Especially for you marathon runners

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

Click here to bring those memories flooding back!

Keep on tapering

Ron

Great news for Luxembourg!!

You know this kiddy can be a sentimental old thing.

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

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

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

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

So, what have I been up to?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Keep on tapering


Ron

2012 - my first rehearsal

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

How do I feel today?

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

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



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

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

That should sort my guaranteed entry in 2012.

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

Pre Race

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

Mile 1

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

Mile 2

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



Mile 3

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

Mile 4.

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

Mile 5

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

Mile 6

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

Mile 7

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

Mile 8

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

Mile 9

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



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

Mile 10

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



Paul Tergat manages a wave to the crowd

Mile 11

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

Mile 12

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

Mile 13

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

Mile 14

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

Mile 15

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

Mile 16

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

Mile 17

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

Mile 18

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

Mile 19

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

Mile 20

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

Mile 21

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

Mile 22

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

Mile 23

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

Mile 24

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

Mile 25

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

Finish

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



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

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

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

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

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

Can’t wait.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Ouch!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keep on tapering.

Ron

24 hours from now ...

Just a quick update on your favourite Olympic Gold Medal kiddie.

It's less than 24 hours to go before my practice attempt at the 2012 Marathon route. It will be a quiet intimate run with just myself and 35,000 other runners at this, the World's favourite marathon. Speaking to organisers yesterday I was pleased to see that my appearance has boosted the number of spectators anticpated to line the route - half a million plus should be there to cheer me on.

How do I feel?

Well, to be honest, I'm dobbing myself. Fear is all part of the mental battle though and you can rest assured that I'll be doing my all - and I'll be thinking about you on my way around. I'll especially be thinking of my Ronettes who live a long way away in a place called Canadialand who, apparently, have still got snow. Here - well the weather numptie is promising 24 degrees and high humidity.

Brilliant.

Anyway, I thought you might appreciate a couple of pics that were taken of me by the paparazzi in Paris last weekend and London yesterday.

Keep on tapering.

Ron.



Ron - trying to avoid the photographer



Ron looking at a replica of Blackpool Tower



Ron signing on for his practice shot at the 2012 marathon.

Globetrotting Ron

Phew!

That’s all I can say.

Phew!

It’s no bed of roses being an elite athlete I can tell you – and the added pressure of being an Olympic Gold Medallist-in-waiting just adds to the workload heaped upon me. But, you know, I just take it in my stride. Because I know that the time spent invested in you and my other fans now will be repaid a million times over when I’m stood on that podium in 2012. (And when I’ve got a boot load of commercial endorsements as well but that’s for later!).

To cut a long story short, I’ve been as busy as the pox doctor’s receptionist these last few days – but I’ll tell you what, it’s been a little eye opener.

I went to Paris last weekend for the Marathon. I wasn’t taking part – but I went to try and source some commercial deals for your man here. As well as shoe and sock deals, I’m also mulling over my idea to launch my own fan magazine – Ronners World – which will chronicle my amazing rise to athletic super-stardom.

And, of course, I went to have another gloat at the Olympics coming home to England.

Travelling with the gin-soaked wasters at Nice Work, I met up with a youngster from Zimbabwe who was doing his first marathon in some 9 years. We discussed the situation in that tragic country and I expounded my theory that it’s all the fault of Yorkshire.

That’s right. I’m of the firm opinion that the leader of Zimbabwe is a former postman from Barnsley who, after being caught red-handed with a bag full of giros decided to do a runner and flit to Zimbabwe. His name may now be Mugabe but he’s as Yorkshire as they come - anyway he simply reversed the letters in his real name – Ebagum to become this nasty bit of dictator stuff.

Anyway, I digress again. Back to my pupil. Do you know what? I think I became something of a father figure to the chap over the course of the weekend. I took him under my wing and gave him the benefit of an elite athlete’s experience. I gave him his pep talk, some tactical tips and I showed him some Leffe locations in the City of Love. In fact he only flinched twice throughout the entire weekend. The first time was when I demonstrated my anal crunch routine on Saturday night at the Trocadero (And I’ll tell you something too - this kiddie still hasn’t lost it. What a crowd I drew!).

And I must admit he also flinched a bit when I offered to Vaseline him – but I can assure you, your man here’s no Uphill Gardener – I was referring to the bits he couldn’t reach and nothing else! Cheeky monkey! Anyway, it was all worth it when he'd finished because I swear there was a little tear in his eye as he hobbled along the Champs Elysee and threw his arms round me. Emotional maybe – and it took me three snifters to get rid of the taste of salt!

I’m not really sure whether the Parisians really deserve their marathon. I mean, they get all precious about it because they think it lives under the shadow of London (yes – so?) – but then do precious little to embrace the thing when it does happen. On a blistering hot day – and certainly not one for running 26.2 miles – the runners needed every bit of support they could get – and from where I was at the 31K mark it was sorely lacking. I stood there from 30 minutes before the leaders came though until their approach – and at its peak I had no more than 20 people stood with me. Around midday the temperature had climbed to just a shade under 28 degrees – and I have to say that seeing some of those brave kiddies didn’t exactly inspire me to look forward to this weekend’s big one in London. I’d already done a sharp 10 myself on Sunday morning at around 7 am and the heat then was debilitating - even for an Olympian like myself.

Anyway I did enjoy Paris. I enjoyed meeting a few of my Ronettes and fans from far flung outposts of civilisation like Cornwall, Bournemouth, Portugal and the USA. But what I liked best was watching the front runners. You see it’s very seldom I can relax with a couple of beers in my hand and watch the front runners. And doing so got me thinking about the difference between those at the front of a distinguished field of athletes and those who are normally to be seen trophy-free at the Blair end.

And so, here’s Ron’s Guide to the Differences Between Front Runners and Club Runners

1. None of the leading 100 or so girl runners had their jackets tied round their waist
2. Not one of the Kenyan or Ethiopian athletes I saw was running with an IMacPod3 thing
3. Not one – I repeat – not one - of the first 1,000 or so runners thought it a good idea – or indeed a fashion statement, to run in rabbit ears. Those of you who know of my last London Marathon will know how hacked off this kiddie was when his London Marathon photos were delivered with a crowd of rabbit-eared numpties in the background – and ruined what could turn out to be a future record of a piece of sporting history.
4. Strangely enough, none of the leaders were nattering away to each other. No mention of shopping amongst the leading ladies – and a similar lack of BMW acceleration stats between the chap from Qatar and his running buddie from Ethiopia.
5. No body piercing or tattoos. You listening Essex?
6. Girls at the front don’t wear them long trouser things – they’re in .. ahem .. little bikini bottom things. To be encouraged, I think. And, I might add, those nippy fillies doing the 2 hour 20-odd minute thing are not afraid of sweating! How many times have we finished a race and there’s some young gal with ne’er a bead of sweat on her brow? But those long kex? I saw only English girls running in those flared jogging bottoms that look as though they’ve been knitted by some overbearing mum – girls, it was 28 chuffing degrees!!
7. Leading runners don’t run six abreast pointing and saying “ooh there’s Darren from the gym”
8. I think I saw about an hour and a half of runners before I saw my first nipple bleed. Now then chaps – we know how painful that can be eh? So, how come those fast blokes don’t get it?
9. Sorry chaps again. About finisher number 5,000 before I saw a beer belly. But best if we gloss over that one eh?
10. Armour. What do I mean? Those at the front get up, put on their pumps, their shorts, a pair of socks and a vest – and that’s it. So how come those at the southern end think it necessary to start a race with their clothing, a computer on their wrist, an IpmacP3 thing on their arm, heart monitor, earplugs, a belt with four water bottles – plus a bottle of water to carry for the first half, another belt with gel tubes, a bum bag, a hat, mobile phone to ring Brenda, bag of jelly babies, a backpack thing with a tube full of water, vest, t shirt, bin liner and an old 1989 Canterbury 10 Mile t-shirt to discard at the off? It’s no wonder we’re slower than the flippin’ Kenyans, we’re carrying half our chuffing house round with us!!

Anyway, from Paris, I then had to spend a couple of days working in Birmingham with my mate Buttocks – where I have to say I’ve suffered more from the language barrier than I did throughout my time in Paris. I thought somebody was presenting me with a souvenir Kipper Tie and I got given a cup of Tetleys! Then, on Wednesday I flew to Germany to tie up a rather exciting long distance project for your man here.

Intrigued?

Tell you more soon.

Oh – and I’m running the London Marathon on Sunday.

It’s at times like this that you realise that adrenaline is brown and smelly.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

A new diet

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

I've lost three days this week.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Ron gets the better of technology!!

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

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

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

Keep on tapering.

Ron

This is my world

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

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

OK?

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



This is a field.



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



The Water Jump.



This is a part of our off-road circuit.



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



An old house - probably built before we civilised America.



The home stretch.



Ron's eggs come from here.



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

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

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

Keep on tapering.

Ron.

A sunny day in Folkestone

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

Fantastic.

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

Thank you all - I'm humble-ified.

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

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

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

Anyway, I suppose they meant well.

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

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

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

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

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Taking it easy

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

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

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

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

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Publish and be damned!!

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

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

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

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Coping with celebrity

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Still basking

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

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

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

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

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

Here's ten reasons why I like running.

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

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

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

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

5. It is acceptable to run with perfect strangers

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

7. There are no running transmitted diseases

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

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

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

Ah well. Back to bed.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

It's in the bag!!

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

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

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

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

WORTHING! WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO??

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


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

Well let me cut to the chase Ronners.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Worthing tomorrow

I'm running the Worthing 20 tomorrow.

And I don't want to.

I will do.

But I don't want to.

I just thought I'd give you an insight into the mental preparations of an Olympic Champion and share with you the mental torment that we often have to endure.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Let me put this one to bed right now!!

I am not running starkers OK?

No way. Not a snowball in hell's chance. Not even if you paid me.

No. Not now. Not ever. Not never. Not anytime. No!

Now this all started yesterday when I was flicking through my correspondence. It was all the usual stuff - requests from my fans for photos, autographs, personal appearances etc - when, amongst the pile of begging letters from Race Directors for me to sign up for their events, I came across a letter from a bloke requesting my appearance at an event in Orpington, Kent. Now, as you know, I'm a frequent visitor to Caravan County so I put it on the pile of 'Maybe's' to study later.

Later that evening, the Half Share in the House had been grouting all day so was late finishing repairing the roof tiles that had blown off in the strong winds and, as a result, I was still waiting for my tea. I tried to take my mind off the hunger by watching Bargain Hunt on the box - but it was a flippin' repeat! So back I went to my correspondence and I was just about to sign up to this flippin' race in Orpington when, to my horror, I studied the small print. Well, to be honest, I should have studied the big print never mind the small print. Now whilst the race is called Naked Ambition 3, I thought it referred to a state of mind - not a state of undress! Because ... yes ... it's a race run in the nuddy!!

It's a 5K race and here's what the small print says:

"The UK's largest 'clothing optional' race, now in it's fifth year, but this may well be the last chance to take part. Open to all and a real 'must' for your running log."

Now excuse me, could you just run that by me again? "The UK's largest 'clothing optional' race" - so how many do you know of then? And what's all this twaddle about 'clothing optional'? If it's a nude race you can hardly turn up in full race clobber can you?

A couple of other things spring to mind about this particular event. Now I don't want to be unduly harsh about Orpington but if you were to sit down with a map of Europe and pick a place to have a race in the altogther, would you really plump for Orpington? San Tropez maybe? Or Monte Carlo? But Orpington? For goodness sake the place is nothing but houses! In fact my mate Ernie's grannie lives in Orpington and I dread to think what would happen to her if she parted the curtains and saw the best part of a couple of hundred naked bodies hurling down Arcadia Avenue with bits of rude stuff flapping in the breeze! To be fair, I'm sure it isn't the first time that naked men have been seen running down the road in this fine part of the country - but I'm also sure that on most of the previous occassions there would have been a fair number of blokes in uniforms and blue flashing lights in hot pursuit.

The other thing that worries me slightly about the race description is this 'A real must for your running log' stuff. Now I'll ignore the obvious, rather distateful, connotations with the word 'log' in this context - so let's just concentrate on the 'A real must' bit shall we?

Are you sure?

There's no 'must' about it. In fact I'd be much more comfortable with 'Must not' or 'shouldn't' or 'you must be chuffin' joking mate'. I mean, what on earth would possess anybody in their right mind to get out of bed, remove the last semblance of decency protecting you from the eyes of the outside world and go for a chuffin' run in the nicky nacky? For God's sake it's parky enough wearing tracky trousers and a sweatshirt! And the other thing is - it might be OK for you girlies, you've only got a couple of bezoomas to hang on to - but us chaps are just not built for activities that involve any form of up and down movement.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm all for a nudie event that features just women - because that would be a cracking spectator sport wouldn't it? But this kiddie ain't going anywhere near this kind of event. It's just ... well, let's just say I find the whole thing a bit yukky - if not a little suspect.

Anyway, I decided to delve into the subject a little closer - and do you know what? There's not just one race - there's a whole flippin lot of 'em. And if you don't believe me, have a butchers at this little lot!. Now granted, most of the events are in a place called America and having watched the news once and seen The Waltons on the telly I understand that they may lack a bit of grey matter up top. But for Pete's sake don't these people have standards?? Or mums and dads?

There are, of course, a couple of other prcatical issues about a run in the buff.

Where do you pin your number? I won't ask where they'd ask you to place your ChampionChip! And what happens if it's cold? OK it might not affect you girlies but I've seen what happens when the old mercury drops below freezing and it does no good for a bloke's reputation I can tell you. There's changing facilities provided - why? You don't need to change into anything.

More to the point though - and the more discerning of you chaps will know what I mean - what happens if you bowl up to the race, take your kit off, trot down to the start line ... and it's packed out with pretty fillies? I don't know about you, but your man here might find that a bit of a distraction - if you see what I mean. Mind you it could help me improve my finishing time by a couple of seconds - no need to dip to cross the line eh? Kind of brings a new meaning to the 'coming first or last' argument too doesn't it?

And as for entering on the day - well that's just plain filthy!

In fact I think that's why I got the invite - you can just imagine what my highly complex series of pre-race stretches, anal crunches and pelvic thrusts could do to a highly aroused crowd of runners already overdosed on testosterone! Nope, I've got standards and whilst I may disappoint a legion of fans eager to see a touch more of the famous Ron, this kiddie's trolleys are being kept firmly on his body where they belong!

So you can take it from me, your man here will not be running naked in Orpington or anywhere else for that matter

I just haven't got the balls to do it.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

What on earth is it about Essex?

Not the best weekend in this kiddie’s sporting diary to be honest. I made a tortuous journey to Stiletto City yesterday to take part in the Brentwood Half Marathon. Two problems. First of all, being the Spring Equinox the meddling beggars who look after the clocks and times in this country decided to put the clocks forward - which meant I had one hour less in kip on Saturday night. A problem compounded by the fact that I only just made it to bed before I had to get up! A personal appearance by yours truly turned slightly pear-shaped when the bottles of Leffe (good) were supplemented by a bottle of Smirnoff Blue (very, very bad). In short I ended up a slavering mess about 2 o'clock in the morning, troughed a cheese on toast supper/breakfast and was woken with the mother of all hangovers at 6 o'clock.

Ideal race preparations or what?

So I was in a bit of quandary when I arrived in Essex - do I sit out the race or run it? The big problem of course is that my appearance had boosted the entry and, quite frankly, a good few hundred bods had turned up - presumably because I'd already signed to run and I didn’t want to let them down. Sure, I could have hung around, looking important, signed a few autographs and demonstrated my anal crunch routine – but that’s just faking it as far as I’m concerned. But even so I could have done with just putting my head down never mind running 13.1 flippin' miles.

But I knew that I'd have let down my fans if I'd done 'a Paula' - so I set out to treat the event as a training run and I ran extremely gingerly for the first six miles until I was certain that breakfast would remain where I'd left it. To be honest, it was a foolish thing to do - but I trotted round in a spot-on 10 minute mile pace and finished the race in 2.09.44. But do you know what? I so wished I'd have been in a fit condition because it was a cracking event for getting a good time. Much of the race was downhill or flat - with the odd unnoticeable incline - and my mind raced forward 12 months to next year - when you’re man here could well have a bash at the old world record with my new invention - Hillys, the trainer with wheels in its heels.

But, I'm sorry, I'm going to have to disappoint some sections of my fan base.

People from Essex.

I abhor all kinds of prejudice - even that directed at some women. What I have to say next isn't sexist - but it is Essexist. You see I ran virtually the whole race surrounded by chatting runners. Almost to a person, the entire range of topics for Essex ladies is restricted to clothes and shopping; and the blokes have no other topic of conversation apart from cars.

So I spent the first five miles listening to fuel consumption figures of a BMW 5 series, the amount of oil consumed by a Lexus (apparently allow 1 litre per 1,000 miles "or you got a dog mate") and the acceleration of a Toyota MR2 is "well mash-up".

I just got so bored with the conversations of these red-necked, gel-wearing market-trading city types that I stopped for a while to let them all chatter past. And as for the girls ... tell me, what is the point of tying your flippin' coat round your waist before the race has started? And what on earth are the leg warmers for? They went out with step aerobics for God's sake!

So, I've decided to offer my advice to the people of Essex - and here are my ten reasons why the people of Essex should never run:

1. You can't get shoulder pads in running vests
2. How many races do you know that go past Lakeside or Bluewater?
3. Nike, Asics, Brookes and Reebok - I might be wrong but so far as I know none of them manufacture a running shoe with stiletto heels
4. It looks really naff having a white Ford Capri as the lead car
5. The girls keep stopping to ask for directions
6. How many races do you know where they have Bacardi Breezer Stations instead of water stops?
7. The only reason they do run is because they like the sound of heavy breathing
8. Burberry running vests look stupid
9. Sweaty roots? Oh yuk!!
10. Yes - your bum does look big in those.

Well that's upset half my mates.

Tough week coming up for your man here. I'm training every night with a mix of gym and road running and the Half Share in the House has put me on a diet - so it's cup-a-soup-tastic all week! Then, on Sunday ... it’s that flippin Worthing 20 race. It isn't just the distance that's a put-off - it's the fact that it's 4 laps of 5 miles which is mind numbingly boring. But I know if I'm going to make that podium in 2012 I'm going to have to overcome weeks and races like this.

Be back to you soon.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Wheels and things

I'm sorry fans but there are times when priorities dictate that I can't always be here to talk to you. Now, you know that this kiddie is pretty much 24/7 available for you. After all you’re the people that will help carry me to Olympic glory. But I've had a bad few days and I'm afraid to say the wheels have come off the Ron bandwagon somewhat.

It all started with the euphoria of my post-Hastings efforts and I continued my strict regime of training and healthy living right up until last Friday when I finally completed my first 20 mile training run of the year. Now I don't know how many of you have actually run this distance but let me tell you something - it's a chuffing long way. But your man here did OK - and by last Friday night I was basking in the glory of my achievement.

Then, last weekend I had to go to France for a top secret meeting with some potential commercial partners and whilst there I naturally took the opportunity to re-hydrate with a couple of decent doses of Leffe. As most other top athletes will tell you, rest is just as important as training - so I took this on board and rested till the early hours in the company of some decent chaps.

But, to be honest, since arriving back in the UK I've had some problems with the old pins - and my legs have been giving me a bit of trouble. So I decided to have what we athletes call a Recovery Week. This has involved a strict routine with plenty of Guinness, some Cornish Pasties and a couple of pizzas - and guess how I feel? Yup - duff's the word. I seem to have piled on a stone in weight and the lack of exercise this week has made me feel pretty lethargic and I really need a kick up the Blair to get me back on track.

I know what you’re asking. Has this kiddie got it in him to get back on track? You're dead right he has. So, I'm about to embark on a serious bout of pre-London Marathon activity that will put some of our international athletes to shame. First up tomorrow is a trip to Stiletto City to take part in the Brentwood Half Marathon although I have to say I'm not feeling too confident. For a start I'm still full of twinges - and my returning bulk means that I'll probably be struggling to break that 2 hour mark - and that will come as a great personal disappointment to your man here.

Following my personal appearance north of the river tomorrow I've got a hard week on the road and in the gym this week to prepare myself for a 20 Mile Race in Worthing next Sunday. I've been in touch with my Elite Training team and it's pretty imperative that I complete that event in less than 3 hours 20 minutes – so that’s a daunting task to say the least.

I have spent the last few days getting my commercial stuff on track too and I'm conscious that I've not been as forthcoming as I should have been about these activities. You'll appreciate that commercial confidentialities do tend to dictate what can and what can't be made public. But you know - I've always been a bit of a rebel so beggar it! I've decided to expose some of the more murky goings-on in the world of sport by placing in the public domain all my correspondence with the world's top business and political leaders - so watch this space!

Finally this week - some brilliant news. I'm obviously now a leading sporting personality - but did you know that I was also an inventor? Crazy I know - but it's true! And guess what? I've only gone and invented a new running shoe! One that will soon revolutionise the sport of road running and marathon racing - and watch out for a world record soon from your man here!!

It all started when I tried to catch hold of my youngest - the Sod. He'd been up to no-good like many of today's young Herberts and, after returning the stolen items and apologising to the vicar, I decided to give him a bit of a leathering. But I couldn't catch the toerag! The reason is that he's only gone and got caught up in the latest craze in youngster’s footwear - he's got wheels in the heels of his trainers. Heelys they're called. So, every time I tried to give him a right hook, he simply wheeled out of the way! I tried to swing a size 9 boot at his backside only for me to kick fresh air as he pirouetted out of kicking distance!



Which got me thinking.

Now, whilst to you and I the blessed things might just be plain ridiculous - but, hang on. Could we not use these Heely things for running? Well I reckon we could. Except they won't be called Heely's - I'm going to start to capitalise on the Ron brand - so, watch out for the introduction of .... Hillys!!

It stands to reason doesn't it? Run up the hills - then wheel down the other side! I don't know why I haven't thought of it before - so I'm currently building a prototype which I will test out and then when I've refined it and ironed out the bugs I'll be hoping to find myself a race to try them out. What I’m looking for is a downhill race – and then watch out world record!

I'm already prepared a couple of proposals to put Hillys to the big footwear companies and I'll let you see how I get on with trying to get a deal done. But I think I'm on to a winner!

Anyway - it's a sausage sarnie for brunch, a kip, the footie - and then the dreaded trip to Stiletto City tomorrow. I'm no big fan of Essex to be honest - I was scarred for life by my experience of working in the place some years ago. I used to work for a woman who was, quite frankly, the basis for all Essex stereotypes - white stilettos, white Ford Escort Turbo Nutter Thingy car and whose attempts to make herself more attractive to men was limited to putting her legs behind her ears. She also reminded me of the old joke "What is an Essex Girl's favourite wine?" "Aw please take me to lakeside, please ....".

There you go, have a nice weekend.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Sussex by the sea

Hastings is a curious place. Living so close to the place, I've now got used to its little idiosyncrasies - but now, thanks to zillions of regeneration dosh, it has received the ultimate insult. Some lefty rag last week described Hastings as the Notting Hill of the south coast. Presumably that’ll be Notting Hill without all the filth, crime and deprivation?

Anyhow, if there's one event that really brings out the best in the town, it's the Hastings Half Marathon. Regularly voted one of the best events in the country it is probably rivalled only by the London Marathon for crowd support and atmosphere.

But this year marked an extra special occasion. I was there. And my appearance at this run-fest had caused something of a stir. For a start there was a record entry of almost 5,000 - around half of whom were flocked around me at the start of the race, no doubt looking for evidence of my explosive start. In fact, so crowded was it on the start line that I had great difficulty demonstrating my one-fingered press up and programme of rectal squelches.

Sadly, the race also attracts a motley bunch of mercenaries who, frankly, are only there for the prize money. A bunch of Kenyans joined a few nippy Brits and assorted Eastern Europeans who seemed more interested in dreaming about the winner’s wonga than they did in exchanging training trips with a fellow elite athlete. I decided to nip into the elite enclosure to introduce myself but my way was blocked by some rugby-looking, thuggish type, who insisted that I needed a VIP pass to get in the chuffing thing. When I told him that my pass must have been left at home he still wouldn't budge. So I decided to resort to the, admittedly cringe inducing routine - "Don't you know who I am?” I enquired, innocently, “I'm Ron, Britains's next Olympic Running star - one of the fastest blokes here today." "Well" the goon replied "In that case, it won't take you long to run along home and get your pass then will it?”

Cheek.

But these elite athletes were simply miserable. No chat, no smiles, no warmth. Mind you, you should have seen the look of wonder on the Kenyan woman's face when I demonstrated my anal crunches in front of her! You watch that little practice spread around the tracks of Europe now!

But frankly I found the whole experience distinctly unfriendly and so when I was being escorted out of the enclosure I couldn't resist a little "You wait till London in five years time, then matey" dig at the lot of them. A shame I last furtive cry of “And watch your knuckles don’t scrape on the tarmac” was somewhat muffled by the arm of the goon.

Anyhow it was time to put politics to the back of my mind and concentrate on the task in hand and I made my way to the start line, waving at the hundreds of people lined up to watch me. Coiled I was - like a coiled 12 inch ruler.

How did I do? Well let me tell you that this kiddie ran his little socks off. I ran as hard as I have done all year - and on such a very hot day too. First up at Mile 2-ish is a 2 to 3 mile trek up the notorious hill on Queensway - this part of the race spoiled for me somewhat by being overtaken by a 6 ft tall pig pushing a piglet in a pram and a bloke in a rhinoceros suit. Thank God these ridiculous sideshows will have no part in the Olympics.

In fact, your man here has completed a couple of London Marathons and both occasions have been spoiled by stupid characters grinning inanely in the background of my finish photograph. In 2004 I’m pictured with Winnie the Pooh and in 2005 I've got a grinning Chicken next to me. Bizarrely and for reasons known only to the organisers, as soon as the chicken crossed the line, they wrapped it in tin foil. Now what was that all about??

Anyhow, I completed the first half of Sunday's race - most of which is uphill in a slightly worrying 1 hour 4 minutes - but boy how your man here flew in the second half! I eventually finished the thing in 1.59.02 - but it did take me a minute to cross the line at the start. So, whilst my time was some three minutes slower than I would have liked, in the circumstances, I have to be satisfied. One thing it has done for me, hopefully, is to bury once and for all the curse of the post-2 hour half. Now think back to last year and my target was to complete a sub 2 hour jobbie - so there's improvement for you! So, I'd like to think that if I can run that bally thing, with its three mile toil up Queensway, in 1.58 I can conquer any half you throw at me in sub 2.

But hats off and well done to the people of Hastings. They lined the entire route in their hundreds if not thousands – we had music, bands, churchy stuff and the old ladies outside their home banging saucepans. Made this Ron proud to be a Brit! You can catch a little taste of the race here

This week sees your man here on a big push to get miles under my belt. After Sunday's 13.1 miles, it was on the treadmill for a speedy 8 miles last night - and this Friday sees a biggie - a 20 mile training run, the first of three such distances I need to cover if my London Marathon is not to go pear shaped. The weekend though looks like heading south as I’m heading to France where I'm hoping to meet up with a few Leffe mates.

So, a pretty serious week for your man here - but don't worry, have I got some fun lined up for next week ....

Keep on tapering


Ron