This kiddie is smoking!!

Well, well it's been almost like a return to old times. And, as Bobby Davro would say, "What a week and a bit I've had"!

I have kept up my new Olympic Gold Medal Winning regime which I've found OK, though Ernie has been a bit lonely. I've not even been out in the Transit for a couple of tubes, choosing instead to stay at home and focus on winning races. No pies, no kebabs, no tubes. God isn't life chuffing boring??

But I suppose you get out of life what you put in and so it was with a keen interest that I dragged myself off to Caravan County last week to feature as an elite runner in the Faversham 10K. Well, Ronettes, all I can say is ... what a revelation I was.

I only went and pasted the rest of the high class field by recording my fastest 10K time since 2007. An hour and a minute precisely was my time and it brought back such happy memories seeing people coughing and spluttering in my wake and to hear and feel too the warmth of the crowd as they collectively gasped in amazement and wonder.

A truly marvellous athletic spectacle it must have been.

But there was more to come. After another week of living like a sodding monk - I hope I don't sound too resentful about my current enforced living regime? - it was another bash at the half marathon yesterday. We popped back to Caravan County for the Folkestone Half Marathon and my objective was to dip below 2 hours 20 minutes. Well the day dawned and we were subjected to some fierce winds and a biting cold morning. To be honest I didn't really fancy it but I couldn't let down the hundreds of people who had turned out to watch me so as I lined up with a load of ordinary people I decided to give it a bash. My strategy was to try and maintain 10 minute mile pace for as long as possible and then coast home - hopefully below that 2 hours 20 mark.

Well something must have clicked in this Olympic body of mine because after 6 miles my watch showed 59 minutes. After 8 miles, it showed 79 minutes; after 9 mile 99 minutes - you getting the picture Ronettes? Indeed after 12 miles, I was on 1 hour 59 minutes. There was a slight glitch at 12.5 miles when I came up against a ruddy big hill and I decided to have a little stroll, but I then sprunt for the line to finish in 2 hours 12 minutes 39 seconds. That was 7 minutes (or half a minute per mile) faster than my target; 15 minutes quicker than my last half two weeks ago and my fastest half marathon since February 2008.

Now if that doesn't seal my place in the Olympic squad God knows what will.

Mind you the effort involved was a tad too much for this finely toned body of mine and some three or four hours later I had something of a funny turn - the Half Share had to pour sugar in my mouth to stop me from slipping into some form of coma thing - but let me tell you the effort was worth it.

That leaves me with just a couple of targets left before leaving for Indialand next month.

This Sunday we're going to practice running up the Himalayas by doing the Lewes Downland 10 Mile race and then we're up in the midlands for missionary work and I'll be starring in the Mansfield 10K, where my target is to complete my first sub 1 hour 10K in yonks. The week afterwards we're in Amsterdam where I'll be gunning for a sub 2.10 Half Marathon and then two days later we fly off to Delhi.

So all in all I seem to be peaking at just the right time. Mentally I am focused as well and I've not even sent in a letter of complaint about being passed over for the England team at the Empire Games next week. Mind you, as soon as the selectors see the results from Folkestone yesterday there will be the smell of blood in the air in Delhi amongst the blazers.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Back with a vengeance

The training has been going very well if I may say so myself. I've upped my mileage, increased my work rate and started going down to Stallones for something other than an ogle at the ladies in Lycra (there's no hiding place wearing that stuff, you know).

I've also cut out the legendary Ron refuelling sessions and taking to eating this unusual foreign stuff for my lunch - I think they call it salad or something. Anyway the upshot is that I'm not carrying the kind of baggage I was the other week and as a consequence my running performances have improved dramatically. So much so that I'm bound to be a shoe in for the Empire Games.

My first challenge was to up my racing distance and the half marathon was next on the Ron list. Last Sunday I starred in the Kent Half Marathon held up in Caravan County in Margate. Now if you want to see at first hand the effects of a nuclear holocaust then Margate's the place for you. It makes Toxteth look like Mayfair. However, this kiddie wasn’t there for sightseeing - I was there to win.

My underlying objective was to get round the course with as little walking as possible and, Ronnettes, I managed just that. I had the occasional, teensy weensy walk but nothing too much and I reckon I ran well over 12 miles of the course. I finished in just over 2 hours 31 minutes - so I guess that put me in the top ten, so I can't grumble.

Next up this weekend just passed was a trip with the old soaks from Nice Work. I haven’t been away with them for a few months so it was good to catch up with some old friends. And my how old they were too!! But our destination for the weekend was a place called France. We set off on Saturday morning and ended up around lunchtime in a place called The Somme where there was a fight with the Germans once.

We had a very agreeable day on Saturday doing the old touristy bit. Of course it made a real change for me. France is a place I can go without being bothered and I'm virtually unrecognised by the majority of the Frogs. Well, so I thought, but I snuck off to a little bar for a tube or three and happened to pick one I'd been in last year and ... ahem .. well I kind of left without paying the bill. Anyway, that little domestic incident out of the way and I planned an early-ish no-kebab night.

Then I was dragged out for a nightcap.

Well I ask you. I spend all week living like a nunk, starving myself and refusing all tubes and bevs only to let it all go the night before a race. The upshot of it was that I lined up at the start of the Somme Half Marathon with the old nut bouncing like a steam hammer and a mouth as dry as a budgie's cage.

Away from the start - and what do I find? Yup. A Hill. Not just any old hill but a hill that went on for over a kilogram. Well I made it to the top of the hill without stopping ... and promptly brought up my breakfast. Ronnettes, when I tell you that things did not bode well for the next 12 and three quarter miles I am not exaggerating.

But then something happened. I set off on my way and a gentle downhill slope soon had me picking off the backmarkers and after about 3 kilograms I came across a very agreeable young gal who was pottering around and who seemed to want me to latch on to her.
So latch on I did.

In fact we stuck to each other like glue for the rest of the race. The course was hilly and needed some effort but do you know something Ronnettes? Through mutual respect for each other and because we both helped each other in our time of need we not only completed the race without stopping - a major, major achievement for yours truly - but I did it in 2.27.16. Now I know that sounds fast - I came about 7th I think - but it was five minutes quicker than Kent and, indeed, my quickest half for two years.

Impress mange tout?

So I came back from France full of confidence and full of beans - and not a little pride in my achievements.

What's next?

Well I went to Stallones on Monday for a loosener, got in the wrong queue and ended up in the swimming pool. Doesn’t wool get heavy when it’s wet? Last night I went out for a run with The Old People of Hastings and did an hour or so. This weekend we get shut of the Droog as she goes off to spend her inheritance on drugs and LPs at university. That leaves Sunday free so we're off to Caravan County again for a 10K in Faversham. Next up will be two further half marathons in Folkestone and Amsterdam before we make that rather special return journey to Indialand for the Himalaya 100 Mile race.

But more on that later.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

RIP Stig

I always had a feeling about 2010 and sure enough it’s turning into my horrible anus.

My best mate in the whole world passed away on Tuesday.

He was also a good runner and enjoyed his refuelling sessions and, my, could he drink! But I used to train with him regularly and it was only the passing of years and my emergence as a much better athlete than him which curtailed our joint training sessions.

I have had his constant company for around twelve years now and in that time so close had we got that he always slept in my room. To be honest his snoring, sleepwalking, breaking wind and frequent visits to the toilet for a drink kept me awake but I came to appreciate that him doing so tended to deflect attention away from me.

The day had started so well - he went off for his morning constitutional when his eye caught a squirrel ... and that was it, he was away. Diving and crashing through the undergrowth he didn't catch the thing of course ... but there again he never did. In fact he was the worst hunter I'd ever come across. Unfortunately, though, the effort he'd expended was too much for him and the poor fella had some kind of heart attack, seizure or stroke and collapsed when he came back in the house.

His time had come. I think he knew it. And he parted with the tiniest wag of his tail – as he lay on the table in the vets.

He was much loved and much appreciated for his companionship and he’ll be much missed.

See you sometime later Stig.

Of course the demise of the old boy had a pretty devastating affect on the family. With Haille Minogue gone awol somewhere in Africa, the Droog was inconsolable and we were conscious of the fact that The Sod would come home to find one of the dogs missing. I wanted to try and break it to him gently but, as usual, my efforts backfired.

You see I thought it would be sensible to try and avoid use of the words Dog and Dead in the same sentence. But I suppose telling the lad I'd got good news and bad news for him wasn't the best approach - he wanted to hear the good news first and when I said he'd only have to take one dog for a walk the shilling dropped. The Half Share hinted that I could have been a little more sensitive to his feelings. Well, actually, what she said was that I was selfish, cruel, heartless and as cold as a polar bear's backside - but you get my drift.

It’s taken me a while to get round to this - but he was a great mate.

Bye lad.

Keep on tapering (sorry Stig)

Ron

All quiet on the Western thing?

Oi Oi!

Long time no beep!

It might have gone quiet a bit - but that doesn't mean to say it's been ... err quiet.

August has been and gone but my what an eventful month for your popular Olympic hopeful. It was all going swimmingly well until a nip down to see the local quack Crippen threw a spoke in the wheelbarrow. Seems like all my health measurements have gone pear-shaped - well either that or Crippen was reading my notes upside down.

Now I know what you're thinking. How can a super fit Olympian like me have a blood sugar level of 28? Cholesterol levels higher than a Chavettes skirt - and a kidney and pancreas which are, apparently, on the verge of jacking in. Well you're not alone there and you could have knocked me down with a spoon when I got the news.

So, where to from here?

Well first thing was to try and get my blood sugar levels to below their then near-fatal level. I've had to spend the last three weeks popping pills till they came out of my ears; exercising like there's no tomorrow and laying off the rehydration fluid. So far it seems to be having the desired effect with a few kilometers of weight already shed - and those sugar levels down to a still scary - but more manageable - 17 (still a tad above the norm of 6!!)

Of course I got no help from the UK Athletics medical team who seem to have dropped me like a stone just as I come into form - but I'm wasting no time in worrying about them. What's good enough for Wayne Chambers is good enough for me.

One good thing that has come out of it is a dramatic increase in my training - I have races coming up in France, Holland and, of course, a return to see my mates in Indialand next month.

First of all though I had a go at running a 5 miler in Staplehurst. What should have been a straightforward flat run of an easy distance though turned into something of a nightmare. The old health stuff came up nippy-ish and stopped me in my tracks at 3 miles. I had feet of lead and couldn't move - and I was only able to struggle to the finish thanks to a kind marshal who gave me his drinks.

Things did start to get better though as the healthy regime kicked in and I managed to complete a very tough 5 miler the following Thursday in Holtye.

So, it was a time for a break. And I decided to head up a place called the North where I discovered somewhere called the Peak District. Peak District? Don't make me laugh. The only thing peaky were the faces of the poor beggars who have to live in this remote outpost. Rain? Rain? Don't even go there!

However the Half Share said it would do my soul good by living a week under canvas. Well that might sound funny to you but let me tell you after a week of hopping round a bally tent on one leg trying to get my trolleys on and off I was in no mood to enjoy it. We took the Sod with us just to make the tent even more cramped and him and his flippin' sleep walking made for a few entertaining nights.

Whilst we were there though we did get a few miles strong hill walking under our belts - intended to be training for Indialand. And between you, me and the drainpipe I did feel a lot better for it. I have kept the pounds off and lost a bit more and I've edged Ernie and his pub/kebab regime out of the picture. I decided to put my new found fitness to the test - and was suitable rewarded with two fine runs at the weekend.

On Friday evening I starred in the Newstead Abbey 3 Mile Dash in Nottingham. I targeted myself for a sub minute 30 minute dash and came in somewhat below that in 29.06. 48 hours later your favourite globe trotter was the elite runner in the Stratford-upon-Avon 10K. Here I hadn't really thought about times but, on a hilly-ish course, I had to get round the thing without either stopping or walking up the hills. A non-stop storming run achieved exactly that in a blistering time of 1.05.48 - I think I came about 4th.

I've kept up the straight and narrow stuff this week - well I have to with the beady eyes watching over me. This Sunday I have a big test with my first half marathon in yonks when I take part in the Kent Half Marathon. Next weekend I do the distance again in the Somme.

So, you see. You thought I'd gone off the boil.

Not on your nelly.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

My very first Orient Earrings

Its been a little hectic at Chez Rons with some very sad news disrupting the last couple of weeks. Father in Law passed away last weekend and I'll miss his advice on hydration and nutrition. Lots of things have had to go by the wayside as we try and cope with the loss and also get lives back on track after what has been a difficult few months.

The old man was very proud of my efforts to bring home the Olympic bacon and I know he'll be watching me as I climb the rostrum to collect my medal in 2012.

Training has obviously been disrupted but we did have a family bonding session at the Wedding Day 7K when me, Haille Minogue, the Droog - yep she pulled on her pumps - and The Sod lined up to start the race. The Droog is not as experienced an athlete so it was a Droog/Ron bonding opportunity not to be missed! We crossed the line together in 46 minutes 39 seconds - not my best round there but there again I wasn't nailed to a cash drainer last time.

An emotional evening for the Ron brood lightened by the looks on fellow competitors faces when Haille burst into tears and they thought it was because she hadn't won!

Tuesday evening I went out running with The Old People of Hastings. Highly embarrassing end to the evening when, within 5 minutes of the finish, I suffered a mega cramp attack in my calf. When I'd recovered I discovered I was lost - and it took me 30 minutes to find my way back to the Transit. Such is life on the treadmill of life of an Olympic athlete.

Today I had my first experience of Orient Earrings. In case you've never heard of it its a sport that combines running with getting lost. Right up my street I thought. So off we went to take part in the Ightam, Seal Knole Long Trail Challenge. Run over 7K, 14K or 21K and with a course set through the forests near to and within the Knole Estate. Oh - and the course isn't marked - you have to use map reading skills to visit a series of checkpoints. When you reach the check point you stick your finger into a hole with a thing called a dibber stuck on the end of your finger. Miss a checkpoint or don't visit them in the correct order and you're out of the race.

All seemed set for a pleasant morning's run.

We probably didn't endear ourselves to the Orient Earrings regulars. To begin with we couldn't find the bally race headquarters - not a great start really. Thankfully we weren't alone in having problems locating the start.

The scary bit though was looking at the other participants - they had leg coverings, special shoes, torches, whistles, compass, route markings sellotaped to their arms. The Half Share and I had nothing but pumps, a tshirt and a packet of fruit pastiles.

Oh. And the map reading bit. The Half Share struggles to make her way to the kitchen without getting lost - and don't event go there with the left/right business.

So, the morning was spent in the company of a load of runners getting lost - but getting lost quickly. As it happens we didn't do half bad - the 14K took us three or four minutes less than the cut-off time of three hours. But we managed to get to every checkpoint in order and although our time may seem slow we still finished the race ahead of a load of people who had missed checkpoints - and even after a couple of sherbs in the pub, runners were still making it back to the finish - and full of admiration for our speedy traversing of the course.

I await the results with anticipation.

Keep on tapering

Ron

You're going to have to sit down

What I have to say to you now may come as a great shock - so I suggest you take a seat somewhere comfortable.

I travelled not far away from here to a small event called the Baa Baa 5K. It takes place in New Romney, close to Romney Marsh and a place populated by a race of people with an unhealthy interest in sheep. They say that the people from the Romney Marsh were the first people to discover that the insides of the sheep could be used as a contraceptive. It was some decades later that the process was advanced so that the insides were taken out of the sheep first.

But I digress.

Still with leg stitched, I decided to take part in this little 5K race. The Half Share had beggared off in the grown-ups 10K race which was for people that didn't have stitches in their leg. So, as I stood on the start line batting away small kids pestering me for autographs - there's a time and a place you know. As is my practice I looked around at the competition and, admittedly, I have been in stronger and bigger fields. There were around 50 or so lined up. A few runners, a few kids, a few walkers.

Then the gun went and I was away with my usual blistering pace. After about 500 yards I noticed something rather disconcerting. About 30 yards ahead was a car. It was moving slowly, with its hazard lights flashing. It was as though it was ... well, it looked like ... hang on ... it is/was ... it was the lead car!

Ahead of me I saw a couple of runners and a woman ... and that was it. Apart from a snotty-nosed kid in a woollen running top (please, New Romney, you don't have to wear sheep all the time!).

Then it dawned on me. I was in the leading pack!

Another 200 yards further down the road and I was into second place, having left the others eating my dust. Having never been this far north of the pack before I was a little unsure of running etiquette. When you pass a leading runner, what do you do? Do you apologise? Do you wish him good luck for the rest of the race? Being unsure I just gave him the middle finger and told him/her to get a shove on. And then, after 800 yards, something happened that I didn't think would happen until the summer of 2012.

I found myself leading a race.

Well I damn near dobbed myself.

What happens next? I had no idea - having never been in that position before. And, you know, leading a race is not actually all that its made out to be. Leading a race brings with it lots of unwelcome responsibilities. If you're leading, all the spectators are watching you - so there's no hiding place. I couldn't stop for a blow. I just had to keep running.

The race was run over 2 laps and so, for the rest of the distance I was the one to catch. But, Ronettes, there was no way. Nobody but nobody was going to take that lead away from me. So, I carried on and on and on and on until the finish line was in sight. A quick glance behind to see where the second placed runners was, another display of blistering speed and that was it, I was propelled over the line to break a tape (yes - a tape!!) and crossed to finish first in 31 mins 3 seconds. To, I must say, a tumultuous round of applause from the gathered spectators and the bloke on the PA system. Indeed if it wasn't for the bloke on the PA asking me over for a post race interview I was due to make a visit to his tent for a quiet word anyway. Because the only thing to take the gloss of my magnificent victory was his commentary as I came to start the second lap and I heard him announce "Oh no! There's a bloke jogging behind the lead car. Oh sorry., Hang on. No, he's the leader". Cheeky blighter.

So there you have it.

I won. I won a real race. With real people. Me. I came first in a race. I won, I won, i won.

I won.

Keep on tapering.

Ron.

Damn, blast and set fire to it

Picture the scene.

Its Ron Towers on a sunny July afternoon.

Youngest Cash Drainer The Sod leaves bike in garden.

Said bike throws itself at me as I walk past.

I go Blair over Brown and stott myself against a stone step.

Step enters leg and leaves yours truly with a gash the size of the River Severn.

Medical back up team not available (are you listening UK Athletics?) so have to go to hospital in back of Ernie's Transit.

Undignified scenes in a cubicle involving your hero, a nurse and a hyperdermic needle. I took exception to her "Its only a little prick" comment.

Now sat sitting here with leg bandaged and seventeen stitches holding it together*.

No running for at least a week.

And who was it that said life was a bowl of blackberries?

Keep on tapering.

Ron

* OK two stitches. But it hurt a lot.

Up the Downs

Bonsoir!!

Or, as Bobby Davro would say 'Nice to see you'.

I've been rather pre occupied watching the old World Cup over the last couple of weeks and like the rest of you have had to put up with the embarrassment of watching a bunch of overpaid pansies masquerading as footballers. I almost got out my dubbin and started practising keepy-uppy with my casey on the off chance I got a call up. And I tell you this m uch Ronnettes, this kiddie couldn't have done any worse than that bunch of jessies. It just goes to show that, yours truly excepted, what a dearth of sporting talent we have in this otherwise fine country of ours.

It has made decent watching though and its good to see another bit of the Empire getting a sniff of the big sporting action – makes you proud to be a Brit and just goes to show that the old saying about the custard never setting in the British Empire is true.

But being distracted with what's been going on in Africaland has put the brakes on a promising international sporting career for a short time. A couple of weeks sat sitting drinking beer and watching football with ne'er but a pie to keep me company has meant that I've had precious little time for pounding the streets.

I did have a little jaunt out a couple of weeks ago when the Half Share said she'd get me out of the armchair by taking me for a little jog. She only took me to Caravan County to do something called the North Down Run.

Right. Note to organisers.

There are a couple of things wrong with this thing. First of all its not a North Down Run – its a North Up Run. I've never been up so many bally hills. The race is all off road along and through what those in the know call the North Downs Way. Thats just a fancy, posh name for a shockingly hilly excuse for a bad joke. Secondly ... its a long way. Over 30 kilograms in fact. Thats a tad in the region of 18 miles.

As a consequence it took me and the Half Share more than 4 hours 40 minutes to finish the damn thing – it was though a BP. Its the first time we'd actually tun together for some time ... and oh dear, what a msiatke that tuned out to be. Talk about rabbit. I mean I didn't moan when she kept stopping to do her hair or find something in her handbag or put a bit more lippy on did I? Talk about stroppy. She doesn't seem to understand that I'm a highly tuned athlete and I need to keep to the training schedule that fits my physique, mental state and body clock. So I was in no real hurry on this particular day. She, though, had other ideas. Furthermore I did think some of her comments particularly hurtful. “Its not rocket science you just put one foot in front of the other and run” is hardly encouraging at the 29 kilograms mark is it?

Anyway you'll not be surprised to hear that that experience kind of put me off pounding the pavements for a couple of weeks. I have though got myself into gear this week and I've been down to my local Jim to do a few workout things. The next big event on my agenda is the Dartford Half Marathon next week so I need to get mind and body fresh for that challenge.
A week of living like a nun might help.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Beware the ides of June

Or so says Angela Rippon. And do you know? He wasn't kidding.

I'm afraid I'm guilty of hiding a tad too much this month.Following my little sprint out in Bexhill last month I'm afraid the old Olympic regime has dipped completely. I got a couple of days work at the chamois leather factory and that kept me busy. I then did a bit of work in Liverpool then Nottingham and finally Bridlington. As a result I had to put the training on the back bender for a couple of weeks.

The problem is that my body is that of an Olympian and as such any variance in my daily grind of Olympic gold medal training tends to throw my body. Mind you, you'd have a job throwing my body six inches at the moment - I have put a little bit too much of an emphasis on carbo loading. The result was a bit of a disaster when I went out for my first run in a fortnight on Sunday. We'd decided to do a low key race so that I wouldn't be bothered by well wishers, fans and women so we'd gone to New Eltham for the Eltham Park 5.

New Eltham? Well if that was New Eltham I'd hate to see Old Eltham. Anyway I set off on what seemed to be a pleasant rural park course - and then my legs just stopped. I'd got nothing inn them!! So, I registered my first DFF for some years. I tried to hide my disappointment and only decked a couple of cheeky marshals who asked me if I needed help. I'm an Olympic athlete for Gods sake - I don't need help.

Anyway not for the first time I really need to elbow down and get my fitness sorted for the summer. I'm only 16 weeks away from a return trip to Indialand and I've also got big races in France and Holland in the autumn as well. So the Half Share hit upon a great motivating idea to get me back on the straight and normal - she's only gone and entered us both in the North Downs Run this Sunday.

That's 30 Kilograms up and down the hills of North Kent.

Thanks a bunch pal.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Bonk!

I recovered from that hard and horrendous event in Great Baddow and returned to my finely tuned Olympic training plan this week. Ernie wanted some new pliers so we went in the Transit and whilst he was negotiating a deal at Hire-Us I went for what was for me a very hard 3 mile sprint along the harbour path in Rye.

So that was a decent workout. Then, on Wednesday I popped along to Bexhill for the first of their summer 5K races and decimated the field by finishing the sea front course in 31.33 - impressive mange tout?

True to form though, the weekend was bound to end on a low - and low it was come yesterday evening Ronettes. I popped along to the Tillingham Valley where some of the older people from Hastings were due to run in the Rockabilly 5 Mile Race.

Was it a good idea to go there - question number 1

What do you think - see below:


Was it a good idea to go there - question number 2

No it bally well wasn't. I got out of Ernie's van to start my warm-up, sign a few autographs etc. Turned to get my pumps out of the van and Ernie had only gone and opened the van doors. I then proceeded to stot my head on the door.

What happened next? Well, there was an awful lot of blood. And, my friends, I can tell you it hurt. It hurt then. And it still hurts now. I should have gone to the hospital for a stitch but they had no private facilities and I wasn't queuing with ordinary people. To make matters worse though, the Half Share reckoned I've now got percussion - and I might need to take a couple of days off till it gets better. So that's put paid to what was going to be a surprise trip over to Caravan County for the Dover Half Marathon tomorrow morning.

And before you ask - yes, I to want to know where the Olympic back-up medical team were as well.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Bad, bad Baddow.

A week is a long time in ... well its a long time isn't it?

And I really don't know where to start with my week.

I popped up to Great Baddow last Sunday to appear in their little 10 Mile event. I should have known when I woke up on Sunday and the sun was shining. It was very hot at 8 o'clock - so you have no idea how much hotter it had become by the start time of 11 o'clock!

Ronettes - I was flagging before I'd even started my anal crunch and pelvic squirt warm-up routine and by start time I was sweating more than an outed cabinet minister. As I set off, for the first time since I'd become an international athlete I knew that I was going to struggle. I had no energy. My renowned sprint start that has been known to leave Kenyans gasping in my wake wasn't there. Ronettes - I was barely recognisable as the Olympic idol you know and love. After 2 miles I had to take one of the most important decisions in my life. This, after all, is the chap that has done London, Paris, Amsterdam, Indialand and other places such as Reading. But ... Great Baddow had me beaten.

I dropped out of the race.

Let me just repeat that .... I dropped out of the race.

But as I trooped dejectedly back to the start, I thought to myself. Now what would Bobby Davro do in a situation like this? And you know what Ronettes? I don't know where I summoned the energy from but I made the decision that I wasn't going to be beaten by the course or the weather - I was bally well going to get round to the finish if it was the last thing I did.

At that point the rest of the field was long gone but I set off after them with some gusto - OK I lie - I set off after them with absolutely no gusto whatsoever. I couldn't wait till I crossed the line - which I did in over 2 hours.

Thank you Great Baddow.

Thanks a lot.

Keep on tapering

Ron

Great Scott - it's Great Baddow

More missionary work this morning.

I'm off to Essex to run in something called the Great Baddow 10.

I though Great Baddow was something you said when you dropped the sauce bottle on your foot - but we'll see.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Luxembuggered!!

Well it’s taken me nearly a bally week to recover from my International appearance in Luxembourg last weekend and, frankly Ronettes, I don't know where to start!

I was making an eagerly awaited appearance at the Night Run in Luxembourg - an event that I have graced with honour and achievement each year since the event was launched five years ago. And, you know, it does give make me kind of humble glow - knowing that the people in this little country live for this one weekend a year and an opportunity to see me. And before you get all dewy-eyed with emotion, just think that if it wasn't for my appearance all they'd have to do with their small lives would be to carry on counting their money, putting up more EU buildings and pretending they're not German.

Anyway, I'm pencilled in on the Nice Work trip once again. Little did I know though that Ernie had done a deal with them. In exchange for their sponsorship of my international appearances, he'd agreed that I'd do a bit of work for them over the weekend. (OK I'll fess up - there was a small to medium sized bar tab that was hanging around like a French smell).

Well I thought they'd want me to sink a few tubes in the hospitality tent so imagine my bemusement when I bowled up on Saturday morning to find that I was only driving the bally Transit!! We set off from Ashford at some unearthly hour with the motley-est of motley crew - the stench of stale alcohol and last night's kebabs very much filling the van. Upon arriving at the tunnel entrance ... guess what? They had only shut the flippin' thing down because ... oh I don't know there was a mouse in the tunnel or something.

Of course there being French stuff involved in the process it took three hours to get the tunnel opened and when our train did finally creak away from the platform it refused to go above half speed. The bottom line was that we arrived in France four hours late, with a four and a half journey ahead of us - and a race start time five hours ahead of us. That meant a hairy journey with no stops, a quick change into our Dunlop Green Flashes whilst driving and, dear Ronnettes, without a word of a lie we arrived on the start line with just THREE minutes to spare.

Of course we would have had a full five minutes to spare but for a minor flaw in my pre-race preparations. I'd only gone and left my bally pumps at home!! Now, as you can appreciate, us international athletes spend a great deal of time preparing ourselves for these kind of events - and we can't just go out and get another pair just like that. As luck would have it though we had a bloke from Sheffield on board - a carpet fitter he was. Well as they lined up to start, this chap was told he was being disqualified - apparently he'd been seen with anabolic stair rods. So that left a bloke with no race - and needing no shoes.

So, I forced him to let me use them ... and that makes my stunning 2 hrs 33.34 time (a full 4 minutes quicker than last year) all the more remarkable! There is, though, something of a confession I need to make.


The shoes were from Yorkshire.

Now just because I'm from Lancashire doesn’t mean I have nothing against stuff from Yorkshire, though I do admit that I prefer to have my chip in a sandwich than on my shoulder. But wearing Yorkshire shoes did make feel slightly uncomfortable. Apart from anything else, being from Yorkshire they were very tight, seemed desperate for it to rain and whinged and moaned the whole way round the course.

Anyway after my stunning run I then set about sticking a few tubes and a sausage down my neck before hitting this very small country. After getting back to the place that masqueraded as the group's hotel - when will these people realise that international athletes deserve a little comfort? - and hitting the sack for a few hours I was rudely awakened by the greasy foreign breakfast chef in his vest and clogs that a copper was sniffing round the Transit. Sure enough I scuttled downstairs to find some bloke who was the spit of the U Boat Commander in The Cruel Sea sniffing round the truck.

Apparently it wasn’t quite parked correctly and he was threatening to slap a 150 euro ticket on my windscreen. Well this is where my infamy really came to the fore. I explained who I was and in calm measured tones told him that I was an Olympic Athlete in town for their little marathon race and that I was on some kind of mission to spread love and happiness around the little country of Luxembourg. It was all going quite well until I asked him did Luxembourg have any athletes and he started barking some malarkey in a very strong (and I'm afraid it was back to The Cruel Sea again) and strangely reminiscent accent.

Obviously I then reacted in the correct way - talking very loud in pigeon Queen's English, demanded to know what his lot did in the war, reminded him of the result in 1966 etc etc And to be honest it seemed to do the trick and he strutted off muttering into his jackboots.

So, you see, if you just show these foreigners a little respect and resist the temptation to fall into the trap of stereotyping them, you'll usually come up smelling of dandelions.

Well I was up now wasn't I? So I decided to pop into town and sniff out a full English and that's when my day headed south ... because the next thing I know, its midnight and I'm staggering out of a bar at just a snifter before midnight with a few Luxembugger Best Mates that I'd found. They put me in a taxi for the ten minute cab ride back to the digs (a snip I thought at 80 quid) - and that was Luxembourg over for another year. I'm not sure exactly what happened during the day but I do recall seeing sausages and some sheep shearing - no I don't know either.



We stopped off for a sherb in a small town in France called Belgium and then it was back to the Channel Tunnel for the quick ride home and back to Blighty. Oh - I forgot to say. My passport had run out. In fact I'd forgotten to tell the other people in the Transit as well. You should have heard them whinge!! But, you know what? That's the difference between us Brits and those Johnny Foreigner Do-Gooders. All it took was a quick two minute chat with the chap on the desk and he would have let me through. OK, so I got it wrong by then tipping him with some folded stuff in a somewhat flamboyant manner. But even then it took just one set of rubber gloves and I was able to walk gingerly back to the Transit and I then stood all the way home.

I sometimes wonder why I bother.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Time to settle down now

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keep on tapering.

Ron

I scythed through the field like a spoon through butter

Well if you missed my interview with Steve Crumb on the BBC, it’s because it didn’t take place. God knows what has happened to decent chivalry and respect though. One of this country's greatest Olympians ignored. And Crumb wasn’t the only one to ignore me. I got off the train in London yesterday and hung around for ages waiting for Roland Branston to welcome me. Not a whiff of the chap.

So, I made my way to the start of the London Marathon feeling, if truth be known, a tad grumpy. I've had a strong feeling all week that the organisers seemed to be more interested in getting those Kenyans and Ethiopians on board than they were getting me to the start line. And that feeling turned to reality on Sunday morning when - and I know you'll be flabbergasted as well - I was denied access to the Elite Men's start pen.

And, Ronettes, if you can imagine the scene. There was I, peering through the 6 ft high fence at the hand-picked cluster of Johnny Foreigners masquerading as London Marathon winners-in-waiting. And, do you know, I swear I caught that Sammy Whostisname's eyes lock on to my gaze and his face turned to stare at the floor in embarrassment. Yes, even though he was dressed in a giraffe outfit, he was embarrassed too.

Anyway - enough of egos. How did my race go?

Well, I have to be pleased. I'd paced myself through the race and crossed the line at 3.50 which I thought wasn’t bad. Mind you, if truth be known I'd actually hoped to get there for half three - but ten to four was good enough. My time was a blistering 5 hours 53 minutes - a full 14 minutes quicker than my last marathon - but, oh dear Ronettes. Does it hurt.

Yes, it hurt yesterday and it bally well hurts today I can tell you. But I did it and that’s the main thing. So, what were the highlights of my magnificent victory?

Well there was plenty of anticipation as we lined up to prepare for the race. Unlike my fellow lightweights I popped into O’Neil’s in Blackheath for a last minute carbo loading bacon sarny - and that really set me up. Just stripped down to my orange Lycra ... and the bally heavens opened and drenched the lot of us. Got some funny responses from what were obviously first-time athletes who didn’t seem to understand that my offer to lubricate their wobbly bits with Vaseline was a perfectly reasonable thing to say on an athlete to athlete basis.

The race got underway and I stormed past my first Kenyan at just 400 yards - he was adjusting his Womble outfit and I took advantage of that to leave him for dust. Saw some pretty remarkable sites - Sally Gunnell dressed up as the back end of a bus was one early highlight. Felt a bit demoralised when a bloke carrying a fridge ran past me at 2 miles but I felt a whole lot better when somebody pointed out that the fridge was empty - well anybody could do that couldn’t they?

My race nearly came to a shuddering premature halt when a woman pushing a pram crossed the road in front of me – and then as I ran past her she rammed it on to my Achilles – now what was that about????

I was stalked throughout the first 10 miles by a flippin' partially sighted soldier who was dressed in full camouflage gear. I kept running past him only for him to come right up behind me poking me with his white stick thing. Now I have the utmost respect for people like that but his stick kept hurting the backs of my leg. But then something happened for which I have since reflected was probably not in the spirit of the race - and I apologise now. He came up on my inside for the last time at about 10 or 11 miles and for the umpteenth time I moved aside after being jabbed yet again by his stick. Just at that point, however there was a sharp left hand turn in the course - but your man carried straight on. And he was so determinedly walking straight that the marshals on the corner obviously thought he wanted to come off the course - so they removed the barrier to allow him through. The last I saw of him he was tip-tapping his way away from the course down some main road - presumably wondering why the field had thinned out. I know I should have done something about it but ….

Some blokes with one leg sprung past me at 4 miles followed a few minutes later by a huffing and puffing bloke with a rucksack with a load of spare legs sticking out of the top - what was that all about?

But the early parts of my race were OK. I had decided on a 5/1 walk-run strategy where I would run for 5 minutes and walk for 1 minute - to conserve my energy. At my pace I reckoned that would get me round in 5 hours 27 minutes - and I would have taken that. The plan worked well up until 13 miles when I felt my groin go - but I carried on regardless and at 17 miles I was doing OK and about five minutes ahead of my target time - but by then I was feeling tired and groin-sore. I decided to take a couple of minutes to recover and then set off again but I was soon feeling quite sore and although I struggled on to 20 miles - still about on-target - the wheels began to fall off as I hit the dreaded hedge.

All marathon runners will know the feeling when you do hit the hedge – your legs turn to jelly, you cant control your breathing, you have no energy and every muscle in your legs and arms starts to burn.

The last six miles took me an age to get through. My thighs were really burning and my right calf had stiffened up. The groin strain was making me limp - oh do stop sniggering - and both my knees had taken just about as much as they could. But at 20 miles and then 21 miles I reckoned that if I could just struggle through to run, say half a mile per mile, I could still have made the target time or thereabouts. But it wasn’t to be.

At 22 miles I had a blazing row with myself - and I tell you I damn near hit myself I was so annoyed. Whether it was the heat or whether my brain had just scrambled because of the intense effort I don’t know. But it had so turned to jelly that I just couldn’t calculate where my five minute runs and 1 minute walks started and finished. It is, of course quite easy - you run for five minutes and then walk for one minute - which means that every sixth minute should be the end of the walk - at 6, 12, 18, 24 etc minutes past the hour. Well my brain worked perfectly well for most of the afternoon - but like my legs it just it seemed to give up. I was stopping at 13 past the hour starting walking at 16 - and then I eventually had to stop and start to manually calculate what I should be doing. Am I supposed to be running now … or walking? I almost asked a woman in the crowd for some pencil and paper - and that, Ronettes, is what marathon running does for you.

The last four miles were pretty tough on your man here - but there was a kind of Eureka moment when it suddenly struck me that I had stumbled upon my problem. You see when I was running I was keeping up with those around me. But when I stopped to walk, all those walkers around me were walking past me. So, that I surmised, was my problem. It wasn’t that I can’t run fast - it’s that I walk too slowly!

24 miles came and I was not a happy hamster. I was barely walking and barely thinking straight. Humiliation complete when a bloke ran past me dragging a half-built brick wall.

At the 40K mark I should have been about 12 minutes from the finish line - but it took me damn near on half an hour to get there. Turning the corner into the Mall I summoned one last effort to run to the tape - and effort made slightly more difficult by having to avoid two apples, a donkey, a small giraffe and two Star Wars characters - I needed to have that finish line photo with real athletes in it - not half the cast from some bally pantomime.

And there you have it - the marathon from the perspective of an Olympic hero.

The Half Share had shot off from yard 1 and nipped round in 5 hours 20 and was waiting for me with a Guinness and a pie for dehydrating purposes after the race. And you know, sometimes you get no credit do you? Her mood darkened somewhat when Ernie picked me up in the Transit - now there was only room for me in the van and anyway there was a perfectly good taxi service from the train station to the Cucumber and Trumpet where I was being feted last night for my magnificent achievement. I gave her most of the money for the flippin’ taxi – so just what was the problem eh? But I was not going to let anything spoil my perfect day. After a couple of tubes with well wishers I retired to the bottom of the stairs to wait for morning – well there was no way I was going to climb the things!

And so, to today. How do I feel?

Sore that's how.

But at least I did the thing. And the race was good experience for my next big event which is not far away - I'm planning on running the marathon in Luxembourg next month and yesterday should, at least, help my preparations. In the meantime I'm going to take it easy this week - pop into a few local pubs to show off my medal etc. And then, on Sunday the relentless treadmill that is training for the 2012 Olympics gets switched on again when I travel to Reading to take part in the Shinfield 10K.

Keep on tapering

Ron

All set

Just been out in Ernie's van to check for Volcanic ash and all seems to be OK.

You know something - I can definitely see myself on the podium tomorrow.

For those of you unable to travel down to London to see me, the race is being televised on the BBC. And if that Steve Crumb bloke doesn't mention my name, I'll be having words at my post race press conference in the Scout and Vicar tomorrow evening. In any event though, you should be able to spot me - I'll be the bloke in a white vest.

I'll be reporting in on Monday after the race - so wish me luck Ronettes - and watch out you Kenyans!!

Keep on tapering

Ron

PS Anybody know where I can buy a podium?

A bone to pick

Look - I don't mind roughing it. I mean the Half Share comes from Essex so I know what hardship is all about. But when I am an elite athlete I expect to be treated with the hard-earned respect I like to think I've earned.

So, Mr Roland Branston. The next time you ask me to star in your London Marathon a few hints - or I wont use your flippin' pickle again.

1. I didn’t see Paul Radcliffe queuing with the ordinary people for their number - so why did I have to?

2. You apparently spent £150,000 flying in some foreign runners from Africa. So, was it too much to expect an Oyster card? Or a couple of quid petrol money for Ernie's van?



3. My number is 24,000 and something - so who Roland, is wearing Number 1 then?

4. My sponsor's gift pack appeared to be the same as everybody else's - packet of crisps made by some company nobody has ever heard of, a packet of seed stuff, a cereal bar that'll take me a fortnight to chew through, some girly spray stuff and an apple. Now seriously Mr Branston - is that what the Kenyans are having? Is that what you really consider a quality gift to an Olympic champion in the offing?

5.No red carpet for me. Well OK, there was a red carpet - in fact the whole bally place was covered in red carpet - but OTHER PEOPLE WERE WALKING ON IT MR BRANSTON!! That was supposed to be my red carpet.

6. No private dining facilities - I had to sit with an old bloke with wind problem and eat a plastic bowl of pasta and an apple. Hardly Hoot Cuisine eh Roland? Hardly Gordon Blue I would suggest?

7. I know you're a busy man - what with your record shop and pickle factory. But could you not have spared just a couple of minutes to say 'hello'? First of all I had the humiliating experience of queuing with ordinary people - and yes that did include women, Roland - and then when I got to the front of the queue guess what? You're right. Only two of the four people on the desk recognised me.

8. No free costume. I'm really miffed about this. I bet you gave all them Kenyans and Ethiopians a load of fancy dress stuff to wear - but all I got was a red rain mac.

9. My shoe manufacturers weren’t there. Oh yes, you have your fancy-dan-fancy-pants Adidoss and Asucks - but, come on - no Dunlop Green Flash? A big doo doo I'm afraid Roland.

So, all in all Ronettes I'm not best pleased with this London Marathon bloke at the moment.

I didn’t get treated like this in Hastings.

Keep on tapering.

Ron.

Preparing for the big stage

Those of you who have been in my company will know that although I am a natural media star in the making, I'm modest with it. Its no coincidence though - it isn't just raw talent that you see when you observe how I can hold a crowd and captivate my fellow athletes and Ronettes. But, you know, I'll let you into a little secret - all is not what it seems. Because I do, in fact, spend many hours working on my image and public persona.

Some weekends I have been known to spend hour upon hour mixing with ordinary people - like women for instance - to cultivate my 'Man of the Common People' image.

And so it was that I was the major attraction on Sunday at the Brighton Marathon. And I have to say the City of Needles made a pretty good fist of it. (Though Ernie does say that Brighton and Fisting do go together quite well but I have no idea what he means).

So, I turned up to offer my support and my advice to the athletes - some 8,000 of whom had gathered to take part in the first event of its kind in the city.

In fact, I turned up at 7 o'flippin'clock in the morning - and although I knew the start wasn't till 9-ish I did at least reckon I could turn in a spot of full English to set me up for the day. Being Brighton, of course, there wasn't a chippy or a bacon sandwich to be seen. So I had to content myself with a Falafel and Watercress pie and a cup of some Johnny Foreigner tea.

And then I sat down at the Finish Line to wait for the runners to meet me.

Well, the first runners home were a bit sharpish and so I reckoned I could have been away and home in Ernie's van in time for a snifter at the Slug and Pellet.

Now I don't want you to be thinking that I'm a fair weather athlete with no time for my fellow runners - after all I've even been to Essex once for a race - but for goodness sake the last runner didn't bowl over the line for nine and a half hours!! That's right - for nine and a half hours I stood there on that line clapping and cheering. And I got roped into handing out Goody Bags - I was there for almost 12 hours!

Well let me tell you - this Sunday at the London Marathon I ain't waiting for nobody! I don't care whether the Kenyan in the Fred Flintstone suit or the Bakewell Tart or those strange blokes who run with a house have finished or not. I'm crossing that line and heading straight for the nearest boozer.

After all I'm a proper athlete - not a spectator.

I wasn't happy - I got flippin' sunstroke; my legs feel as though they'd run the bally race. And for what? A few brownie points on the old media checklist.

Anyway the London thing is only a couple of days away now. I've been busy carbo loading and sitting waiting for a telephone call from the media people at the London Marathon. Well waiting for them is like British Gas nookey - you stay in all day and nobody comes. So, I guess I'll just have to hold my own press conference on Saturday. I've heard that some of the overseas blokes have bottled out claiming something to do with volcanic ash stopping them from flying. Well that's just pumpkins - I've been to Hastings today and I had no problems getting there or back.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Wee wee my cherry

Hee haw hee haw hee haw!!

Yep - this kiddie can speak foreign if he wants too!

Just back from a trip to one of those foreign suburbs and a guest appearance at the Paris Marathon, near a place called France. Its an event I get invited to every year. Rather like that bloke tennis player - Billy Bob King? - who won the Wimbledon Cup and then goes back every year to milk the applause, I took part and damn nearly won the Paris Marathon a couple of years ago and its kind of on my itinerary every year now. To be fair they don’t actually formally invite me back - but I know they really want me there.



I travelled with the Nice Work crew in the back of their Dormobile and, between cans of Stones Bitter, kept my fellow athletes regaled with some fantastic tales from my glorious running career. One or two of them were so impressed they actually suggested that I stay in Paris rather than come back here - they reckoned I could really teach the Frenchies a thing or two about running! It wasn’t a bad trip but the flippin' price of food - almost a fiver for a half pint???? Only trouble I had was at a small bar close to Blackpool Tower. The waiter said I could have two wines for 10 Euros so I told him he had a body odour problem and I didn’t think much of his beer.

No sense of humour these foreigners eh?

But I had a fairly pleasant weekend. I went for a small run in and around the city. And I tell you what - they're such a tolerant lot. I had a bit of bother with my orange Lycra mankini running outfit which I thought I'd try out ahead of its official debut in Dartford next month. Well, was I popular!! Although starting to run on my own I soon had a whole posse of French runners following me - and what appeared to be half the Paris Police Athletic team also kindly ran with me back to the hotel - now how kind was that?

I must hold my hands up to slightly over celebrating though. I have absolutely no memory of the return trip whatsoever following my discovery of a strange drink. I asked the chap in the shop for a pasty – but he gave me a bottle of aniseed ball-tasting stuff. I had a couple of slurps and, well, that was it. The next thing I remember was waking up in a bus shelter in Dover.

I’m doing more celebrity stuff this weekend. Although my training is still in full swing (out with the Old People of Hastings again on Tuesday) I’ll be taking a break on Sunday morning to add a touch of glamour to the Brighton Marathon. I’ll be on hand at the finish to shake a few hands and pass on a few rehydration tips – so if you’re in Needle City on Sunday why not give me a wave?

Then, of course the week after I take centre stage again – this time for my appearance in this year’s London Marathon. As Dale Winton says – ‘You can't beat a bit of bully can you?’.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Easter Eggy thump

You cant beat Easter can you?

A bulk buy from Thorntons used to be the norm at Ron Towers but with the credit snatch still biting it was a trolley dash round Poundstretcher to stock up on Easter goodies. Then we were off to Lidl to get some tubes in - then a couple of carrier bags of take away fodder later it was off to the Barnacle and Bicycle for some decent Easter rehydration sessions. And, you know, that's why I like Easter. As long as the kids enjoy it then its job done eh?

I did a spot of training too as Good Friday approached with a session with the Old People of Hastings and then it was off to Caravan County to take part in the Folkestone 10. Its a race I enjoy because I can enjoy a spot of anonymity there. The locals by and large are used to celebrity. Well why wouldn't they? It is, after all, the birthplace of one of this country's finest classical actresses Hattie Jacques.

So I nipped along the 10 miler in an hour and 47 minutes-ish. Didn’t quite get on the podium - so I found out later - but there's nothing wrong with letting some ordinary people and those less fortunate then me (i.e. women) having a bit of the limelight eh?

So, after my race I retired to enjoy a rather subdued post race celebration with just a couple of Leffes to keep me company.

Mentally though I was as sharp as a zip because in the back of my mind, of course, I've got one of the pinnacles of an Olympians year coming up in a couple of weeks - the London Marathon. And with Paul Radcliffe having bottled out again and some of his Kenyan mates also chucking in the towel - well, lets just say 'who knows' eh? Could I win it? Well stranger things have happened. Just ask that woman in the Bovril adverts.

I'm getting a little bit of big race experience this weekend too with a trip to Paris for their laughable attempt at organising a marathon!!

If you're there - well, wee, give me a wave!

Keep on tapering.

Ron