before the big race.

Never mind - this is the kind of challenge I relish!

Keep on tapering.

Ron.

A sunny day in Folkestone

It was Good Friday in England on Friday. I suppose those of you in North America call it Coca Cola Day or Kentucky Fried Chicken Day - but here in our quaint, but healthily non-commercialised world we still have an unsponsored Good Friday. And, being a holiday, I decided to travel like ordinary people do and arrived in Folkestone with the Half Share in the House and the Sod in tow - and we were greeted by a sight more akin to a Village Fete. The sun was shining, the sky was blue and the grass was green.

Fantastic.

Being in Caravan County, my warm-up was constantly interrupted by fans asking me for autographs, running tips and requests for favours - and I didn't really have the chance to complete my anal crunch/pelvic thrust routine so beloved of the crowds. Over 500 runners had signed up to take part - around 350 of whom had entered for the chance to run with me. And I found that gratifying.

Thank you all - I'm humble-ified.

Now this event was not a race - it was just part of my pre-London Marathon schedule. My ambition was to test out my ability to pace and I'd calculated that a finishing time of 1.29.59 would be absolutely perfect. Off I set and I matched that pace mile after mile. In fact I was bang on target for a 1.29.59 finish as I turned into the home straight. Unfortunately the crowds of Ron supporters mistook my easy running style for somebody who was struggling to finish! Despite my protestations they began to harry me, encourage me - and at one point they actually moved into the road as though they were going to carry me over the line! No matter how much I protested or tried to reassure them that I was OK, they just continued to chivvy me along.

The bottom line was that I had to keep moving at a faster pace than I had wished to do. Fortunately I managed to stop just a few yards from the finish line - only for some well-meaning but very annoying person to push me along and through the chuffin' tape!

So I finished in 1.29.27 - many minutes slower than my fastest over the distance - but more annoyingly - 32 seconds quicker than I wanted to!!

Anyway, I suppose they meant well.

Now many people come up to me and say "Ron - what planet do you live on?".

Well what a stupid question I ask you! "Earth, of course" I reply. But, honestly, some people are so thick. They don't understand the answer! "Well what world do you live in?" They ask. This never ceases to puzzle me. "Well, the same world as yours - you nit" I usually say. "Well, do you live in your own little world then?" They persist. "Of course I don't, you wombat! I live in the same big world as you do! Are you thick?" I say.

So what I thought would be a good idea - to try and stave off some of these very silly questions, is to illustrate exactly the kind of world your man here does inhabit. So, I'm off now to take some piccies of where I usually do my training runs.

Then you can see exactly where I live - and you won't need to ask such stupid questions. I'll be back tomorrow with the results - after I’ve completed one of those piddling 10Ks in Lewes.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Taking it easy

Off to Caravan County in a few minutes to check out the Folkestone 10. Enjoyed pre-race night Guinness, red wine, spaghetti and cheese - because, as you know, there are no calories in any food or drink eaten over Easter.

I'm told that there's a huge surge in interest in this event because of my participation so I'm going to get there early and run through my anal crunches and pelvic thrusts for the crowds.

Time-wise I'm conscious of the London marathon in two weeks so I'll be pacing myself gently at 9 minutes a mile - so let's see how close to 90 mins I can get eh?

The rest of you - particularly those in America and Canadia who follow my progress - can stay in bed and enjoy a Nice Friday lie-in.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Publish and be damned!!

I've finally got round to exposing the murky world of sport and big business.

You can track my progress in trying to make my way to the top of my sport by checking my correspondence here.

I'll be adding more correspondence and the replies I've received just as soon as I can get the flippin' buttons to work!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Coping with celebrity

Many times since I started this quest for Olympic glory in 2012 I've found myself thrust into the media spotlight and, between you and I, I think I've coped OK. But let me tell you something - this celebrity status isn't everything it's cracked up to be you know.

Take this little spat between a couple of my fans below. You see how easy these things can happen? I show a little encouragement to a couple of pretty young things and before you know it they're at each other with claws bared! To be fair they live in a place a long way away – a place called Canadia which I’m told is miles and miles from civilisation. So whilst I show concern, I also show understanding and I’ll be dropping them both a line to maybe try and encourage them to use their energy in a more positive way.

It's for much the same reason I've stopped popping down to my local Gym - Stallones. I used to enjoy my thrice weekly sessions (4 x rectal lunges with 6 reps; 8 x anal crunches; and the 6 minute pelvic thrust routine which always goes down so well on race day).

I always knew that the young ladies appreciated seeing an elite athlete close up which is why I always made an effort to run through the routine during the Pilates class. But there's always somebody to spoil things isn't there? My problem started when I attracted the attentions of a 94 year old stalker. Things got so bad that she’d wait for me outside my home and follow me down to Stallones on her electric cart - and that is so demoralising. I mean I was pedalling as hard as I could and the pesky woman was still keeping up with me!

Once in Stallones she'd start to bend, twist, gyrate, jump up and down and sweat buckets for an hour. But, by the time she'd got her leotard on I'd finished the chuffin’ routine. And that only used to annoy her even more. I decided enough was enough when she took up pole dancing - it wasn't a pleasant sight as bits of her were still swinging five minutes after she'd stopped dancing! And the noises she made were confusing the heck out of the other gym members who kept thinking it was the coffee machine.

Sadly – although it was a bit of a relief for me - the poor woman died earlier this year on her 95th birthday. Tragic it was - she died at her own birthday party. Not sure what it was that finally finished off the old bird - she seemed to be enjoying her family giving her the bumps.

Not too much activity this week so far. I've been recovering from my long race on Sunday although I might pop out for a quick five miler this afternoon. Friday it's off to Caravan County for the Folkestone 10 and then on Monday we're making an appearance in Lewes for one of those piddling 10Ks.

Thankfully, I've managed to stay clear of injury so far this year - but I woke this morning in a bit of a panic. I think I may have bird flu. I did eat some turkey on Sunday and the symptoms I have are scarily similar to bird flu ie a bit of a temperature, blocked nose, nausea and I've got tired and aching joints.

What really convinced me I could have the dreaded avian thing though is that I've developed an almost irresistible urge to poo on someone's windscreen.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Still basking

It's early morning in Britain-land and I've just managed to raise myself from my pit. My God do my legs ache!

But, you know, despite the pain, I'm still basking.

And whilst I didn't get too much kip last night because of the aches and pains I did start thinking about this old running lark. Why, for instance did I stay below the radar for so long before being discovered? Just imagine the impact I could have had on British athletics if I'd started my journey to Elite athleticism in my youth?

But here I am, having to deal with my celebrity status relatively late in life - but I think I can deal with it. And do you know why? Because I'm a natural athlete that's why - and because I enjoy what I'm doing..

And I suppose that's what I like to get across to kids when I sign autographs for them - enjoy your sport. Enjoy your running. And, when you're old enough, enjoy a few Leffes after the race!

Here's ten reasons why I like running.

1. You won't go blind running on your own

2. You don't have to hide your running magazines

3. It is acceptable to pay a professional to help you run better

4. Your running partner doesn't get upset about people you've run with before

5. It is acceptable to run with perfect strangers

6. If your regular running partner isn't available she won't mind if you run with somebody else

7. There are no running transmitted diseases

8. Nobody ever says 'What you want to run again? That's twice ....'

9. You're not expected to run with the same partner for the rest of your life

10. Nobody expects you to give up running if your partner goes off the idea.

Ah well. Back to bed.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

It's in the bag!!

Phone the engravers boyos - your kiddie here is back on track for Podium Gold in 2012!

A trek down to West Sussex yesterday at a time of day when decent people are still scratching their backsides saw Team Ron roll into town with just one thing on its mind.

To get the heck out of Worthing and back to civilisation as quickly as possible.

It was a miserable day. Cold, wet and blowing a bit of a wind when we arrived just before 8 o'clock - and, as it happens, I was bursting for the toilet. What really got my goat was that despite me being asked to run in the race, presumably to boost the numbers taking part, there was no VIP enclosure, no pre-race hospitality, no designated warm-up area - and, more to the point, no VIP loos. In fact, as I wandered amongst the gathering crowd nobody seemed to have the faintest idea who I was! What distressed me slightly was that much as I hate pulling the 'Don't you know who I am?' trick, I was forced to do so because .... there were just four portable loos between 700 runners.

WORTHING! WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO??

For goodness sake I have to live with my celebrity status on a daily basis - you guys only have to deal with me once a year and I suggest it ain't too much of a faff to provide me with somewhere to relieve myself. Anyhow, you can imagine I wasn't feeling best pleased as I lined up near to the start line to carry out my programme of anal crunches and pelvic thrusts - a site that caught the imagination of the local paparazzi - and you can imagine my horrror to see the photo below appear in this morning's Worthing Bugle - with your man here midway through his routine.


But as I stood on the line ready for the 20 gruelling miles ahead of me I was glad of two things. First of all I'd eaten a good pan and a half of Branston Baked Beans and I was also wearing a brand new pair of runners from my favourite shoe company - Brooks.

Well let me cut to the chase Ronners.

Because I only spud round the course in a personal best time of 3.10.44 - and that's a whopping 9 minutes under target and 9 minutes quicker than my target time!

Those Ethiopians, Kenyans, Franchies and Canadians will be waking up this morning in their small hut-like houses and quaking in their boots. Yes Sir! My performance had 'Gold Medal Quality' writ through it like a stick of Blackpool rock.

But my God was I glad to finish! The course itself is mind numbingly boring - it's four laps of five milea around the houses and sea front of this seaside town. This is a race that is designed to wear the title 'Boring' with pride.

So, you find your man here basking in a tiny bit of glory. I've had a couple of my Numpties massage my impressive calf muscles - and I'm going to treat myself to a bar of choccie.

Don't you just like it when a plan comes togther?

I'm going to take it easy now for a couple of days before tripping along the coast to Caravan County for a bash at the Folkestone 10 on Good Friday. Other than that it's taper time for your man here as we look forward to the next big one - the London Marathon.

Keep on tapering.

Ron