Day 1 in Indialand – our arrival in New Delhi

Well our friends from Catarrh Airlines delivered us safe and sound in New Delhi. We just had the one more curry and a tube or two of Kingfisher prior to landing – but, at last, here was Ron. Reaching out to the far flung spots of the Empire.

And let me tell you I've been to some far flung spots – but this was the farthest flungest and spottiest I'd ever been to. All I can say is that if this was New Delhi, this kiddie wasn't too fashed about seeing Old Delhi. Even at 4 o'clock in the morning the place was like Romford Market on Dole Day – it was heaving!!

I knew things were looking south when I saw the car that had been sent to collect me. I say 'car' but blimey I've seen newer wrecks in a scrap yard. I met up with Himalaya Charlie to hand over the rest of the spondoolicks to guarantee our places on the race – lost the MOS about four times. She's a compulsive shopper and kept going AWOL looking for duty free bargains. All I got from her was “There's no W H Smith”, “Where's the Dixons?”

However, a car had been arranged to take us from the airport to our New Delhi base. With average hotel prices around $350US, I'd decided to take the accommodation side of things under my control – and I found us somewhere for forty quid a night. Well, I mean, a bed's just a bed isn't it? So we made our way through the traffic and arrived at my mate AJ's – he was going to put us up for the night until our flight to the Himalayas. We decided on a couple of hours kip before spending a day introducing myself to my new found fans, admirers and Ronnettes in Indialand.

After breakfast we took off with our own personal driver, of course, for a day looking around this New Delhi place. And what an eye opener it was. These Indians are crazy!! There were cows and camels all over the place – dogs, both dead and alive in the street – they'd obviously never heard of tarmac roads – and they certainly left a tad to be desired when it came to driving, eating and other matters of a more personal and hygienic nature. In short, after an hour of the bustle, noise, smells, animals, beggars, hawkers, scammers and fixers this kiddie was beginning to lose the old sense of humour. As well as half the planet there either trying to sell me something or lift my leg, the place was heaving with Australian people.

They seemed to be perfectly at home with the hygiene standards and the apparent tolerance of no footwear in public places – but they were also getting their rumps pasted by the Indians at cricket. Indeed, by about 6 o'clock in the evening the city was dominated by a strange hissing sound - which we later discovered to be the population of Indialand collectively wetting itself at the plight of the poor colonials.

However, on the positive side, we did see some pretty sites – we saw a big red fort and, just like on the John Wayne films it was being attacked by Indians. The cowboys were also there but rather than fighting the Indialand they were focused on trying to sell me Indian antiques. I told them I was already married but my attempt at humour fell on deaf ears.

But the strangest thing did happen at the Red Fort – I kept getting asked for my photograph. I had already decided that I was going to dress to impress – and my all red-number seemed to be popular amongst the Indian chaps. This was more like what I was expecting and I was just glad into bring a little ray of sunshine into their otherwise humble existence.

Found a great curry house in Connaught Place – and after a couple of bottles of Baron's and a Tikka Masala I was up for anything. One thing that did annoy this kiddie though. Now I'm not racist – I used to have a friend from Yorkshire – but I was a little put out when I found out that the cost of going to see old stuff in India is much more expensive for foreigners. So, for non foreigners, it was 10 whoopees to go in the Red Fort – but for foreigners it was 250 whoopees. Now I don't have a problem with that per se – after all why should we subsidise Johnny Foreigner? But I tell you what I had the devil of a job persuading the Indians that I wasn't a foreigner!! They tried to accuse me of being foreign – when it was perfectly obvious to me and anybody else that they were the foreigners! The cheek of it. So, to cut a long story short, we had a good hour and a half argy bargy over the issue but in the end the MOS was so desperate to buy an elephant from one of the shops that she paid the damned money.

The strange thing is that that it wasn't the only time I was called a foreigner on this trip – and by the end of it all I was getting a little hacked off with it. Anyway we did the sights and went back to AJ's for a kip. Course being Friday night we had to go out so we went to the New Delhi equivalent of the Dog and Duck – they called it the Crown Plaza. Apparently I embarrassed the Half Share and MOS by asking for the pool table – and I thought the game was inventified out there!

We had a couple of snifters there then moved on to somewhere called Pebble Road, where after another curry I made some attempt at a joke and called the place the Pebble Dash – not funny says MOS who was, by this time heavily laden with shopping. Her obsession with trying to find a bargain was already having a profound effect on the Indian economy.

After the curry and a nightcap, your man here was feeling a bit overtrained so I decided to take the lead in getting us back to AJ's. They have these strange little motorised things called Put Puts or Tup Tups – cheap as chips and the only way to travel at 50 mph on three wheels whilst blindfolded. Kind of like travelling in a Reliant Robin on cocaine! So on we climbed and asked us to take us back to AJ's.

Slight technical hitch was that we didn't have his address – so it did take us some hours travelling the streets of New Delhi until finally we found our bed. How we found the place God only knows – headlights seem to be optional. No street lights, potholes and traffic that seems to select the left or right hand side of the road by tossing a coin.

Anyway we finally ended up home and after a nightcap with my new friend AJ it was off to bed. It was only after leaving AJ that I realised he still hadn't asked my for my autograph and I made a mental note to rectify that in the morning.

Keep on tapering

Ron

Here we go, here we go, here we go ....

Well Ronnettes I expect you're dying to know how come I was the star of the toughest race in the world. As you know my Olympic Gold medal prospects were placed somewhat on hold due to my knee problem. A problem confirmed by Kango Fingers, my psychotherapist.

I did, however, manage to pop over to Amsterdam – in a place called Holland – to make a guest appearance in the Olympic Stadium during the Amsterdam Marathon. I have to say when I eventually managed to scale the fence and wave to the assembled crowd from the track I didn't get quite the reaction I'd been promised. However, the policemen were quite accommodating once I'd proved my athletic prowess with my one fingered press-up routine – it certainly got the crowd a little animated!! Funny people those Hollanders.

Anyway it got me used once again to mixing it with fans and admirers – and so it was I made the final decision to join Himalaya Charlie as a kind of guest celebrity for his little Himalaya 100 Mile Race. I made it clear to HC that I would not be running the thing – but I'd try and do a spot of walking along the route – and that I was happy to press the flesh with the Nippalese and Indians along the way.

Its been an eventful year in many ways. I've made personal appearances in many different countries – Belgium, Paris, Luxembourg, Wolverhampton and even up to Norway and the frozen north – but this was to be my first trip to a country of the Empire.

But first I had to cover a few domestic issues.

The eldest Cash Drainer has now flown the nest – she's not taking up any space in the house, but she's now become a kind of human direct debit. Money disappears each month and we're not quite sure what we get for it. But that still leaves the Droog and the Sod at home – so I gathered them round the table and gave them a few home truths

I explained that times are hard at the moment. There's a credit crunch, recession and financial issues dominate households and businesses. In short, times are hard. So, it left me with no alternative but to order a tightening of belts, major cuts in household expenditure, paring down to the bare essentials, need to shop at Lidl and Aldi etc etc. Oh – and by the way me and the Half Share are beggaring off to Indialand for a fortnight's hols.

Mind you there were a couple of side deals to the trip. I could only go to Indialand on three conditions. 1. I had to take the Half Share in the House 2. Her Much Older Sister (MOS) had to come with us and 3. I had to be on best behaviour. I had no problem taking MOS – an etxra pair of hands to carry my bags would always come in handy.

And so it was that we began preparations for the trip. I called Himalaya Charlie and outlined my requirements with respect to food, lodgings, profile, exposure etc and he seemed reasonably happy with things. Tween you and I, though, the Empire doesn't quite seem to be what it used to be. Would you believe that he started to tell me what he expected of me. Well this kiddie takes no cheek from anyone. So I put him right on a few things and told him in no uncertain terms that my appearance in his event would be on my terms not his.

I think that bit might have been lost in translation though – because he just didn't seem to understand. However I'd sort him out when I got there I thought. In the meantime I started practising on a new warm up routine to replace my now well-known pelvic squirts and anal crunch programme. So now - for anal crunch read Ron's Instant Credit Anal Crunch and for Pelvic Squirts read Ron's Financial Gains Pelvic Thrusts.

The Half Share also let slip a horrifying thought. Apparently we'd been married for 16 blissful years on October 28th. We've actually been married for 20 years - but only about 16 of them have been blissful. So, our trip to Indialand was to be a kind of thanksgiving-type celebration of - and for - me. I could relax – certainly no running for this kiddie, I'd leave all that malarkey for the Half Share. Plus, to be honest, my stature has increased somewhat anyway and I'm not really in any fit state to run. In fact, I've ballooned and I was told quite frankly that the prospect of me hurtling down a mountainside was something not to be contemplated.

So, we took delivery of our tickets – we were flying with Catarrh Airlines, which I was told was quite good but to be honest so long as it had a wheel in each corner and a trolley dolly with a few sherbets I was happy flying with anyone.

And so it was on Thursday October 30th at some God only knows what time, I packed my duffel coat, put on my best fleece and waited for my mate Ernie to turn up in his Bedford to take us to London Airport. Once we got there I took on board a dose of carbohydrates and plumped for the full English – I had a feeling it was going to be my last decent meal for a little while.

We boarded the Catarrh Airlines flight from London to a place called the Middle East – which I had always thought to be Brentwood. But this Middle East place was a place called Doh!! in Catarrh How cool is that – having a place named after something from the Simpsons?? The MOS did try and throw a spanner in the works by trying to tell me that because it was an Arab type plane there would be no beer – but fears were lifted within 10 minutes of taking off when a tube of Carlsberg arrived on my table.

This was the life!! Top marks Catarrh Airlines!! Things got better – no sooner had breakfast settled than within half an hour of taking off it was lunchtime! More to the point it was a curry! So it was Chicken Tikka Masala and Nan Bread and more Carlsberg for the next three or four hours. And that's the way my Thursday went – beer, curry, sleep, film, beer, curry etc etc.

I have to say, that the old temperature went up a notch when the film came on and displayed the 18 certificate – weh hey I thought! But for some reason on came a film called Ice Age and the only rude bits I saw were a mammoths bum and a hens boob. Anyway it passed the time and then I had another curry – it was only 2 o'clock and I was on my third meal!!

But then a strange thing happened.

Somebody pinched half my day.

I was just blowing the froth off another tube when I happened to look out of the window – just in time to see the sun going down. I looked at my watch – and, yes, it was 2 o'clock in the afternoon. Then I asked one of the Catarrhists what time it was and she said it was 7 o'clock So who had pinched my five hours then? “Oh its OK” said the Catarrhist “You'll get them back when you get home”. But that was no bally good – I wanted all my holiday hours when I was on my holidays – not when I'd finished.

We eventually landed in Doh!! which is the capital of Catarrh. Well, Ronnettes – take a tip from me. Don't go there. Not a beer to be had anywhere. So I sulked for three hours until our flight was called to New Delhi – and very soon we would be in Indialand.

Just time for a couple more beers .... and another curry.

As we approached New Delhi, I had a funny feeling in my stomach. Something that I felt I might have to get used to over the coming days.

Oh what a cruel life.

Tomorrow I'll tell you about our first day in Indialand – and what a day it was!! Can you wait?

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Piece of cake!

Ron just wants you all to know that he survived his attempt to win the greatest race on earth (next to the Ashford 10K).

The Himalayas might be big. They might be tough. But they are now truly humbled.

















I'll bring you my soon-to-be-a-best-seller report very soon.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Oh Dear

Well Week 3 of my training to win the Himalaya 100 Mile Race in Indialand passed by with just a couple of notable incidents - which, I have to say, pale into insignificance compared with Week 4.

But more of that later.

I travelled over to France the weekend before last to try and get some endurance training under my belt. Not strictly a running weekend, the three days were spent walking the 30 or so miles between Boulogne and Le 2K in Northern France. Now isn't that just typical of the French? Naming a seaside town after five laps of the track!! The route took us three days or so and was comfortably interspersed with a liberal quantity of wine bars, food shops and a rather tasty hotel to lay my head.

In a way it was a humbling experience for your man here. Not being in the company of fans, admirers and other runners I felt more able to relax - I wasn't having to hide from a legion of well wishers or feel as though I had to put on a show for my fellow travellers.

Indeed it was almost like what it used to be before I became a celebrity. In fact I thought I struck a somewhat anonymous figure amongst a group of, lets face it, ordinary people. People with dogs; people with jobs. (Hell fire two of them even lived in a council house!).

Mind you I got a tad bored with it. Its all right not being noticed on sight. But after a while enough is enough. And so, after a couple of hours when, intros completed, and not one of them had posed even a single question about my Olympic ambitions I decided to let them into my little world. And right after Dinner on the Friday I decided "right - I'll show 'em!" So I did my 3 minute one fingered press-up routine, finishing off with a 10 rep session of anal crunches and pelvic squirts. My how they laughed in the restaurant! The locals even entered into the spirit of things and began chanting what I can only imagine is a French colloquialism for 'Olympic Champion'. Homber Seal they chanted Homber Seal Homber Seal .

What a great bunch of foreigners they were.

Unfortunately the English lot I was with couldn't stay to the end of my routine which I thought was rather grumpy of them - but there you go, there's no accounting for taste. Anyway, one of the couples were from Wales. Nuff said.

So the Saturday I felt in good shape and covered 10 miles and then the day after I managed a quite impressive 17 miles. And after a night in the French equivalent of the Royal Oak I went to bed believing that the jaunt up Everest was all but in the bag.

But, on the Monday morning, I awoke and my knee had done a Ratcliffe on me. It had decided to stop running. I could hardly get the thing off the bed. So the final stage of the walk was completed for me in the back of a Transit and then it was the long, lonely way home for me. I have to say a feeling of hopelessness came over me. I might be able to win a few marathons on one leg - but 100 miles?

It called for drastic action. On Wednesday last week, after giving the old leg a couple of days to get better, I went to see a man called a Sports Psycho. Apparently with his Kango fingers he'd sort my knee out a treat and, so he promised me over the phone, he'd soon have me back on the training ground and I'd be back on track with Himalaya Charlie.

Now three things annoyed me about this Psycho. It started when I went into his treatment room. And he acted as though he'd never heard of me! How rude is that! Well that got my goat up right away and I was forced to do a bit of an Eric Morecambe and warn him that if he and I were going to get along, he'd better start showing some flippin' respect. I'll give hime 'Ron Who?'.

Secondly, he said he was going to give me a little prick - and I pulled another flippin' muscle turning round pretty sharpish. Turned out he wanted to give me a puncture. And so he did. Have you tried having a puncture? He stuck these four ruddy long needles into my knee. And told me to relax!! Relax?? It was sodding painful!!

But the thing that really hacked off this kiddie was his diagnosis. He reckons I've done my cartilage in? Oh yeah? And tell me this Mr Clever Flipping Psycho Man - how could you possibly tell that when you never even looked in my ear??

The bottom line is I gave the Psycho bloke short shrift and instead toddled off to see my GP, Dr Crippen. Well ... what can I say? His diagnosis was swift and immediate. "You've got GOK" he said. Which apparently is medical jargon for God Only Knows.

He then insisted I'd just "banged my leg"! Hell fire these blokes study at medical school for half a lifetime. And the best they can come up with is "Sorry Ron, you've banged your leg".

The bottom line Ronnettes though is not good. I've hardly exercised for a month; I've not run for a month. I'm eight weeks away from leaving for the Himalayas - it just ain't going to happen is it?

So, I've come to what I think is a mature, professional, pragmatic decision.

I'm going to deck that Psycho.

This Sunday I was due to travel to Caravan County for the Kent Half Marathon - but there's just no way I'll make the distance. So it looks as though my Himalayan Dream is over before it even began. I'm still going over there - but it looks like the race is off and we'll just have to complete some of the distance by walking.

Say La Vee as they say in Poland.

I'm sick, I'm gutted. And its going to be a huge psychological and medical problem for me to deal with. What is lurking deep in the recesses of this razor sharp brain of mine is ... will I ever get back to Olympic Gold Medal winning form?

I'm going to have to sleep on that for now.

Talking of Olympics I was sad to see that my old mate Dave Collins has been rubber pumped from the job of my coach and jacket holder for the English national team. I hate to tell you I told you so and I hate to see myself proved right in such tragic circumstances. But I'll just pose one question.

Would he have been bulleted if he'd taken me to the Chinese Olympics in Peking?

Makes you think eh?

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Its called 'hitting the rails'

Week 2 of my new training regime to win the Himalaya 100 Mile Race in India in November. My eagerly anticpated visit to one of our few remaining pink bits on the map is bound to cause huge interest in that small outpost of the British Empire. I'll obviously be getting in touch with the race organiser (a nice chap called Charles) to make sure he has all the advanced promo stuff he needs for my visit. So far the chap seems a good egg and my entry together with that of the Half Share in the House is confirmed and my flights booked.

So how's training gone in week 2?

It hasn't.

You see what ordinary people don't understand is that the life of an Olympic champion isn't just about personal appearances, medal ceremonies, adulation and appearances on Jonathan Ross. Domestic chores - particularly those normally done by women - sometimes have to take priority. And so it was that I found myself in the middle of a muddy field in Stiletto City over the weekend.

With my eldest Cash Drainer Haille-Minogue currently in Peking for the Chinese Olympics I was handed the task of escorting middle Cash Drainer The Droog to some flippin' pop concert in Chelmsford at the weekend. Prior to going I'd done a decent gym session down at Stallones, ran a nippy 5 mile training run but nothing too strenous - so feeling pretty confident I took my pumps and shorts with me to Chelmsford for something called the V Festival.

And I only went and knacked my bloody knee!

Whilst dodging vomit, mud, obnoxious oiks high on some drugs and sheltering my ears from The Third Pooh From the Left or whatever the name of the ruddy band was, I fell against a metal bar - and that was it. I ended up limping back from the hell hole and I've been laid up ever since.

I now need physio and my knee needs a complete rest for a week - which for an Olympic Champion is darn near a lifetime. Fortunately I'm in France over the weekend doing a touch of long-distance walking to try and build up my stamina. With Himalaya Charlie warning me that this 100 Mile Race is a tad on the hilly side, I thought some dune walking along the coast in Northern France might do me some good.

Obviously though, whilst I've been injured I've had to do some serious couch sitting and I've had time to catch a few bits of the Chinese Olympics in Peking. And what a farce it is. The performance of Paul Radcliffe last Sunday in the marathon was nothing short of woeful and simply adds fuel to the argument for my inclusion in that event this year. Incidentally am I the only one to think that Radcliffe looks a touch feminine when he's running? Maybe a hair cut and different pair of shorts would help him.

But taking away the soft sitting down sports - the rowing boats, sailing boats, horse riding, and bicycling (what is that yobbo event with kids bicycles all about?) - we've not really brought home the bacon have we? The runners have done little, the wrestling chaps haven't been seen, the shooting guys and the bow and arrows team bottled it - in fact only the swimmers have a couple of medals to their name. And, you see in this kiddies mind, these are the proper Olympic sports. The real deal. Forget rounders - in fact, forget any game that needs a bat or a ball - and stick simply to those sports that would make those original Olympians from Italy proud. That means sticking to running, throwing, shooting things and fighting. And that should be it. Otherwise we might just as well include stone skimming, pie eating and bicycles with stabilisers in the flippin' competition.

And another thing. There's no place for kids in the modern Olympics. It's an adult competition. That means there should be no room for little boys in the Jumping In competition. Mind you it warmed the old cockles seeing his adult partner putting the little runt in his place. And no room either for girls throwing things or kicking things. Have you seen those girls playing football? They can't even kick the ball properly!! Just so girly with their 'kick the ball without bending the knee' actions. In fact, follow the Ron way of doing Olympics and you could have the whole thing wrapped up in a week too.

Anyway, its back to the serious stuff this weekend. I'll be making a public appearance at the Rye Summer Classic Series in Rye on Friday. I'm obviously the main VIP and I'm starting the 5K event. I'll also be signing a few autographs and generally meeting some of my loyal Ronnettes. If you're around, why not come along and see me do my anal crunch and pelvic squirt routine?

Hopefully though, by Monday, I'll be back in the old training regime with some better news to report.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

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

How am I supposed to run with this?

The "this" I refer to, of course, is the stuff hanging round my middle!

I now understand why other Olympic athletes spend their Christmases appearing on celebrity Who Wants to be a Millionaire, being interviewed by Bobby Davro or competing in Ready, Steady Cook. That's why I'm marking next Christmas down as a dead cert two weeks off.

Its impossible to do any serious Olympic training because I seem constantly to have either a glass of something or a chunk of meat in my hands. Being a popular athlete and something of a media celebrity I'm also in demand to attend parties, corporate functions and community events. Well I should be - and this is something that is beginning to rankle. To be honest, the only invite I've had is from the local Jehovaha's Witnesses to join them for a cup of coffee and a mince pie. I gave that one short shrift and instead concentrated on a spot of carbo laoding with my mate Ernie.

It culminated in a turkey-fest yesterday that's left me clinging on to the Andrews tin this morning and wondering just how my colleagues in the UK 2012 Olympic Elite athletes squad will be spending their Christmas. Because, as I sit here now, slightly flaky I admit, I'm actually waiting for the Half Share in the House to bring me my lycra - because this kiddie is not anticipating another day of consumption - I've got a Gold Medal to win!

Yep - you see your man here has that dedication, that drive and that determination that separates us Special Ones from ordinary people and Welsh men. And that's why, in a little under two hourse, I'll be popping along to Westfield for one of those piddling 10K's. Yep - that's right. I'll be pounding the streets again. And tomorrow I'll be down at Stallones my local gym for another hard session before packing up the Alegro for my journey into the unknown on Friday. In other words, the training just doesn't stop for us kiddies.

So, on Friday I'm going to a place called the North to take part in the Ribble Valley 10K in Lancashire. I don't venture up north too much because I like my car and would like to get it back in one piece. But I understand that as a media celebrity I'm 'ownded' by the whole country - not just the civilised parts. So, I'm going to try and ingratiate myself with those poor northern people by trying to identify with their hopes, their dreams and, of course, their peculiar dress sense.

Of course its not my first experience of the north, I once went to Northampton and I used to like Little and Large. But it did get me thinking about the north. And I've come up with these ten great reasons why everybody should try running in the north of England - at least one.

1. You can run with your dog.
2. You don't need fancy running shoes - wellies, brogues or boots are perfectly acceptable.
3. Pie stations on the course.
4. You can take the mick out of people from Yorkshire and know that everybody will love you even more.
5. You can get to call everybody 'Cocker'.
6. All the other runners are smiling even though its lashing down with rain and you're running up a hill.
7. You can turn up in a 1994 Ford Escort and people admire your car.
8. You know that the T shirts you get for finishing the race will always be big enough for you.
9. Running in a string race with braces on your shorts is considered acceptable.
10. Carbo loading Lancashire style is just wonderful - pies, peas and Eccles Clakes.

Anyway, you carry on lying on the couch, braeking wind and reaching for another can of Worthingtons - I've a Gold Medal to collect!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Getting ready for the Big Off

So, whilst you lot are sitting back with a belly of sprouts, please spare a thought for us Olympic hopefuls. You see, one day just merges into another - the same gruelling routine day in, day out. But that's the sacrifice you have to make for athletic glory.

So, I'll be carbo loading right through to the New Year. I have to admit, I've done pretty well so far this month. I decided to put myself on a Guinness diet - because Guinness is good for you - and it's worked a treat. I've lost four days already!!

So, what does Christmas mean to an elite athlete? Well, this kiddie will be out with a mix of pumping the flesh and hard mileage over the next two weeks. Tomorrow I'll be at the Christmas Pudding Dash in a place called Battle. Highly appropriate if the bunch of has-beens and alcohol-fuelled drop outs that turned up last year decide to make a return. I'll be there doing a bit of PR to meet some of my Ronettes - and I'll probably be demo-ing my one fingered press-up, anal crunch and pelvic squirt routine. But I'm not running - it doesn't fit in with my schedule. Tomorrow is a double lunch day and a run just doesn't work.

On Boxing Day I'll be running in a local 10K near Hastings - no doubt dodging the needles and debris on my way round the course. Next Sunday I'll be going to a place called the North of England for the Ribble Valley 10K - and that will be it for what has been an interesting year for this kiddie.

2008 is set to be a momentous year in the Ron calendar. We've been invited to run in lots of countries, including Norway, Italy, Belgium, Holland, Ireland, Luxembourg - and France. But top of the sheet will be a small event we're doing in November - the Himalayan 100. How about that for an exciting year?

Anyway, I'll no doubt be back to you before the Big Day on Tuesday - but if we don't meet, from your favourite Olympic kiddie to all you ordinary people out there 'Have a Happy Christmas'.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Dykes, Dog Poo and Mad Dutchmen - all in a days work for an Olympic hopeful.

I've stepped up my training this week. You see, the likes of Paula Wotsit and co. all relaxing by the pool or spending their hard-earned in Monte Carlo might be OK for them - but to this kiddie here, the Gold Medal in 2012 will only be in my mitts if I keep up the training. You have to have a strong work ethic. And because my summer of discontent has upped the old weight a tad, I reckoned a couple of weeks hard work now will soon have me back to running near-world class times again.

I'm currently in a place called France - and in a town that seems to be obsessed with running.

Its called Le 2K.

How cool is that?

Mind you I can run that distance in my sleep - but isn't it just typical of the French to aim low? The Greeks had a town called Marathon. And the French have a town called Le 2K. I think that says it all don't you?

I mean, just how unambitious can you get?? That's why the French are tosh when it comes to running and Olympic success and why the Greeks are ... well, drug cheats.

The other thing about France that makes running such an ordeal is the dog poo. This Le 2K place is right on the beach - its got a smart prom, some decent bars, good restaurants and fancy shopping. But try and go for a run along the prom and you spend the entire session dodging big dollops of dog poo. Perhaps that's why the French are so good at skiing - they have to slalom just to walk to work!!

Anyway, I managed a four mile run tonight and tomorrow morning its a 6 miler and then its back to Blighty in time for the Kent Christmas Cracker race on Sunday. I'm not running myself but will be there to start the race, sign a few autographs etc.

Of course, I'm still in catch up mode with you Ronettes - and there's an adventure or two I've still to tell you about. For instance, I didn't tell you about my little trip to Arnhem in a flat country called Holland - and yes, I did get into trouble over some comment about Dykes but that's for another day. I stayed there to take in a local race which, not to put too fine a point on it - is sheer lunacy.

The Bergrace By Nacht race is an event held in Wageningen, near Arnhem. The race is run from the top of one mountain to the peak of another. Great. But the peaks are no more than 40 ft! So, yes, it is a flat country!!

To make things interesting though, the race is held in darkness - with the top event, run over 11.6K, setting off at 10.30 pm. The runners have to negotiate their way along dark, country lanes with no street lighting - and the finish line is in a zoo. With a cheesy 70's disco in full swing as you cross the line.

And this barking mad event attracts over 3,000 runners.

From there we travelled on to Saint Hillaire Cotte in Northern France for another embarrassing shot at trying to get one over the French. Yours truly did manage to prise a trophy from the Frogs, but, apparently it was only given to me on account of my celebrity status. This kiddie doesn't do patronising. So, after politely but firmly telling the Mayor of Saint Hillaire what I felt about his gesture and where he could stick his trophy, I decided to do the decent thing.

I got trolloped at his expense.

In fact so begorrah-ed was I that I left my wallet, my door key, my Dunlop Green Flashes and my passport in his chuffing bar!! So, how was I to get back to Blighty?

I decided to front up and when I arrived back in Calais I made my way to HM's Immigration Numpties - and what a bunch of humourless toe rags they are too eh? I tried to explain who I was - I don't like using the 'Don't you know who I am' trick, but, hey, needs must. Anyway, they were having none of it.

So, I held my hands up. I said I'd got no passport, no money, nowhere to stay (I hammed that one up a bit for a bit of sympathy) - and, because I'd enjoyed a few Leffes, I ventured to say that I had no obvious means of support.

At that, the Numptie raised his eyebrows, gave me a smile - and before you could say Olympic Dream, he'd arranged for me to have a house, some money, new clothes for the kids, a whole heap of furniture and more Tesco food vouchers than you could shake a stick at!!

And all for turning up at the border with no passport or money!

So, all's well that ends well eh?

Keep on tapering.

Ron

A right old caper

Well, I had my first visit to the racing circuit for some considerable time today when I visited Caravan County for the Swanley Christmas Caper. Yep, whilst that bunch of lightweights, losers, drug cheats and a Welshman were busy enjoying hospitality from the BBC at their Sports Non-Personality of the Year Awards (yes - it does still rankle, OK?), your man here was busy pounding the streets of Kent, getting more miles under my belt. Because that's what you need to do if you're to bring home the Olympic bacon.

I was going to go with my mate Ernie, but a spot of local difficulty with the barmaid at the Carrot & Turnip on Friday night had left him otherwise indisposed. So, I decided to do a touch of community service and collected Granddad Stan the Bandana Man from the Rye Sunshine Home and set off with him.

I have no problem putting a little back into a community that gives me so much in terms of support and fan-worship but sometimes you do wonder. I can put up with the dribble and the frequent toilet stops but the incessant car noises and shrieks of delight every time we pass a lorry do get a bit tiresome.

Anyway, we turn up at Swanley and to be fair I think we found the only 45 minute window with a break in the horrible weather that hit the south east today. It gave me just about enough time to do a bit of flesh pumping and a wander round the race car park to shake hands with a few of those who'd turned out in such nasty weather to see me.

I had to curtail my pre-race programme of anal crunches and pelvic squirts though when Granddad Stan started to cause a bit of a kerfuffle. I'd made the mistake of telling him he could run the race - but that I'd have to enter him on the day. I know this particular road running term has got me into trouble before - particularly on some foreign trips - but Granddad Stan, I'd discovered, was doing his best to destroy the carefully constructed Ron 'brand'. He started telling anybody who would listen to him that the lycra clad 2012 Olympic Gold Medallist hopeful currently doing the one-fingered press-ups was a mate of his. Irritating yes, but fair enough.

Above: Granddad Stan the Bandana Man
But then he started pointing out that the display would need to be curtailed because "He's promised to enter me before the race". Well, for beggars sake, it just didn't go down too well - and I had visions of the Ron brand being destroyed in a flurry of gay sex innuendos. So, I carefully kneed Granddad Stan in the groin - and dragged him away to sort out our numbers for the race. That also irritated me because I had to pay to enter - and as I pointed out to the organisers, I thought it a bit rich inviting me to boost their entry and then rubbing my nose in it by taking ten quid off me.

I enjoyed the run though - came in bang on my target time of 42.47 for the 4.2 mile circuit - I would have done it quicker but I did stop to sign some girl's t-shirt on the way round.

I managed to drag Granddad Stan away from Swanley eventually. The Caper encourages fancy dress and he'd won a prize for the best use of a bandana and primary colours - I didn’t have the heart to tell the organisers that he always dressed that way. I got over his puzzlement at getting a trophy by telling him he'd won a prize for the 1st Vet of No Fixed Abode.

And the trophy came in handy on the way home as it reduced the number of toilet stops.

Then I went home and continued my seethe about my non-appearance on the BBC's farcical Sports Personality of the Year.

I ask you - it was given to a bloke from Wales. That's what's wrong with this country, you know. I've always said that the answer to this country's growing population crisis was very simple. Just ask one question on the Immigration paperwork - "Are you Welsh?” Answer affirmative and you're deported - preferably to France where the two cultures could sit in abject misery. moaning about whatever took their fancy for ever more.

And if you wanted to know the consequences of ignoring that advice then it was there for all to see on our television screens at 9 o’clock when the fighter bloke won the gong.

I really don't know what this country is coming to.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Still seething - but humble too

I'm still seething about my non appearance on the shortlist for the BBC Sports Personality of the Year Award and, in addition to firing off a letter to Jeremy Paxman, I've decided to send a similar letter to Jonathan Ross seeing as how thinks he's all high and flippin' mighty now.

But, do you know something. I'd no sooner popped the letter in an envelope and sent The Droog off to the GPO when I had this sudden rush of humility. I started thinking about how fortunate I am to have been chosen to take part in the Olympic Games - when most other people don't even get to watch the bally thing never mind take part. And think too of all those poor countries like Biafra, The Ivory Coast, Panama, New Zealand and Wales who will never get to taste the sweet smell of Olympic success.

And it got me thinking again about great it is to be an Olympic hopeful.

I couldn't wait to share them with you - so here are my 10 reasons why it feels great to be an Olympic hopeful:

1. The Half Share in the House has started running 10 miles a day. Fantastic. She's reached Edinburgh now.

2. I get to experience heavy breathing every day rather than twice a year and birthdays.

3. Running as an Olympian is free and cheaper than the gym. And people wave at you more!

4. If you go for a run first thing in the morning, by the time you've woke up, you've finished!

5. Gym exercises are stupid. If God had meant us to touch our toes, he'd have put five on each eyebrow.

6. You can invite a friend to accompany you on a 20 mile training run - then tell them you'll catch them up. Then turn round after a mile and go home for a bacon sandwich. Childish maybe - but funny. And OK its nothing to do with being an Olympian - and my mate Ernie can't run 20 miles anyway.

7. There are occasions during the year when your stomach covers your flabby thighs.

8. Run each day and you die healthier.

9. If you are going to do cross-country running, start with a small country.

10. Running helps memory retention

10. Running helps memory retention.

So, I'm off to Caravan County this Sunday to see all my fans in the Swanley area. I'll be going through my routine of anal crunches and pelvic squirts just prior to the start of the Swanley Christmas Caper - so, if you're anywhere near England, why not come along and touch my lycra?

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Not on your life!

Don't you just like it when a plan comes together.

Your man here went into the weekend full of optimism. I was up for a swift 10 mile dash along the seafront in the Thanet 10 Mile event. I usually enjoy my trips to Caravan County and my appearance there, I know, would have boosted the turnout, with a legion of Ronettes planning on bowling up to cheer me on.

But I didn't go.

I bottled out.

Why?

Because my friends it was cold. It was cold, it was wet - and it was blowing a chuffing gale. So I went for plan B and went down the Cabbage and Turnip for a couple of snifters. Yes, I know it was wimpish but you just can't mess around with an elite athlete's body. I know it was a shame because, as well as greeting my Ronettes, I desperately wanted to get back in to racing mode - but, my return will have to wait another week and for my visit to Swanley next Sunday.

However, you'll be pleased to know though that my training over the last two weeks has gone swimmingly well. I've managed to get 20 or so miles a week under my belt - albeit most of them have been down at Stallones, my local Muscle Emporium.

I've also spent a little time trying to develop my racing strategy for 2008. With only four years to go before the 2012 Olympics I really need to up the ante regarding my personal appearances and media profile. I was desperately disappointed not to have been nominated for the BBC Sports Personality of the Year and I'll be firing a letter off to Jeremy Paxman to make my feelings abundantly plain.

Anyway, bringing you up to speed with my activities over the Autumn, I made my annual trip to Amsterdam, which is a city in a place called Europe, in October for the Marathon. Although I had no intention of running the full distance, I had high hopes of a nippy time in the Half Marathon. But I got hit with a beggar of an injury and had to sit the event out.

Above: They 'P' in the streets in Holland! Standards have not improved in Europe.
What made it even more of a bind was that I went with the Nice Work chaps and they literally left me holding the bags! Yep, I was like some mum at a fairground, weighed down with kit bags, running gear and various valuables. That's fine - but I had to sit there for some six chuffing hours in that concrete Olympic Stadium of theirs! And guess what? Yes, it was flippin' cold again.

Above: Some of my Ronettes in the stadium in Amsterdam
Anyway I did manage to slope off for a bit of R 'n' R and strangely enough, I found myself in some dodgy bar down the red light area. I was quite happy enjoying my Leffe when in walked a bloke with a pet alligator under his arm.

He put the alligator up on the bar and announced to all and sundry "I will open this alligator's mouth and place my genitals inside. Then the beast will close his mouth for one minute. He will then open his mouth and I will remove my bits unscratched. In return for witnessing this spectacle, each of you can buy me a beer."

Well I, for one, was up for this spectacle - so I chucked my couple of euros on the bar. At which, the chap stood up on his bar stool, dropped his kex, and placed his privates in the alligator's open mouth.

Then the alligator closed his mouth.

After a minute, the man grabbed a beer bottle and whacked the alligator hard on the top of its head. The alligator opened his mouth and the man removed his genitals unscathed.

Well, was I impressed!!

The crowd cheered and the first of his free beers was handed to him.

The man emptied his glass, stood up again and made another offer. "I will pay anyone in the audience who is willing to give this a try 100 euros."

Not many takers I have to say, until, after a minute or so, a hand went up in the back of the bar. And this blonde woman timidly spoke up.

"I'll give it a try. But you have to promise not to hit me on the head with the beer bottle."

Keep on tapering

Ron

But the show is back on the road

Despite my poor showings this Autumn - all down to a lack of training time plus a bit of a lifestyle issue - I've actually knuckled down over the last fortnight. the Half Share in the House has been very encouraging - she hoyed all my Leffes in the bin! The kids have also padlocked the fridge and, to top it all, I've pulled on the famous Ron Lycra again. Two weeks of intensive training has seen me start to regain my shape.

I'm now offically Oval - an improvement on my Round figure at the start of my new-found enthusiasm. My racing calendar is also starting to fill up and I'm off to Caravan County on Sunday morning to have a bash at the Thanet Coastal 10.

To be honest, it'll be nice to be back amongst my fans and I'm looking forward to carrying out my famous one-fingered press ups on the sea front on Sunday morning. The week after I thought the good people of Swanley would like a PA, so I'm off for the Swanley Christmas Caper. On the 16th I've been honoured to have been selected to be the official starter for the Kent Christmas Cracker in Deal - a feat I'm repeating a week later on the 22nd in Battle at the Christmas Pudding Dash.

So, I'm hoping that within the next four weeks or so, I'll be back to performing more or less world record times.

That's more like it.

2012?

Bring it on - your man is back!!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Why do they call it Vin when it's called Van?

In September I returned to Luxembourg to take up an invitation from that cute little country to compete once again in the Route Du Vin. I'm still puzzled as to why it's called Vin when everybody calls it Van but I suppose it's just one of those 'small country idiosyncrasies'.

The only problem, of course, was that your man here wasn't in the best of shapes in September - and the Luxembourg chappies were expecting a seasoned celebrity athlete. So I declined the offer of an elite place in the race and decided just to pop down and do a demo of my anal crunch/pelvic thrust 5 minute warm-up.

(Above: Luxembourg can be pleasant)
I have to say that the weekend didn't get off to the best of starts. I travelled over there with those nice chaps at Nice Work who had assembled a gin-fuelled bunch of has-beens to help foster Anglo-Luxembourg relations. The problem was that we'd no sooner set off than they hit the duty frees - and to cut a long story short we bowled up in Luxembourg slightly the worse for wear.

So, it was in a state of some intoxication that my weekend began to wobble swiftly downhill - because I then decided that, despite having not run a yard for two months - I would take part in the race the following day.

I decided to nip down to the race HQ and have a natter with the organisers to secure an entry - and I have to say the pretty young thing that had been designated to look after elite athletes was most agreeable. However this promising situation quickly turned pear-shaped when she told me that I couldn't enter the race there and then but would have to do so the following day. I think it was a problem in the translation that caused her to call the Police - all I was trying to enquire was would she help me enter on the day and ... well I knew what I meant!

After being released with the usual warning about my future behaviour, I decided to get some kip and prepare for the race the following day. The race itself is fairly flat and follows the Moselle for 6 and a half miles before turning round and running back. Well - did I struggle?

(The Start - can you spot your man?)
If I'm honest, the only reason I took up this running lark was to hear the sound of heavy breathing again - and let me tell you, this kiddie was breathing big-time. I suffered. It was hot. The damned Kenyans were too fast - and, to cut a long story short, I ended up on the last page of the results finishing in 2.23.51 - my slowest half marathon by a country mile.

To say that I was disappointed at my performance would be putting it mildly. And so, straight after the race I decided to drown my sorrows in the bars and dens of iniquity across the river in Germany.

(Above - my mate Ernie came along for the ride)
I came across what seemed to be a sensible place to drink and settled at the bar to nurse my sore legs and enjoy a drop of God's finest Leffe when this German chap walked past me and only grabbed one of the cheeks of my rear end.

I was gob-smacked. And I was just about to remonstrate with the bloke when another guy walked past and patted my bum! What the hell was going on??? I tried to catch the barman's eye and as he was walking towards me, another of these pesky foreigners had a poke at my behind. I explained to the barman that three people had now grabbed my backside - what kind of place was I in? Was it some kind of gay bar?

"Nein" the German replied "It eez a Tapas Bar"

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

Yep - bigger than ever!

I sat watching the debacle that passed for the England football team on Wednesday night - and I realised it.

My country needs me.

Yep. My country needs a sporting hero and I owe it to my fellow countrymen to get myself off my backside and start to bring a little cheer to the miserable lives of the people in England. Especially those in Birmingham and Yorkshire who have a miserable existence anyway.

"But where have you been Ron?" I hear you say. "And are you still up for that Olympic Gold in 2012?" Well I've been lots of places my little Ronettes but I can assure you, the dream is still very much alive.

There has been a little hiccup in the old training regime department though - which is why never a truer word was spoken when I say "I'm back - and bigger than ever". You see my athletic life simply wasn't paying the bills so the Half Share in the House delivered an ultimatum - either I got a real job or she scarpered. I mulled that one over for a while then realised that even for no other reason than I'd be guaranteed clean socks once a fortnight, it was probably worth getting some work.

So that's how I ended up working at the local biscuit factory. For the first couple of weeks I was in charge of putting the jam in Jammy Dodgers - and, well I just couldn't resist having a nibble or two. And although I've progressed through to Dunk testing Digestives and onto spreading the vanilla in Vanilla Creams, I've been unable to resist the temptations -and I've packed on the weight.

But you can't hold back a good athlete.

I've found myself assuming what can only be described as an Ambassadorial role - and I've visited a few countries to greet and meet some of my overseas fans.

I'll bring you news of some of my adventures in due course - and mark my words there have been some! - but take a look at this list of places that your man here has been seen in:

Norway - for the Arctic Circle
Luxembourg - for the Route du Vin
Amsterdam - for ... well never mind what for
Arnhem - for a quick scoot around
Amsterdam - again, this time for the Marathon
Arnhem - again - for a bizarre race in the dark
France - for a 10K run in the country.

I've only taken part in a couple of UK races since the summer - and pretty disastrous they were too. But I'm now back in training - because 2008 is going to be a huge year for your man here.

Let's see if this little lot indicates how serious my Olympic training is set to become - I'm in for the Paris Marathon in April, I'm in for the Midnight Sun Marathon some 300 miles north of the Arctic Circle in June - and I'm looking at possibly doing the Himalayas 100 Mile run next November.

So, as you can see, once an athlete, always an athlete.

So let's get together again shall we? I'll bring you news of my adventures to date over the course of this week - in the meantime, I'll be sharing with you, once again, my life as an athletic superstar.

Oh - it's great to be back.

Keep on tapering

Ron

I'm back!!! And I'm bigger than ever!!

You won't believe what I've been up to for the last three months.

Well bring up a chair - because coming soon (before this Saturday if my Probabtion Officer agrees) you're going to be as excited as I am when you read all my news from the last few weeks.

And, don't worry, that Olympic dream is alive and well.

Keep on tapering (for just two more days please!)

(A Much Larger Version of)

Ron

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