In search of the Sevenoaks 7

"Have you heard of the Sevenoaks 7?" says the Half Share yesterday morning.

Well I thought the Sevenoaks 7 was a murderous gang who preyed on innocent people, pummelling them into submission and leaving them for dead.

Well it isnt a bunch of blokes from Caravan County its a race in that fair county. A race up and down some stupid hills. Prey on innocent people, pummel them and leave them for dead? So, no change there then.

The Sevenoaks 7 is a silly event. It has too many hills and too many lumpy bits in the ground. And as far as I'm concerned, if you see even one of the Sevenoaks 7 - deck them.

So now you've heard it now from the zebra's mouth.

The only redeeming factor from this gruelling event was that I got a BP - yup my 1 hour 21 minute is the fastest 7 miler I've ever done - OK it might be the only one I've done, but lets not split beards eh?

Next week? Its off to do some sparring with me old muckers in France,

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Never run with children or animals

To Barkland yesterday. Eldest Cash Drainer Haille Minogue has decided that the Olympic Running miracle that simmers within my highly toned athletic frame is, somehow, a genetic phenonemon. So, not content with basking in my glory she decides that she's going to take up the sport although, obviously, being a) a kid and b) a female one, she's never going to scale the dizzy heights experienced by your man here.

However, I don't like to let the thing down, so the Half Share and I, with The Sod in tow made the long journey to a place called Reading in Barkland for a spot of missionary work.

Reading is the kind of place the newspapers write about when they want to talk about the Credit Crunch. Riding on the crest of an economic slump it is famous for having a suicide pact with Baghdad. Its poor residents shuffle aimlessly along streets lined with Chicken Shops, Kebab Take-Aways, Pubs and Curry Shops. In short, being a person from the north, its the kind of place I could quite happily settle in.

And if you'd like to know what Reading was like in the 1960's - why not pop along and visit it?

So, to the race and the locals in Barkland had their first opportunity to see at close hand the phenomenon that is me. My, how they enjoyed my famous warm-up prugramme of anal crunches and pelvic aquirts - although the Half Share did comment again that I ought to mend the rip in my orange lycra all-in-one.

Haille and her Student friend spent the pre-race period putting on make-up and generally behaving like a couple of 18 year olds - sticking their tongues out at old men, giggling at my lycra and stealing sweets from the kids etc etc. Though they did see some things they havent seen for some time - soap, morning and a smoke free environment spring to mind. But getting them to prepare themselves properly became a bit of a nightmare and after taking the fourth bottle of WKD off them I decided to lay the law down and slapped round the head with a current issue of the NME.

The race began in typical fashion for your man here. A crowded start with dozens of Ronettes all trying to get a glimpse of me made for something of a sluggish start and although I soon picked up the pace it took some scything through the field to make my mark on the leaderboard.

I eventually finished the race in just over the hour - a time considerably quicker than that Kenyan managed in the London Marathon last week or so - and hung around waiting for Half Share and Haille. Imagine my disappointment when I discovered them hanging around at the water table waiting, so they claimed, for me! Both reckoned to have finished before me!! Imagine that!

As if.

So I clocked Haille round the lug once more for telling lies and made my way to one of three pubs adjacent to the finish line - which made me muse what a way that would be to liven up the Olympic Marathon! Cross the line - me leading a couple of Kenyans and Tangerenians - and there you have it! A couple of bars, a barbecue and a kebab wagon - hey, how cool is that? Much better than having to wait for some bloke with a blazer, a stretched-faced blonde bimbo and a couple of orphans to give you your medal. And as for that effeminate bunch of flowers - no thank you!

Anyway the Olympics remain my goal - kebab wagon or not - and my training is going well. I just did a kind of homecoming 2 mile cool down along the sea front this evening. Next up on the competetion front is a little trip to one of my favourite places - Montreuil-sur-Mer in Northern France for an international race against a bunch of foreigners.

Cant wait!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Well done to the teapot

Well there was a tear in this kiddie's eye as Sammy Wanjiru won the London Marathon. Sure his victory was made all the easier due to my absence but it still took some bottle. His time of 2 hours 5 minutes was not as quick as my Hastings 5 time but it was still an impressive time. I particularly liked his teapot costume.

I'm not sure what happened to Paul Radcliffe but there was a bloke who looked just like him dressed as a fire engine - and that may have been him.

I was a little disappointed not to see my old foes the Bakewell Tarts make more of an impact but maybe my absence made them a little complacent eh?

Anyway, of more importance, my training schedule is bang on track after a swift 5 or 6 miles along the seafront - and call me smug, but my time tonight was also faster than Wanjiru on Sunday!

A couple more training sessions and I should be fit for my next personal appearance in Barkland next Monday.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Much the poorer for my absence - but Good Luck Bakewell Tarts

Its a sunny Sunday morning here in Ron Towers and as the Half Share in the House darns the holes in my new orange lycra all-in-one, my thoughts are with those taking part in today's London Marathon.

As you know, your man here did have a celebrity place in the line-up but I have to think of the long -term - do I really want to burn myself out today on a little club event in London when I have an Olympic Marathon to run in 2012?

There will be a little tear in this kiddie's eye though come 10 o'clcok-ish when my old adversaries the Bakewell Tarts line up for what will obviously be a much easier day now for them. But its not just about those Kenyan men, those astonishing Tangerinians and, of course, the Bakewell Tarts. Its about thousands of ordinary people and women lining up for what could be one of the greatest days of their life.

In the words of John Motson "Its not what you do for my country, lend me your ears". Or something like that.

So far as my training is concerned, I've not had a bad week. Less Juice More Whoosh being my slogan for this week. Only a couple of tubes, one kebab and an Indian all week. Impressive eh? On top of that I've managed to do some intensive training on five days - so I'm starting to get back into shape. My short term targets are to enjoy - if an elite athlete can really enjoy a punishing training schedule - another week's training. Next weekend sees me popping over to my spiritual French home - Le 2K - for a spot of beach work. On Monday I'm off to see the eldest, Haille Minogue, and take part in a 10K in a place called Shinfield near Reading in somewhere called Barkland or something (no, I've no idea either). It will be a nice treat for the people of Barkland to see me and I'll look forward to spreading the Ron word.

Anyway I'm off for a 5 miler before the London Marathon.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Well if that doesn't have the Kenyans dobbing themselves I don't now what will

Popped down to Hastings this morning and starred in their Hastings Runners 5 Mile Race.

I like the Hastings Runners - think it must be the alcohol that knits us together - and they usually put on a good show.

And your man here did us all proud with a blistering run. Although I'm still waiting for the results, I heard a few people comment on just how quick I looked. A tad over 50 minutes when I dipped over the line and I only saw two people ahead of me so I reckon I came third.

So, come on Kenyans, come on Tangerinians, come on Upper Voltaists - what have you got in your tank to respond to that? As the famous Newsreader Huw Edwards once said - its not how you respond to victory that counts, its .... well I can't remember, but it was good what he said.

So, it was a happy kiddie that took the plaudits, signed a few chests and made my way back to Ron Towers for an afternoon on the sofa watching the footie and sinking a few tubes. I do have a little soft spot for the red half of Manchester and so I was feeling a little miffed about the final score. I blame it on that Tevez bloke. I saw him once when I ventured to London for a spot of autograph signing - and I tell you something. There's nothing wrong with your telly - he really is that ugly.

Anyway, feeling rather chuffed with my week of Olympic training. Another solid week ahead of me with my next race a double header in Reading and Chesham on Bank Holiday Monday.

Till then Ronettes.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

I'm sorry

The time has come to apologise.

After a constant stream of inuendo, smears and briefing against my opponents, the pressure has finally got to me.

Its time to say "I'm sorry".

I'm sorry for putting all this weight on and I take full responsibility.

For the avoidance of doubt then:

"I take full responsibility for what happened. That's why the person who was responsible went immediately."

And that's why the bloke on the pie counter at Ashbees the butchers in town has been sacked.

To be honest though I am slightly miffed that another prominent personality appears to be copying my move and jumping on the Ron "I apologise" bandwagon. But, hey, that's the way the cooker rumbles.

There.

That's sorted that.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

No panic - 2012 is back on track

Well, I've just proved again that class is most deffo a permanent fixture in your man's make-up.

After admittedly weighing in a tad over the limit for a Cruiserweight Sumo Bloke I have knocked out a schedule and tonight went for a 3 mile wadddle down the Harbour. It took me about 40 minutes - so if that doesnt put the fear of God up the Kenyans I dont know what will.

2012?

Slice of gateaux Ronettes.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Parasites!!

Back to my globetrotting again last weekend and a visit to France. I was due to take part in the Paris Marathon and grabbed a freebie trip with the gin-soaked bozos that masquerade as Nice Work.

Not taking part in the Marathon was a bit of a disappointment for me but it's just another of those things that us elite athletes have to put up with. And at times like this when the old spirit starts to lag I think about how those other top runners must feel when their races go pear-shaped. Paul Radcliffe has had to put up with some major disappointments but still keeps going - bottling and surrendering in the Grease Marathon, stopping for a poo in the London Marathon - just part and parcel of life as an Olympian.

So, I just decided to crack on with life and go to Paris anyway. Well at least I thought we were going to Paris but we ended up in a place called Paree - but it was still full of French people and so I didn't make a fuss. Popping into the Expo I thought it only right to help contribute towards the intent cordial and nipped into the VIP area to offer my personal apology for the race losing one of its leading celebs.

It was here that the day started to head south down the strasse. No sooner had I got in the room and made my way towards the bar than a French bloke grabbed me, said he was the Mayor - and welcomed me to Gay Paree! And it didnt stop there - he then tried to plant a couple of smackers on my cheeks!! Well, celebrity Olympian or not, there's no way I'm suffering that badly for my art. So I decked the bloke and continued my journey to the bar thinking no more about it.

Unfortunately I didnt make it. I'd not gone 20 feet before I was manhandled back out to the exit and chucked unceremoniously into the throngs of ordinary people queuing for a free energy bar in the Expo Hall. Ernie being the good mate he is did what all good friends would do in the circumstances - continued fighting his way to the buffet and I spied him out of the corner of my eye as I was being hoyed out doing something rather uncivilised into a potted fern.



I decided to wait for Ernie in a local bar but after a couple of hours and a few tubes of the local wallop I'd convinced myself that I could restore civilised relations with the local bigwigs. I thought it would be worth trying to disguise myself as one of the leading athletes so I stripped down to my new all-in-one orange lycra running suit and managed to just get inside the tented VIP area. I'd just started my warm-up routine of anal crunches and pelvic squirts when the same bally goons spotted me. I couldnt even utter a "Buenos Aires Fraulein" before they grabbed me and after a little local difficulty with the revolving door - they were chucking me too hard and I kept ending up back at their feet - I found myself in the Glasgow position (face down in the gutter). One of the goons had managed to damage my new lycra kit and the old jacksie was hanging out the bottom of the bally thing so I had no choice but to wait bum-down in a plant pot until Ernie returned.

By now the old chap had had his fill of the freebie food and drink and he was as oiled as a Yorkshire Chip Shopkeeper by the time he collapsed at my feet. Unfortunately not for the first time I had to have a word with the bloke about his drinking. He alwsys denies he has a problem with drink - "I cant be an alcoholic" he usually claims "Because I don't do meetings" - and to be fair you cant argue with that can you?



We decided to take it easy and sat eating some of the buffet that Ernie had managed to stuff down his trousers and started to muse about the French. We do seem to end up having 'issues' with them whenever our paths cross - but then, we thought, it aint all bad news being French. True, the whole world hates you but consider these good reasons for being French:

1. If their economy is bad, they just blame the Brits. If a war is started anywhere, they just blame the Brits. If their farmers are upset, they just blame the Brits. If they lose their car keys, they just blame the Brits.
2. You dont have to learn French as a foreign language.
3. When speaking fast you can make yourself sound gay.
4. You get to eat insect food like snails and frog's legs.
5. If there's a war you finish really early.
6. You don't have to read the subtitles on those late night black and white films.
7. You can test your own nuclear weapons in other people's countries.
8. You can be ugly and still pull the birds.
9. You don't have to bother with toilets, just wee in the street.
10. Your mates dont laugh at you because your nan has a moustache.

Anyway after wrapping his pac-a-mac around my backside to hide the rips we wendled our way back to the hotel to catch up with our fellow athletes. Not finding anybody around we knocked on a couple of doors - why are people so grumpy at 2 o'clock in the morning? I went to bed convinced that their only problem was simply that they were a few drinks behind us.

Sunday morning and we made our way to what the Fench call the Marathon Start area - and what any sane person with half a brain would call a chaotic shambles masquerading as an international sporting event. I made my way down to the Elite Start to pass on my best wishes to the Kenyans but they couldnt speak much English and didnt really understand what I was saying - and I'm afraid there was another unpleasant altercation between Ernie and I, a couple of Kenyans, a Belgian with a big nose and a few of those goons we'd encountered the prevous evening.

In the end we'd had our fill of French and French authority and decided to keep a low profile for the rest of the day. We found ourselves tucked away in a small bar on the marathon route. From there we watched the 40,000 or so runners making their way towards somewhere called the Chompseleesay. Bizarrely most of the runners were Indian or Pakistani - the locals greeting them all by shouting "Ali". Such fun - an afternoon sampling the local plonk, a couple of omelettes and we were settled.

So, all in all a pleasant enough weekend and we arrived back in Blighty with a few bruises to show but convinced that we had once again very firmly put your man here back in the public domain.

On my return to Blighty I've been working hard at thinking about how to get my Olympic training schedule back into gear. My short term targets have been modified and I'm putting my London Marathon place on the back burner whilst I get myself back into some kind of fighting state.

Instead of doing the London Marathon, I'm hoping to take up an offer of a celebrity place at the Night Run in Luxembourg next month - with the possibility of a marathon run in Iceland in August. Before then I do have a return to the land of snails and garlic with my annual pilgrimage to Montreuil for the Ramparts 10K - will there by fireworks again?

Well lets see what the next couple of weeks bring first!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

The perils of being an elite athlete

Its all right for you ordinary people - and you women!!

The last six weeks have been an utter tale of woe, woe and woe again - and its at times like this that you begin to understand what it must have been like when Paul Radcliffe bottled out of the Olympic Marathon in Grease.

Six weeks ago I had it all mapped out - a few weeks back in training and the old Olympic dream was back on track again. Right? Wrong!!

Sure I managed to get my first two weeks of training in - but my attempt at putting that training to competitive use was washed out - literally - by the torrential rain we had last month. “Oh right - fair weather runner”, I hear you saying. Well yah boo sucks as Andrew Marr would say - does Haille Gabriellwotsit train in Manchester? Does Paul Radcliffe spend his winter months in Brentwood? Of course they don't - they beggar off to sunnier climes! Well what's good for the goose is good for the seagull as far as I'm concerned. So there was no way I was venturing out in sub-zero temperatures and hissing rain.

Yeah, OK then - fair weather running.

Things looked up a bit at the beginning of the month though when I accompanied the Nice Work mob on their annual junket to Bruges for the Ostend to Bruges 10 Mile Race. Its normally a gin-fuelled weekend and this year was no exception. Meeting the rest of the party at some God unearthly hour In Ashford and the scene resembled a fire drill outside my local Lidl. However after a weekend diet of God's Own Brew, chocolate, chips and some kind of salad cream stuff and I was ready to rumble on race day.



The race was full of Belgiumites and French people but the rest of the field was OK and they looked on in obvious awe as I went through my new Credit Crunch and Pelvic Thrust Warm Up routine - a routine made all the more memorable with my new tangerine Lycra all-in-one running suit. Unfortunately I'd overdone it a bit on the old Leffe and chocolate bit the night before and the ripping noise on my third anal crunch confirmed my worst fear - there was a tad more of this kiddie showing than I would have wished.

However a tear in the backside of my shorts was not going to stop me and as I crouched at the line ready for my first competitive race of 2009 I felt a surge of confidence run through my body – and down my leg. Although I hoped it was sweat my worst fears were soon confirmed and I had to nip to the loo rather sharpish – and I had beggared up my start.

Nevertheless I soon ramped up and enjoyed the run out – I finished in an impressive 1 hour 48 minutes – and let me tell you, if that hasn't put the fear of God up the Kenyans I don't know what will!!

So, with my season under way I returned to training with the Paris Marathon firmly in my sights – and my are those Parasites in for a treat.

Or so I thought.

First of all I collected a foot injury and that put me out of training for ten days. Just got over that in time to turn up for our local shindig down in Hastings where the Half Marathon is an opportunity for many thousands of locals to catch a glimpse of me. I'm a kind of local hero in this part of Sussex and I always try and put on a show for them – its a kind of reward for all those ordinary people who do so much to support me through the year. Well this year they had rather more time to catch that glimpse than in previous years – still recovering from my foot injury meant I had to take the event rather more easier than I would have wished – and I ended up taking a little under 3 hours to completer the course!

One of the reasons for my 'touch off world record pace' time became apparent the day after when the foot injury that had plagued me in the week leading up to Hastings returned with a vengeance – wiping out another flippin' week of training.

Never mind, I thought, I'd soon be back.

Wrong!! A snuffly nose, a a sore throat, aching limbs. Yep – my annual dose of lurgy arrived bang on cue. Actually I started having an urge to have an illogical argument, wanted to go shopping and couldn't parallel park – so I reckon I've got Bird Flu.

But whatever it is I have got, it means another week without training and my Doctor now tells me that my planned assault on the Paris Marathon is now in Jeopardy, which I can't understand because I was certain it was in Paris.

But the next few weeks do look to be crucial weeks – not only do I have Paris, but three weeks later I feature as a guest celebrity in this year's London Marathon and then shortly afterwards I travel down to Luxembourg for the Night Marathon. All sounds good – but if the body ain't working .......

And you thought the life of a elite athlete was a bed of violets!!

But never let it be said that this kiddie hasn't got bottle.

Like Barrack Osama says “I'll be Back!”.

Keep on tapering.

Ron.

The lion is stirring once again

Well, I've had five weeks warm weather training - I stayed in and ate pies - I've decided that a thaw is on its way.

More to the point, I've just realised that I'm six weeks away from the first of two spring marathons.

So, this week I've been out on two exhausting, lung-bursting and extremely testing training runs. two miles on each day was as good as I reckon I needed to claw my way back into the UK rankings and get this bally 2012 Olympic Marathon Gold Medal chase back on track.

OK, I underestimated the task in hand and over estimated the amount of latent fitness slumbering in my body. I'm still of a certain size and shape - still getting that bilyp noise when I run.

But, hey, don't knock it. I need to get myself back on track - so just you watch me go!!

I'll show all you doubters that I can do what I say I can do. But remember that these things are not done overnight - its a long term project and I'll need every bit of that time.

Never doubt me Ronnettes - your man is very firmly on track.

Let's rock and roll as Nicholas Wychell would say.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Christmas time for athletes

So, its Christmas time. A time for living and a time for giving as Clint Richard sung in that Christmas record. It's at times like these that your man here turns his thoughts not to my hopes and expectations in the sporting arena - but to the hopes and fears of others. Because, deep down, I'm just a humble person with lots of love to give out - and I do care about you all.

Whenever I make one my many public appearances I get approached by ordinary people asking me what life is like as a sporting icon. And, you know Ronettes, its difficult for me to express myself without feeling ... how should I say ... smug. Because I cant deny it, life as a sporting icon is special, it is different to the life that you probably lead.

But that's just what life is like isn't it? Sometimes you get dealt a bum deal and, for instance, you get to be born in a poor country like Wales or Yorkshire. But if that happens you just have to get on with life as well as trying to be as miserable as sin. And what about those that got the two of spades when God dealt the cards and ended up a woman? They didn't complain did they? OK they may have made up for it since but at least they have us men to keep their spirits up.

So, whilst I do try and empathise with ordinary people it is difficult. But I take heart from the little pep talks I give to people and I hope that they go some way to bringing a little sunshine into their otherwise poor lives.

Of course, this time of year can be a particularly difficult time for me because I have to juggle the demands placed upon me by my exhaustive training regime and the demands placed on me down at the Dog and Duck by Ernie and his mates. But I still love the life I lead.

So my Christmas was a whirl of social occasions - I went out for a few tubes with Ernie and then we went for a kebab on Christmas Eve. Felt a tad ropey so stayed in bed till lunchtime on Christmas Day then got a lift to the Dog and Duck for a couple of hours with the boys. Went round to Ernies for some turkey sandwiches and completely forgot about the Half Share, Haille Minogue, The Droog and The Sod being there. Think I could have been in trouble but I dug up a privet hedge on the way home and presented it to the family before deciding to leave them in peace to watch the telly. But, for God's sake, what's Christmas if its not for the kids eh?

Anyway festivities were well and truly over this morning when we ventured over to Eastbourne for a bit of cross country action. Galley Hill in a gale force wind with ice on the ground was not my idea of a game of soldiers. And after a 2 mile run down hill and a two mile run back up the hill with the wind in my face the idea of some warm weather training suddenly became very attractive.

So, I've decided to get my act together and drop a few lines to some of these foreign countries and see if they can't offer me some freebie training facilities - I'll let you know how I get on!!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Great news Ronettes!!

I know its Christmas Day but I have some great news my friends, which I know you'd want me to share with you.

Following my magnificent performance in the Hastings Marathon, I've received a place in next year's London Marathon.

I'm assuming that Sir David Bedford has awarded me the place to try and boost the prestige of the event - and I expect I'll be in amongst the other elite and celebrity compertitors.

Of course, it means I'm going to have to crack on a bit - I'm already booked in for the Paris Marathon which takes place three weeks before.

And if that doesnt prick up the ears of the selectors I don't know what will.

Anyway, on this day of jolly excess, remember that life for an elite athlete goes on - so I'm on my third tube of Guinness!!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Piece of cake this marathon lark

So I'd signed up for this flippin' Hastings Marathon hadn't I?

Old Brainbox from Zimbabwe had decided it would be good for his fitness and good for my profile if we walked the bally thing. Although I had joked about my little 4.2 mile race in Swanley last week being my training session, this kiddie is, of course, a serious athlete and I have to take the sport and all its challenges seriously. But I also have to take my responsibilities seriously too ....

... which is why, on the day before the Hastings Marathon, I was to be found performing the opening ceremony at the Kent Christmas Cracker in Deal, organised by those gin-soaked bozos from Nice Work. Now I don't know if you've ever been to this particular part of Caravan County - but Deal is what I would call remote. In fact, if Deal had been discovered before Mansfield we'd now be quite comfortable with the expression "It's grim down south'.

We were at an old mining site now rather poetically renamed Fowlmead Country Park - and it is remote, it is wild and windy - and, my God can it rain there. Plus, it was cold enough to freeze the handle off my teapot. And so as soon as I'd performed my ceremonial duties I retired to the Dog and Duck with my van driver Ernie and Granddad Stan the Bandana Man - and promptly got stuck into a few tubes of Guinness and a bottle of red wine.

Now I know that's not fuel for an athlete - but I thought it was OK fuel for a walker. And so I retired for the evening feeling pretty comfortable with myself.

About 3 o'clock in the morning I awoke with a start. The old grey matter had been churning round and I'd been doing a bit of mental arithmetic. My average walking pace is around two and a half miles an hour. So, let's assume I could crack on a bit - but then factor in the long, long distance. This bally marathon was going to take us around eight and a half hours to walk!!!

And the cut of time my dear Ronnettes?

Six hours.

Now how's that for a quandary? I was in between a brick and a hard hat here wasn’t I? The Zimbabwe Flash wanted to do the thing. Neither of us was fit enough to do it - but there would be hundreds, if not thousands, of people lining the streets. We couldn't disappoint them could we?

So, at 9.15 I found myself in the wonderful seaside town of Hastings frantically searching for the ZF - and after finding him slumped over a hair of the dog taking the last remnants from a packet of Park Drive I broke the bad news to him.

We were going to have to run the flippin' thing.

Being an elite athlete though I had worked out a race strategy. Obviously, the youngsters - those who felt they had something to prove - we'd let them go. We'd let those who fancied a go at your man here - beggar 'em - let them go too. Any international athletes could head north, and I'd already demanded that I didn’t run near anybody from Yorkshire, Wales or Scotland.

That left about half a dozen of us. Our strategy was cunning but simple. We'd need to conserve energy. So we would walk up any incline - no matter how steep or not steep - we would walk. And we'd jog slowly along any flat bits. And we'd run down the hills.

Which is how we found ourselves walking after 100 yards of the flippin' event. But it did give the packed streets what they'd come for - an unhindered view of an athletic and sporting icon. They applauded warmly as we completed the first 600 metres in 10 minutes although I have to say not that many of them hung around to see us come around on the second lap. I blame that on the fact that much of the crowd were just ordinary people and women - not much sporting knowledge you see.

But do you know something? My cunning race plan did work. It left us with enough energy to get ourselves out of Hastings and on to the long drag around rural East Sussex. My cunning plan might not have been that swift in its execution but it was a workable plan never the less. And I'd calculated that if we stuck to the plan we might just get back to the finish around the cut-off time. And that, I reckoned, would be some achievement for your man here.

So what happened?

Well we only went and finished the bally thing!! In doing so, we came in just five minutes outside the six hour cut off time. BUT ... because for much of the race we were at the south end of the field, by the time we got to Bexhill-on-Sea the chuffing marshals hade been sent home because it was so bally cold - which meant your kiddie here, the ZF plus assorted competitors - including a Rhinoceros - were left scratching our heads in some God forsaken part of the town wondering where on earth to go. And where did we go? Yup - the wrong way!! So, we ended up doing 27 miles rather than the regulation 26.2!! And if we had done the normal distance - we'd have been home under that cut off time.

So I was rather proud of my 6 hours 6 minutes. On so little training but confirmation of that old truism - class is permanent.

I'm not sure where I came in the grand scheme of things but I reckon easily top twenty.

So, roll on London 2012 eh?

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Back in the groove - and with wings on. This kiddie is smokin'!!!!

After eight days or so of head-down, body aching, painful training, this kiddie burst back on to the international road running scene with a vengeance at the weekend.

Like a well oiled machine, a coiled spring and a meteor waiting to launch itself from a meteor launcher type thing, I exploded with talent, power and speed on Sunday morning.

Yep. I'm back in the big time.

There was a great turn out with many, many locals as well as experienced athletes turning out to see my first race back in the UK since returning from Indialand. I was, of course, in Swanley for their little Christmas Caper. A gruelling 4.2 mile race saw me scythe my way through the field like a spoon through hot butter. I crossed the line in 45.03 and in 393rd position out of 484. Of course I would have finished much, much higher but you must remember that I am just back from a career threatening injury, a near-death encounter with a wild boar, two weeks laid up with a contagious disease and I had a bit of a headache. Plus, of course, I had to keep stopping to sign autographs and the like. So, I was pretty pleased with myself and notched the result down as a kind of step one on my UK comeback trail.

The only blot on the day was the behaviour of my lad The Sod. Supposed to be keeping his old man free of marrauders and stopping the crowd getting too close and impeding me, the little herbert beggared off with barely a glance behind me to finish the course in a little over 37 and a half minutes. I returned to the finish area to see him casually leaning against a tree, looking at his watch and pretending to look bored. I gave him a leathering and took his Christmas Pudding off him. That'll learn him not to respect his father.

But I am so grateful for all those well wishers and women turning out to see me. Bless 'em it must be really quite odd being ordinary. They, of course, knew exactly who I was - but to me, their little faces were just smiley images amongst a sea of bodies. Do you like how I've become all poetic since I came back from Indialand and suffered with my near-death experience?

But I bade them farewell and returned home satisfied and with a cracking bacon buttie inside me.

So, what do you do next after completing your first 4.2 mile run in yonkeroos?

No contest.

You run a marathon.

Thats right. This Sunday is the first Hastings Marathon since 1908. And I'm taking part as a kind of celebrity runner. How exciting is that?

This will be my first run at the full 26.2 mile distance since Paris in April so obviously I'm not going to win the bally thing. In fact, between you and I it could take me some consideable time to complete.

In fact, I'll let you into a secret. Its not all guns and roses being an international icon you know. Even top performers like us have feelings you know. And the feeling I have at the moment is something akin to that I had when I caught that nasty e-cauliflower bug thing from Indialand.

Ronnettes - I am dobbing myself. Is this an act of wanton stupidity? Am I really respecting the diatnce and the event?

Will I survive?

I'll let you know.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Fit as a fiddle and ready to (g)rumble.

Training is going well for this kiddie. I really feel as though a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I'm running like a good 'un, I have a spring in my step and the weight is dropping off me like weight dropping off a fat bloke.

Dunno why I'm feeling so damn good but I intend to grasp the opportunities now making themselves available to me. And that's why I've managed four - yes four - training runs this week. And I've also had my entry confirmed for the Paris Marathon in April - so watch out you Belgiumists!!

First though I'm making a rare public appearance this coming Sunday when the good people of Swanley will be able to see my famous anal credit crunches and pelvic squirt warm-up routine.

I'm bringing a little joy into the hearts of those good people of Swanley by taking part in their little Christmas Caper - a 4.2 mile jaunt through the leafy suburbs of this nice little part of Caravan County.

I'm hoping that as many ordinary people - and women too if they've done the veg - come along to give me a cheer.

After all its not every day of the year you get the chance to see an Olympic icon in the flesh eh?

On Monday I'm off with Ernie and Grandad Stan the Bandana Man to France to get a few hundred Bensons for Ernie's missus' Christmas present. And I might just take the old lycra with me - give them a glimpse of things to come ...

Oh the life of a globetrotter.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Indialand, the Himalayan 100 Mile Stage Race, parts of the far flung empire etc - a postscript

So that was my little adventure in Indialand - and what a glorious opportunity it was for those nice people to see at first hand a true icon. I enjoyed the fact that they loved me to bits and were obviously proud to have me in their midst. It was good too to see that we share the same humble qualities - only I'm better at it than them.

Returning to England on that final day though, my mind wandered back to the first day of one of the greatest stories ever told. To that throwaway comment I made about a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Well as Flo drove us back to home in the Bedford, that funny feeling got stronger and stronger. And when we finally arrived back in Ron Towers I tell you - it was like a 100 yard dash to make it to the loo. Horror of horrors Ronnettes.

I was ill.

Not just a bit ill. Not just a bit peaky. I was full on dreadfully ill.

So ill in fact that this kiddie here did something he'd not done since he had his appendix out in the mid 60's.

I had to take to my bed.

In the space of four days I lost a stone in weight. I was unable to eat from Tuesday until Sunday. I lost so much fluid that I was hallucinating.

After three days of this business I struggled to the phone and called a doctor - who asked me to go and see him. Oh Ronnettes, the irony. The doctor was Indian - and he was called Kebab!! But he examined me and aksed to get a sample of ... well, you know. This was easier said than done but eventually I succeeded. In went the sample - and I was told not to worry they'd only contact me if the tests showed up anything serious. He then told me to make sure I ate something and drink plenty of fluid - so on the way home I stopped at the Dog and Duck and had a couple of pints of Guinness and two pickled eggs.

They stayed down for about 4 minutes - so that was a waste of eight quid!

Two days later it was confirmed that I'd not only got some form of e-cauliflower poisoning, but that it was so contagious and so virulent it is a communicable and notifiable disease and I had to be reported to the Public Health authorities. Great - they can't even empty the bally dustbins so I aint that confident about them helping me through this medical crisis! The thing I'd got is called Campylobacteriosis - and take it from me Ronnettes - you don't ever want it.

The Half Share in the House subsequently contracted the same thing - but obviously nowhere near as bad as I'd had it. Took her ages to get the flippin housework done so I hope she gets over it soon.

But isn't that ironic? Spend all that time in Indialand without a problem. Within an hour of arriving back in Blighty I'm struck down by something that probably originated in Slough.

Despite losing a bit of weight though I was unable to keep up my running that had promised so much in the Himalayas. But yesterday, oh joy of joys - I went for my first three mile run. I did it quietly, but confidently, knowing full well that my journey to Olympic Gold is now firmly back on track. Tonight saw me down to Stallones where I did my first bit of treadmill work. Problem is that the old weight still needs a bit shifting and as I'm running I keep hearing this noise - it kind of goes bilyp - somewhere between my heart and my groin. So I do need to get to work on restoring my body to adonis-like athletic condition.

And believe me that's not a five minute job - it'll take me till at least Thursday.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Indialand - a fond farewell

Today was the last day of our trip to Indialand and we decided to give the MOS and her Personal Shopper a treat,

She could shop all day!

So off she went looking for Boots, Primark and Evans and we followed dutifully in her wake. She's quite a powerful shopper and her hard bargaining skills soon had small Indian traders gasping at her ability to haggle. I did particulalry well at the bargaining skills and immediately targetted a small bag of cashew nuts which I was going to buy the Half Share as a kind of well done for completing the race. Generous, I know, and one of the reasons why my mate Ernie often calls me Big Hearted Arthur - I carry the name with pride. The starting price for the cashew nuts was 40 whoopees but I managed to secure the deal for 65 whoopees - how's that for driving a hard bargain??

The thrill and pleasure of giving MOS the freedom of the shops soon wore off mind. After the thirteenth sari shop and umpteen tea shops, bangle shops and funny department stores I'd had enough. Until, that is, I spotted the watch man. Now this is where I really came into my own. You'll never believe it but I actually managed to buy a Rolax watch for 200 whoopees - thats about three quid!! Can you believe that? A genuine Rolax watch (and I know its genuine because it says 'Rolax' on the back) for just three quid!! Some people I know have paid hundreds of pounds for theirs.

So, satisfied with my shopping I retreated to Connaught Square for a few tubes and a Tikka Masala - after all it was going to be a long night ahead of us with a thirteen hour flight to come.

In the evening we joined some of our fellow athletes for a farewell drink in a bar called Piccadelhi - which I found to be a rather amusing name!

Which was exactly what we did last night and the night before and the night before that. Our farewells to fellow athletes had now stretched to four consecutive nights and I'm sure most of us were just wishing the others would go home - it was costing a fortune in farewell drinks. A last supper in The Legend of Connaught followed and we returned to AJ's for a couple of tubes with my new Indian best friend. I made sure that he knew that if he or any of his friends ever visit England they should be sure to pop in and see us and stay with us for a few days. The Half Share then reminded me that a recent wedding he attended there were 3,000 of his relatives in attendance. Made a mental note to send him a letter on my return clarifying the terms and conditions of my invitation.

And then, before we knew it, it was time to say goodbye to AJ and his familiy and all those nice people in Indialand - and off we hurtled through the streets of New Delhi for the last time en route to the airport.

We boarded our Cataarh Airlines flight to London Airport via Doh!! And just 13 hours and three curries later we were home. Ernie's wife Flo was there in his Bedford to meet us - and we arrived home to greet the Sod and the Droog. Neither of whom seemed to have missed us in the slightest. In fact the Sod was convinced I'd just nipped out for a loaf and a paper.

So, is that/was that the end of my great adventure?

Well there is a post script to one of the greatest stories ever told.

But that's for tomorrow.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Indialand - are you Brighton in disguise?

So we woke in AJs to a smoggy Sunday. Not just a bit smoggy - but a full on, yellow, throat-scratching pea souper. But, of course, it wasn't smog - because New Delhi no longer has polution. That's what Brian, our driver for the day, told us. Maybe its a sea mist he told me - conveniently forgetting that Delhi is about two bazoomma-million miles from the chuffing sea.


So, the MOS, her personal shopper and the Half Share wanted to go to a place called Agra to visit an Indian restaurant called the Taj Mahal - I didn't even ask. I've been under the thumb long enough to know when it just isn't worth challenging. Agra was a five hour drive. And today was probably the longest and hairiest five hours of my life - until it was time to come home.

We left at 6.45 and set off on the road to Agra. The road is, in fact, a dual carriageway highway - one of Indialand's finest, we were told. So why didn't they tell the locals then???


Dual carriageway means two lanes of traffic - right? Wrong! Two perfectly clearly-marked lanes - but in Indialand that means five lanes of traffic can fit on them.

But not neccessarily all travelling in the same direction. So, in the outside lane we had to contend with Oxen and Carts, bicycle rickshaws, cows, put puts - built for three passengers, but often carrying a dozen or more people. What made this traffic flow interesting though is that it didn't appear compulsory that all traffic travelled in the same direction. So, it was quite normal to be zooming in the outside lane at 50 mph (nigh on breaking the sound barrier-speed in this country) only to come face to face with a rickshaw or horse or camel heading towards you at a sedate 2 mph.

The rules of the road were ripped up and despatched many years ago by all accounts.

And what a collection of sights we saw - camels, water buffaloes, monkeys - often grazing, sleeping or staggering along the central reservation. We saw snake charmers and their cobras, shifters, shysters, thieves, vagabonds and all human forms of life.

In short Ronnettes - it was an interesting journey.

But when we eventually rached Agra, the Half Share and MOS insisted on doing some sight seeing - and you'll never guess what we found - only a scale model of the Brighton Dome!! How fantastic was that?

We had a little look around the Brighton Dome place and, not being able to find the Taj Mahal restaurant, we found another equally good curry house, got ripped off buying a marble elephant - and then travelled the five hours back to New Delhi.

So what a complete waste of a day that was.

In the evening we joined some of our fellow athletes for a farewell drink in a bar called Piccadelhi - which I found to be a rather amusing name!

Which was exactly what we did last night. Our farewells to fellow athletes had now stretched to three consecutive nights.

An early night followed with dreams of car chases. Tomorrow would be our last night in Indialand - and a chance for the MOS to add to the balance of payment deficit between Indialand and England.

Just as I was drifting into a celebrity sleep I realised that I hadn't been asked for a single autograph today.

The fickle finger of celebrity eh?

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Indialand - the end is near!!

So, my adventure in taking by storm one of the world's greatest events was almost complete. With my trophy safely in my duffel bag I couldn't wait to get home to face the media.

We were up at the crack of dawn to board our bus to take us back to Bagdogra. I bade my farewells to all the nice gherkin people and my Nippallese friends. I'm sure I spotted a tear in one or two eyes! I told them not to forget to watch out for me in 2012 – and my how they smiled at the prospect!

We were flying back to New Delhi for a couple of days R & R before my triumphant return to England and what would surely be a red carpet job. And as we drove in our bus down from the Himalayas, passing through the little villages with all those nice people living in hut-type things, passing through the tea plantations, passing monkeys, cows, water buffaloes and camels, I couldn't help but think how difficult it must have been for those nice people to wave bye bye to me.

The reason we were going back to Delhi - apart from letting MOS loose on the shops - was because the Half Share wanted to go to the Taj Mahal in a place called Agra. I told her that I'd been to the Taj Mahal in Hastings and it wasn't a patch on Pizza Hut - but she was insistent. So we left the mountains and flew back to New Delhi.

Of course we didn't need anybody to tell us we'd arrived - we could smell and damn near taste the place. We arrived back in 30 degree heat - but the entire city was enveloped in yellow, acrid smog. I told the chap at the car park exit I wasn't impressed and he promised to see what could be done about it.

The journey from airport to AJ's was, once again, hairy with the highlight being a spectacular crash with the car in front twotting and t-boning a motor cycle. Somebody really should teach these Indian people some driving etiquette.

In the evening we joined some of our fellow athletes for a farewell drink in a bar called Piccadelhi - which I found to be a rather amusing name! Food-wise we'd been well looked after but I was craving a steak or a pie. I settle for a non spicy Satay - which promptly blew my brains out - non spicy indeed.

Tomorrow we'd be going to this bally Taj Mahal Indian restaurant in Agra - it was going to take us five blasted hours to get there as well.

Well what a day that turned out to be.

Tell you later.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Himalayan 100 Mile Stage Race. Day 5 Palmajua to Manybhanjang

Friday morning and its up at dawn – 5 o’clock – to see the sun shining once more. This was going to be another glorious day – and one that would surely spread even more joy and happiness amongst those who had come to see me in Indialand.

Today is the last day of the 5 day event – a last stage for the runners of just 17 miles from Palmajua to Manybhanjang. As it was the last day of the race, Himalaya Charlie encouraged us to adopt an ‘end of term’ atmosphere. Well what a laugh I had! I put itching powder in Captain Underpants’ underpants; I put a worm in the South African’s corn flakes, I put curry powder in the shampoo, – and I threw a flour bomb at the Americans. It didn’t have the effect I’d expected – and it seemed to me that I was the only one who was entering into the spirit. Even the Half Share had a sense of humour failure when I tied her trainers to some nettles.

Some people eh?

My relationship with HC had been cordial for most of the week – I think he respected me. And my reputation had certainly been enhanced following my Warm Up routine with the Buddhist Monks last night. In fact even the local Police Chief popped in to the Lodge this morning and was discussing it with HC and his staff. Impressed eh? I was a bit puzzled when the rest of his paramilitary force turned up in a wagon and can only assume that they wanted some autographs or something – they were gesticulating wildly in my direction – so I gave them a wave and a quick series of five one fingered press ups before some of HC's numpties shooed me away – jealousy it was. Just didn’t like somebody else taking the limelight.

So, I’m feeling pretty good about life this morning. I’ve got a whole new legion of fans in this far flung part of the English Empire – wow how popular am I now then???

Today also saw a slight sea change in my relationship with the Half Share. Because I’d declined the chance to win this event I’d kind of seen myself as a sort of mentor to her during the week. And to get the best out of people I believe in using the cucumber and stick approach to motivation. So – the cucumber bit was my daily cursory hand shake and a nod – how motivating that must have been for her, particularly during the low points of her week? But, of course, with every bit of cucumber there has to be a bit of stick. So, I quietly, but firmly, asked her to consider something. OK so she’d taken part in one of the toughest races on the planet. And, yes, she’d finished each day, including the gruelling Everest Challenge Marathon. But was she really happy with her times? I mean – getting on for 11 hours for a marathon – that bloke with the diving suit didn’t take that long in the London Marathon did he? Her time for the 20 mile stage on Monday was way slower than she’d done in Gravesend – and Gravesend was hilly!! And her half marathon time would have been beaten by those four firemen who carry a wooden house round the Hastings Half Marathon.

So I thought my comments were constructuive and fair – harsh maybe – but fair. And I hoped that my little pep talk would really fire her up for today’s final 17 miles.

Well she must have got out of the Himalayasian bed on the wrong side this morning. And she went off on one of those illogical rants - ridiculously accusing me of being insensitive. Me insensitive? Is that calling the kettle brown or what? And there was more. “Out of touch”, “Did I have my head up my …?”, “I hadn’t a clue what she’d been through” etc etc. Errr ‘Hello’ – you’re talking to Ron here – I deal with pain, dedication, commitment, mental strength and pushing myself to the limit every day of the week you know. And if I hadn’t how come I’ve got such an impressive reputation for myself eh? How come I’ve created a celebrity culture amongst my Ronnettes?

Anyway no matter how much I tried to put my case forward she was having none of it.

And that’s how I found myself on the start line for the 17 mile race.

She was forcing me to run the ruddy thing.

No walking with my new friend Joe from Canadia. No trekking with my British friend George. And no shopping with MOS and her personal shopper.

So, by running the stage, said the Half Share I’d get a feel for what she’d been through. No matter this kiddie has been on the treatment table with a bad knee injury for the last three months; no matter I’d not run a single step in three months. But at the end of the day I was an athlete and I had a duty to perform. I’d had four hard days of trekking, covering around 45 miles – and the knee seemed to have stood up OK. And to be honest I knew that my presence on the start line would be a real morale boost to the other international athletes – and it would certainly provide a shot up the jacksie for Captain Underpants.

The route today took us by bus to Palmajua – basically the side of a hill – some 13 miles outside Rimbik, to a spot where the previous day’s half marathon had finished. The first 10K of today’s stage was all uphill – great! But the final 10 miles would be a mix of downhill and flat with a bit of uphill chucked in as we made our way back down to 6,000 ft.

From the off I made quite a determined start and we reached the top of the hill in just under 1 hour 50 minutes. By the time we’d reached the summit I was pretty confident I was in the lead – well I couldn’t see anybody but the Half Share around – and I was a good 6 inches in front of her!! Along the way we had some final but spectacular views of Mount Kanchenjunga and Mount Everest. At the top we arrived at a village full of those gherkin people who smiled and clapped and cheered us through. Three small children ran with us for about a mile – but I was feeling a bit puffed so I let them run on – the joys of youth eh? But from the summit down I once again felt the joy of running and realised just why I’d make such a wonderful Olympic Champion in 2012. I was good – and humble with it.

That joy of running thing lasted for about 10 minutes mind until I came across another uphill bit! We kept up the walk/run routine for the next 11 miles – and I have to admit to feeling a little jaded by the time I approached the end of the race. Mind you a 17 mile race up and down the Himalayas is hardly easing my way back in is it? But as we ran the last few hundred metres towards the finish line my thoughts turned to 2012 and my soon to be Olympic crowning.

Yep. Your man was back.

The last 100 yards down to the finish was packed with well wishers – there was also most of the rest of the field who must have dropped out and got a lift to the finish to cheer us in – and a band played that Nippall music which, to be honest, is a bit of a racket.

As we crossed the finish line we were presented with ribbons by local schoolchildren who had been given the day off to see an athletic icon in the flesh. The Half Share insisted we cross the line together and as we did so she started all that sloppy wet mouth stuff that I find so distasteful in public. I’d always prefer the cursory hand shake and a nod – much more professional in my view. Anyway I unhooked myself form the slobbering wreck and headed straight for the beer tent!

And the best thing about the day was that I managed to get a PB for 17 miles – an impressive 4 hours 49 minutes!!

Then it was back on the bus for the long journey back to Mirik – where after a shower and a kip I joined my fellow athletes in the bar for a few sherbets. The Half Share had managed to complete the full 100 miles over 5 days in 34 hours 50 minutes – so not for the first time in our life had she failed to come up with the full 35 hours in a week.

By contrast Captain Underpants won the event in a time of 14 hours 10 minutes.

Ridiculous if you ask me.

And so to a final dinner, a couple of beers, a presentation from Himalaya Charlie – and we then stayed up late till 9 o’clock!

Tomorrow it would be back to Delhi for a couple of days R & R before flying back to Blighty. The end of my adventure in Indialand? Not a bit of it matey.

Just you wait and hear what I got up to tomorrow!!

Keep on tapering.

Ron