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

Himalyan 100 Mile Stage Race. Day 4. Rimbik to Palmajua

Woke up this morning to the sun shining. It was going to be a hot and sunny day and with glorious views of the Himalayas today was one of those days when it was just going to be great in my company.



Bumped into the MOS and Personal Shopper first thing – she was trying to persuade a Sherpa to take her back up the mountain to exchange something she'd picked up in a small shop. The six hour one way jeep journey didn't seem to worry her.

Effort-wise, today was going to be an easier day. The runners had a simple half marathon – on road as well. Us intrepid Trekkers could do what we wanted – so we decided on a 10 miler to a nice little place called Shrikola – famous for its wobbly rope bridge – where we'd enjoy a quick lemonade before walking back in time for lunch and, hopefully, we'd meet the half marathon finishers. The route was very pleasant and we enjoyed some neat little views of the area – it was nicer than Bournemouth in parts. We passed a few Buddhist Monks on the way who blessed me and my friends – dunno what that was about but I felt a bit special afterwards. I offered to sign autographs but I think it got lost in translation.


We saw lots of interesting house-type places where the local people lived and I don't mind saying some of the sights I saw made your man here feel almost humble. I mean, I'm used to meeting ordinary people back home in England and I've experienced some of the poor parts of our own country like The North and Scotland. But this was different. But do you know – everybody we met had a smile on their face. Are you listening Yorkshire people?? There's just no need to keep moaning is there?

So, a very pleasant bit of diplomatic mission work by yours truly. I told as many people as I could about who I was and how I was an Olympic Champion – it was just so nice to bring a bit of extra sunshine into their little lives.

When we returned to Rimbik the runners had started to bowl in – the Half Share finished in 3 hours 15 minutes, I gave her the cursory hand shake and nod – but really, 3 hours for a half marathon? Not very quick was it? However I had to bow to her today – she was back in Rimbik before me so we were now drawing in the race to win the 100 Mile Race.



After lunch – Rupeee!! We had an afternoon off!!

After a couple of hours well earned kip it was what the organisers called a Cultural Evening. Evening. Culture? Don't make me laugh. I'd have had a better cultural evening sitting at the fridge door watching a yoghurt go off. The deal was that each nationality had to present something that was representative of their country – in a cultural way.

Well the Brits were an embarrassment. They mumbled and shuffled their way to the centre of the garden and proceeded to present some English culture to the local villagers. What was it? A pathetic rendition of London's Burning. God help us. I decided to try and rectify the situation by grabbing a couple of the local Buddhist monks and some of the youngsters and taking them through my Ron Warm Up – anal crunches, pelvic squirts, one fingered press ups and an old favourite of mine – the Groin Shuffle.


Did I wow them into a stunned silence or what???? Brilliant – they obviously felt I couldn't be topped and that more or less finished the evening off. I was satisfied that I'd made a significant contribution to England/Indialand relations.




I then gave the organisers some tips for the future. Rather than asking the athletes to do something cultural – just ask them to present their national pastimes. Forget the musical bits. So the Welsh could just have sat there and moaned; the Scottish people could just drink and fall over; the Spanish could spit, the Scandinavians could put some cheesy music on and taken their clothes off, the Americans eat pies, the Austrians yodel with funny shorts and the Dutch have bottom sex.

Despite daytime temperatures in the 80's, the night time saw the old mercury plummet to below zero – so after a couple of sherbets and a curry, it was bed at 8 o'clock. Tomorrow was a big day – it was the final day of the 100 mile race.

There was no doubting who would win the race – Captain Underpants was about a day and a half ahead of the field. But tomorrow's 17 mile final stage would provide a surprising little sting in the tail for those of you who know me ......

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Himalayan 100 Mile Stage Race Day 3. The Everest Challenge Marathon

The problem with staying on the top of a mountain is that there is not a lot to do. Our Sherpa Huts are very nice Sherpa Huts – but they are still just Sherpa Huts. Wooden huts, with wooden floors and a load of twigs burning in a tin can on the floor. No lights, no heating and the only facility a hole in the ground. In fact our huts are so basic that even the Sherpas sleep outside.

But I took comfort by mentally rebranding the place as my Olympic Village – but without Sue Barker.



After our stuff that tasted a bit like food – and remember that it was dark by 5 o'clock – the only entertainment available to the field of international athletes was ... me! Well I tried my best. I tried to talk to people about my achievements, about my Olympic Gold Medal in 2012, about my training regimes, about how I could have won this Indialand event if I'd wanted to etc etc.

Unfortunately most of them were obviously a little too tired and so by about 5.30 I was left with the bloke from Italy who ran with a packet of Benson and Hedges down his shorts. So, I chatted to him for about an hour or so – he was obviously enthralled by some of my stories, yarns and anecdotes because he just sat there listening intently – never uttered a word. Not even when I stood up and said 'Goodnight'. He just sat there staring at the floor.

So, it was bed by 6.30 for your man here. Which is fine. No need to get undressed because I slept in what I'd been wearing for the last two days. By 7 o'clock I was in the land of Nod. The problem is, though, that I'd had enough kip after 6 hours – and so at 1 am I'm wide awake – and I then had another restless four hours until it got to 'Up Time'. The wind was howling all night too as a storm raged outside our hut and the temperature had, once again, headed south of Zero. Inside our Hut, the air was so damp that everything – including bedding – was soaked in a film of ice cold moisture.



Am I describing the scene in a best seller kind of way for you?

Up I sprung then out of my bed and to my first job of the day - medication. More Dimox. Decongestion, malaraia, neurofen and some anti poo pills.

Today's stage is a special one – its the Everest Challenge Marathon – a 27 mile stage which has some bits of uphill, retracing some of yesterday's route, and then features a steep decline from 12,000 ft to 6,000 ft, finishing in the village of Rimbik. We're joined today by three particpants who have arrived just to do the Everest Challenge Marathon – they had arrived after a seven hour journey in a jeep up the mountain. It is of much comfort to yours truly that all the Jeeps being used are, in fact, Land Rovers – and British to boot. The comfort is tempered only by the fact that the newest in their fleet was manaufactured in 1947!!



Even though there were now two Swedish girls and a Finish man with a beard in our midst, everybody kept their clothes on.

As we waited for the start of today's stage I was suddenly overwhelmed by an urge to poo. I go red with the effort of preventing an embarrasing situation and try to take my mind off it by thinking of some of my favourite Cannon and Ball sketches and humming 'I'm a Little Teapot'.

The marathon runners set off at 6.00 bang on Himalayan Time at 6.45 and as its a big day for the Half Share I ask some American bloke to tell her to have a good race. At 7.15 we board our Jeeps for the 2 mile downhill journey to the start of our 8 mile trek to Rimbik. The journey is nothing short of hairy as we attempt to negotiate the steep switchback tracks – with sheer drops of hundreds of feet inches away from the door. Our driver tells us that its a tradition that visitors to Nippall are drawn to the beauty of the mountains so much that they swear to return within seven years. I remind him that there is a British tradition that if the driver didnt keep his chuffing eyes on the road I'd lamp him one.

So, off we set on our 8 mile trek – pah!! The distance was actually a tad more than 8 miles. We did 15 miles!



It is, though, a very pleasant route as we walk through the cloud cover from 10,500 ft down to 9,000 ft – at which point we enter the jungle. Now this is no pretend jungle – its a real live jungle with lots of green things hanging around, loads of different types of poo and, in fact, the place had a real Tarzan feel to it – heck it even had proper noises like they used to have on Daktari. The jungle in this part of West Bengal is home to Red Panda, Wild Boar (oh no!), Snow Leopards and lots of other animals that would have made Billy Smart happy. But though we heard lots of scary noises we didn't see any animals. Turns out most of the noises were made by a nutty woman in our group anyway.


The nutter was some kind of Red Indian woman from America. I walked the first five miles with her and got very annoyed at having to keep picking her up. The stupid woman had insisted on meditating as she walked – with her chuffing eyes closed! She kept saying that God would get her to the bottom of the mountain and how she didn't need her eyes. Well, if God was going to get her down he was having a bad day – and to be honest, just a casual observer though I may have been, God seemed to be pretty rubbish at getting people down mountains.

I eventually tired of the pesky woman and so, after, five miles I did the British thing. I dumped her and told her to liaise directly with her maker – and I'd see her at the bottom. I then caught up with MOS and her Personal Shopper who were composing a shopping list for when we arrived in Rimbik. Also walked a little way with my new friend Joe from Canadia and my British friend George. The last couple of miles were quite tough as we entered the village of Rimbik at 8,000 ft via a steep downhill cobbled track. The poo business was becoming a real problem and I had one of those embarrassing moments when I tripped over a tree root and did one of those trip/stumble/little run type sequences to regain my balance - with each step I took being accompanied by a short burst of wind breaking each time my right foot hit the ground. Our Sherpas seemed to appreciate my 'performance' and broke into a round of applause. I did shout loudly at them that though I might be a celebrity I wasn't a ruddy cabaret act – and told them to stop staring at me. I did subsequently apologise – but I just so needed the toilet I was just a tad grumpy I suppose.



Eventually we arrived at the Sherpa Lodge in Rimbik and I threw down my rucksack and dashed to the toilet – only emerging red in face some twenty minutes later. Thank God I can now forget about lavatorial issues.

The Sherpa Lodge in Rimbik is a stunning place perched on the mountainside with spectacular views and my welcome was complete when we were given a plate of chips with tomato ketchup and a bottle of beer. Heaven!! I was also able to change out of the clothes I'd been living, walking and sleeping in – and even enjoyed a hot shower. Heaven again.



Captain Underpants had been back in for hours after having finished the marathon in a ridiculous time of 4 hours 32 minutes, with the first girl finishing in 5 hours 10 minutes. Pah! Was I supposed to be impressed?

I then settled down and somewhat irritatingly had to wait the arrival of the Half Share. Nightfall came and we were still sitting in pitch blackness waiting for the bally woman to turn up. Whilst outwardly showing some signs of concern – particularly after hearing some of the horror stories from the finishers – inwardly I was feeling quite smug. For the second day in a row I'd beaten her to the finish – so I was now winning. Of course she would later claim that she'd done more miles than me – but, hey, whose fault was that?????

To be honest I was getting a bit miffed with all the hanging around and it was beginning to look as though I'd have to do my unpacking myself when she eventually bowled over the line after 10 hours 36 minutes. I suppose I was mildly impressed at her achievement and so, in addition to a cursory hand shake and a nod I gave her a bit of my Chunky Kit Kat. I reminded her that her time was slower than any of her previous marathons but she started to say how tough it was. Yeah yeah yeah – its just another marathon for God's sake!! Apparently the descent was very steep. So? I did the Loch Ness Marathon without whinging. I did the Bexhill 10K without muttering how windy it was on the sea front didn't I? Just deal with it!



Anyway my irritation was complete after she'd described every inch of the so-called murderous descent, down dried up river beds and gullies, how they had to run through the jungle and then across the bridge over the canyon at Srikhola. But apparently it was OK because Darren helped her down the steep bits. And Darren helped her across the rope bridge. Oh - and Darren looked after her when it got dark and she couldnt see where she was going. It was Darren this and Darren that and Darren the chuffing other. And then to top the night this bloke Darren - some South African bozo with acne - then started sniffing around "just checking to see if she's all right Mate".

Mate? Mate?

So I decked him and went for another poo.

Bed and sleep came rather more easily tonight. The problems with altitude would now start to ease, I could poo, I'd had a couple of beers and I'd decked a South African. Life couldn't get any better I thought.

Tomorrow - a pleasant day spent on a diplomatic mission to mingle with lots of foreigners. I'll tell you all about it soon.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Himalayan 100 Mile Stage Race Day 2. Sandakphu - Molle and back

Well Ronnettes, my Day 2 of probably one of the greatest events you've ever seen me do, was eventful. I woke after another rotten night's kip to find that some of the ordinary people who were trying to do the event were struggling. With one American girl on a drip, a very nice English gal with a broken thumb and my mate George inconsolable due to certain bits of her body not working properly, we were a right motley crew.

I decided that the field of athletes might need some motivation so I began with my Very Loud Warm Up and Aerobics Session which I normally do to the accompaniment of some up-tempo Max Bygraves sing along records - unfortunately I didn't have any music so I just sang unaccompanied.


Well all I can say is if people don't like getting up early they should keep their feelings to themselves. They had no need to take it out on me and should, in my view, have shown just a bit more respect to an elite athlete.

The morning temperature was around minus 6 at 5 am - very parky indeed. And, I'm afraid I needed that visit to a place that was not in a hole in the ground. It was now some time since I'd last had a ... err a number 2. But today I'd got a plan. I'd noticed yesterday that the frequent Aid Stations provided by the organisers had a very small tented cubicle - inside which was a sitting down toilet thing. OK it then went into a hole in the ground - but at least I could sit down. So, my plan was to set off on Stage 2 and at the first Aid Station at 5 miles, nip in and get the business done. Well don't you just like it when a well made plan comes to fruition?




Well, it was pitch black in our Sherpa Hut - and, with no electricity, I fumbled around to take my morning cocktail of drugs. I counted out the tablets - Dimox for altitude sickness, 2 decongestion tablets to help my breathing, two neurofen to get rid of the stonking headache - and a couple of Ibuprofen to help with any possible knee pains.

Great, I thought as I swallowed them with some water. But wait. What were those two little white tablets on the table? Those were my decongestion tablets which meant ..... I'd only gone and stuffed two more Immodium down my neck! Potentially that meant I wouldn't be able to poo until Thursday!! This was turning from farce into disaster.

Regardless I decided to get myself ready for the day ahead. Before leaving Mirik, we were told to split our luggage into two - one lot to be left for after the race; and another bag containing the stuff we would need for the five days on the run.



I'd only gone and brought the wrong ruddy bag.

So, there I was stuck 12000 ft in the Himalayas, with no gloves, no hat, no coat, no running leggings. Sure I'd got books, suit, shirts and ties In fact nothing that could remotely be thought of as useful for running five days at altitude in one of the planet's toughest running events. I searched frantically through my rucksack desperately seeking something to wear. My spirits were lifted when I came across a pair of tracksuit bottoms - well that was a start; spirits then headed south when I noticed the Winnie the Pooh logo - I'd only got a pair of the Half Share's pyjamas in my luggage (Incidentally, I did chastise her for the Winie the Pooh stuff - in very poor taste considering my condions.).

The problem was eventually solved. I stayed in the same stuff that I'd walked and slept in - and stuck a pair of the Half Share's running tights on top.

Ronnettes - I was dressed like a prat.




But the show must go on - and so, I once more ventured out on to the freezing mountain top. The views of Everest and Kanchenjunga were obscured somewhat by cloud - but the peaks were there to be seen nevertheless. Today's stage for the runners was a 20 mile out and back stage whilst us trekkers could see how far we got. Captain Underpants got the runners under way and I mumbled my good wishes to the Half Share - and I reminded her to try and get a move on today. I had the company of my new friend Joe from Canadia, my daughter figure George (she said she saw me as something of a father figure which I found rather touching. I did tell her that if she was my daughter I'd still be bathing her but that didn't seem to go down as well I'd meant). I also eventually dragged the MOS and her Personal Shopper out of the hut - I had to say I needed to drag her kicking and screaming because she'd lost her Lidl Loyalty Card.

As the morning progressed the weather turned very pleasant and today's route was much easier than yesterday's gruelling uphill yomp. There were plenty of hills to climb but these were compensated by a bit of flat and downhill. The terrain was also slightly easier with a mix of those wretched cobbles and trails. I did find myself dreaming of tarmac a number of times during the week - and today I could have done with a nice bit of road.



Yesterday's exertions had taken their toll and I still found breathing when climbing a little difficult. The old legs were also feeling a bit jaded and I told my new friend Joe from Canadia that I'd woken up stiff this morning. She kneed my in the groin again.

But though my body was racked with the effort I did find some consolation in the fact that this is exactly the sort of pain an Olympic champion has to go through. A fact that escapes most ordinary people.

Upon reaching the 5 mile point I spotted the tented loo and gazed at it with cow eyes - oh why couldn't I use it? I tried eating a few cooked potatoes and biscuits from the station to see if that could galvanise anything into action. But nothing.




A further 45 minutes ahead though and I felt a twinge. Without becoming too graphic I realised that I needed to get back to the aid station. The Immodium had worn off. We'd covered around 7 miles - but the next two back to the station were almost agonising. Upon arriving I dashed into the tent and ... well lets just say it was a relief and leave it at that shall we?

I emerged from the tent some 20 minutes later to a distant but well-deserved round of applause from marshals, participants and locals alike. I heard them but couldn't see them though - but I found them hiding in some bushes about 100 yards away - what kind of game were they playing I wondered. The local Nippallese people came out to greet us and offered us Nippall tea. Now then Ronnettes. If a Nippallese person ever, ever offers you a cup of tea my advice to you is to be very firm and say "No. No, my Nippallese friend. I appreciate your offer but I cannot possibly drink tea with you owing to the vast cultural differences that presently exist between our two cultures".

The difference being that we put sugar in our tea. They put salt in theirs.

After 9 miles the offer to ride back to Sandakphu in a Jeep seemed to good to be true and we piled in for the journey home. The journey lasted precisely 400 metres when not only did the jeep break down but as we piled out we came across a young gal in obvious distress. We thought she was German so I was all for leaving her but then to our horror we discovered she was English. The poor lass was one of the runners but had found it all a bit much. So we decided to accompany her the 5 miles back to the finish line. The fact that she had to keep stopping to wait for us didn't seem to worry her and between you and I, I think she secretly enjoyed the experience of running with a celebrity.

The scenery today was spectacular as usual and, in addition to meeting lots of Nippallese people living in house-type huts we also saw many different kinds of wildlife including yaks and other kinds of birds.



So, my mileage today was around 14 miles - and the knee was still holding up.

When we arrived back I contemplated waiting for the Half Share to finish the race but it was so flippin' cold I decided to have a bowl of soup and a kip instead.

She eventually bowled in after 6 hours and 30 minutes and after giving her a cursory nod and a hand shake I reminded her that her time was about 4 hours slower than the Worthing 20. Honestly you'd have thought I'd insulted her mother - some people just cant take constructive criticism can they?

Captain Underpants once again triumphed today, with a couple of Brits in close proximity. More injuries amongst the 60 strong field though with the blood pressure monitors needed for the Americans. Also today ... the first signs of stomach problems! I shovelled Imodium into me again - I needed to be poo-less until reaching the Sherpa Lodge in Rimbik - our destination tomorrow. For the runners it would be the Everest Challenge Marathon.

Darkness arrived around 5 pm and so, after eating something that tasted a bit like food it was into the sleeping bag - still in the same clothes I started with on Monday morning! I went to sleep dreaming of tarmac.

Tomorrow I'll tell you about how I inspired all those runners to tackle the Everest Marathon - and we have our first chip in almost a week!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Himalayan 100 Mile Stage Race – Day 1. Manybhanjang to Sandakphu

This was it – the start of my grand adventure in a distant outpost of the Empire. The conundrum I faced was – OK I may be a legend in my own country but would my silky PR and diplomatic skills and athletic prowess be truly appreciated by a load of foreign people?

We would soon find out.

My altitude acclimatisation programme seemed to have worked OK – but to be on the safe side and to get a few extra feet I slept on the top bunk. And after swallowing my morning cocktail of drugs – Dimox for altitude, Malaria, Decongestion tablets, Imodium for the ... you know .... and Neurofen because of the damned dogs keeping me awake again, I stumbled out of bed at 4.45 for the 5 am bus which arrived bang on Himalayan Time at 5.30. After a box of breakfast stuff we then endured the 90 minute bus journey to Maneybhanjang, a small village on the border between Indialand and Nippall. The village is at 6,600 ft – which is a bit high. But this was nothing compared to our destination today – the mountaintop settlement of Sandakphu which is plonked a few feet short of 12,000 ft.
Maneybhanjang is a funny name for a town but the atmosphere ain't much of a barrel of laughs as, amongst the machine gun posts little men with funny hats did funny dances and tried to make music with an assortment of tin cans and whistles. It was here then as the assembled athletes gathered that the rest of the field got their first site of a living legend and Olympic Gold Medallist in waiting. I must admit I felt really proud as I demonstrated my anal crunch and pelvic squirt warm-up to the rest of the field – it was, if you like, a kind of mating dance. Or a Ron-ish Haka. Not that I wanted to mate with any of the other athletes (although the young filly from New Zealand would have made a fine catch) – but it was telling the rest of the field “I'm here. I might not be actually running against you. But I'm here.” My influence was certainly going to be felt. And there was, I swear, an audible gasp of relief as I told the rest of the field to go out and enjoy the event – no pressure because I wouldn't be competing against them. Captain Underpants looked particularly relieved.


As I made my way to the start line I had assumed that I would be called upon to start the race but when I got there they'd got some flippin local dignitaries to press the button – I have to say I was a bit miffed but I decided that I could rise above the snub. So I broke wind in front of the Race Director instead – I thought that would signify my displeasure in a way that he would understand.

The weather was hot with no clouds and temperatures in the low 70's as we waited for the off. The runners would be facing 24 miles today. The route climbed some 6,000 ft with the vast majority of the route a very steep uphill route along the made-up cobble road which serves as the border between the two countries.



The road was constructed for an Indian King, so he could reach Phalut, 56 kilometres away, to watch the sunrise over the four peaks of Mount Everest, Lhotse, Makalu and Kanchenjunga – four of the five highest mountains in the world.

Apparently once the road was finished, it was never used by the King – which I think is very mean of him. You get some idea of the terrain when you realise that it takes almost 7 hours to cover the route in a jeep.

This kiddie here decided to see how far I could walk before it got dark – and I set off full of enthusiasm and with a small entourage of well-wishers and some girls in tow. One girl called Joe was from Canadia but otherwise very nice. Another Brit girl called George became an instant Ronnette. I rued my luck at only being able to attract girls with boys names.

I quickly realised how difficult today was going to be when we were forced to stop – our lungs just couldn't take in enough oxygen and I was already peeling off my clothing – and I encouraged my new girl admirers to do the same. The old legs were painful and my muscles were burning with the effort. Then one of our companions looked at her GPS and confirmed we had indeed reached the 200 metre mark. But we soon got into the swing of things and after three hours we were relieved to see the distance marker ahead – 4 kilometres it said. Only another 30-odd to go!!



The route is pretty and showed some lovely views of Indialand and Nippall – it reminded me of Yeovil. We passed lots of men with machine guns and also passed through some remote villages and settlements – and in all of them the locals, and the children especially, came out of their little house-type things to welcome us and encourage us. One bizarre sighting was of a man selling fish by the side of the road - at 10,000 ft up a mountain with no villages for miles. He didn't seem to have done much business and I gave him a quick resume of my knowledge of “Business Locations That Are Not Very Good”.

The challenge not to enter Nippall was met and overcome and I wandered into the country with my new friend Joe. Slight technical hitch though as we stood on Nippallese ground and were then told that it was tradition that travellers need to marry each other in order to return. I looked at Joe. Joe looked at me. I suggested a compromise and just do the funny rude bits but leave the ceremonial stuff behind. Joe kneed me in the groin and left me writing in Nippallese agony.

So, back to Indialand we came.





And then, at 13K, it happened.

The life I had packed so much into in such a short space of time almost came to a swift and bloody end.

By the time we reached 13K we had been climbing/trekking/walking for some six hours and my entourage had dwindled to ... one. I was with Joe my new friend from Canadia and I had just finished telling her about some of my successes and conquests when I heard a loud rumbling noise from the undergrowth behind me. I stopped and listened as the noise got louder and louder. And the cause of the rumbling noise thing got nearer and nearer.

Suddenly there was a loud crash and about 30 yards away the shrubs and bushes parted – and out towards me thundered a large black animal. As it got closer I spotted two enormous tusks – the tusks of a Wild Boar. The beast was now heading straight for me. I immediately took charge of the situation and in a kind of military fashion I held up my hand and shouted “Stop. Wild Boar. Stop!!”. It might have sounded like “Ooooowwwwmmmmm” but I knew what I was trying to say. The beast was obviously deaf because it took not a blind bit of notice but it had been spooked sufficiently to change its course and thankfully it veered away from and carried on its charge.

Straight towards my new friend Joe from Canadia.

I was now concerned for her welfare – and I didn't particularly fancy hoying an injured woman over my shoulder and carting her up a mountain – so I shouted a warning noise to her and, thankfully, she turned just in time for the Boar to thunder past her and missing her legs by nothing more than a few millimetres.

It was then that I discovered that adrenalin smells. Shaking like a leaf I don't mind telling you Ronnettes, I was petrified. This kiddie could just see the headlines “World Famous Olympic Champion Boared To Death In Himalayan Challenge Drama”. And “Brave Ron In Tragic Death After Saving Somebody Else Rather Than Himself First”.


Scared? You bet your sweet bippy as Pope John Paul used to say.

At 17K we had gone as far as the light would allow us and the rest of the journey was completed in a jeep. I made my mind up never ever to go in a jeep ever again. Three hours pressed with my face against a spare wheel, my legs at right angles to spare fuel cans, an overwhelming stench of diesel and the roughest bumpiest road you have ever seen.

So this was the lot of an Olympic Gold Medallist eh?


We finally arrived in Sandakphu at 6 o'clock in pitch black darkness and the temperature now somewhat south of freezing. After a bowl of soup and something that may have been food, I made it into my hut and stumbled into my sleeping bag at 7 o'clock. Fully clothed and trying desperately not to think of toilets I tried to sleep.

The Half Share had finished Day 1's 24 mile run in 9 hours 30 minutes and whilst I did comment that it wasn't very fast and, indeed was a personal worst for the distance - I did also say that I was proud of her achievements – and to prove it I gave her a cursory nod of the head and shook her hand. The route for the runners was identical to that of us trekkers – and so 85% of the day was spent walking with just the occasional break for a flat bit of road.

Her day had been tough with the only relief being when she was flashed at by a soldier – well I told her he'd probably saved me a job. Unfortunately she'd not been able to enjoy the scenery because she spent the entire day looking at the ground as she negotiated the potholes and cobbles. She stopped a number of times to pose for photographs with soldiers – and I reminded her again that perhaps next time she might focus more on running rather than flirting – and that maybe she wouldn't have posted such a slow time. Meanwhile Captain Underpants completed the course in 4 hours 11 minutes – a record for the stage. If you want my view its a stupid time. Fancy paying all that money and not taking your time.

I saw MOS a couple of times during the day but she was muttering about there being no Debenhams or BHS en route. Cheered up when she saw the man selling fish – at least she could buy something then. Her poor Personal Shopper Assistant went ahead of her to carry her high heels and blouses. I felt sorry for the poor man - all that way and he was nothing more than a Sherpa for MOS.


Our accommodation was a series of mountain huts. No electricity, no heating, other than a pile of wood burning in a tin can, no running water and a hole in the ground for ablutions. And this was to be my home for two nights. I made a mental note to make sure any future personal appearances contained certain minimum accommodation standards.

A restless night with me desperate not to let the effect of five days of eating curry spoil my sleeping bag and I tossed and turned in my sleeping bag until finally it was 4 am on Tuesday.

Tomorrow I'll tell you what happened on the gruelling Day 2 stage – and how a mix up in my drugs cocktail very nearly spoiled a perfect day.

Keep on tapering

Ron

Day 3 in Indialand – a nice cup of tea in Darjeeling?

Well our first night at altitude – Mirik is around 6000 ft – saw me have what can only be described as a rotten night's sleep. Couldn't sleep? No I bally couldn't. And do you know why?

Because of the canine flippin' symphony being played constantly from 9 pm right through to 4 in the morning. Dog's barking the whole night long – only stopping their blazin' racket when the damn sun came up.

So now you know why there are so many dogs sleeping in the roads all the way through Indialand – they're all knackered because they've been up barking all night.

Anyway we're up this morning at 4 o'clock to see the sunrise and get back on board our charabanc to take a trip to Darjeeling. The journey is around 25 miles – which means a 2 hour bus journey starting at 5 am!

To try and counter the effects of altitude we're given Dimox tablets. That's fine - other than they were just white tablets and very similar to all the other medication I would subsequently need – but nobody warned me of the side effects. Within an hour of taking my first tablet I started getting pins and needles in my arms and legs – and, bizarrely, in my chest too. The sensation was similar to somebody boiling my blood.. It affected other people in different ways – the Half Share complained of swollen lips – but that could have come from the gin – and the MOS complained of being light headed. So no side effects there then.

The 5 am bus leaves bang on time – well bang on Himalayan time and we pull out of the Lodge at 6.40. The journey is through some pretty countryside, including more tea plantations and we begin the long climb into the mountains. In the distance we can see the peaks of Indialand's highest mountains – the impressive Mount Kanchenjunga is over 28,000 ft and the third highest mountain in the world. That's higher than the South Downs.

The road to Darjeeling is the border between Indialand and another country called Nipall and throughout the journey we pass checkpoints, armed soldiers and other nice men with guns. Himalaya Charlie makes it abundantly clear that we are not to set foot on the Nipallese side of the border.

So that's laid down a challenge then.

Darjeeling was an interesting place and it was full of those Gherkin people. They seemed really happy to see me and I made lots of new friends at the railway station when I dropped my wallet. I bought tea and curry for 26 whoopees – a bargain! We then boarded a steam train - oh how my fellow passengers enjoyed my steam train noises and impression of Casey Jones. I think I might have made some real friends on this trip already.

When we got off the train we visited a monastery - which was full of cheeky little monkeys - the zoo and the Himalayan Mountain Museum before stopping for a bite to eat. No curry today – we had a Chinese instead. Not sure that my comment “I could murder a Chinese” translated very well and my hosts don't speak to me much after that.

Our 3 pm return journey left bang on time at 4.15 and we began the long drive back to Mirik. The 25 miles fly past in no time in two and a half hours. Now, if the journey here was scary, it was nothing on the return – for which we had the added attraction of darkness and thick cloud cover to contend with.

We arrive home, grab a quick curry, take our Malaria, Dimox and other sundry pills and I'm tucked up in bed with a decent whisky by 8 o'clock.

Tomorrow I'm due to star in the start ceremony for the Himalaya 100 Mile Stage Race – and with a 4 am start I'll need my beauty sleep.

I'll be bringing you news of my first day in the event tomorrow – including news of a real-life near-death experience for your man here. No kidding Ronnettes – I was inches away from becoming a posthumous legend.

Tell you tomorrow.

Keep on tapering

Ron

Day 2 in Indialand – to the Himalayas, pronto please!

The old body clock wasn't in too good a shape this morning. More to the point, if you've ever had that morning after feeling following a couple of beers and an Indian after the pub – well I kind of had that, but instead of one Indian I'd now consumed about eight curries. And I felt like I had.

I seemed to be surrounded by an aura of pilau. Bhaji and tikka masala – so I felt great as we were propelled at some horrendous speed in a 1959 Ford Pop to the airport. The New Delhi Airport road is no place for the faint hearted at 6.30 in the morning – think North Circular at 78 rpm and you have an idea. To make things interesting, our driver was keen on demonstrating how to go around roundabouts the wrong way, how to T Bone an Ox and Cart and how to collect rickshaws on the bonnet of said Ford Pop. To be honest by the time I arrived at Indira Ghandi airport I was a quivering wreck – and so just to make sure the driver knew who was boss I decked him for giving me such an awful ride.

The MOS was complaining that the shops were still not open, the Half Share was sweating under the weight of all our luggage and even – wait for this – suggested that I carry some of my luggage! Err excuse me. Did Madonna carry Guy's luggage? Does Bobby Davro ever carry his own luggage? Err I don't think so Coco!! So I gave that suggestion short shrift and went to look for the VIP lounge.

They didn't seem to have my details at the VIP lounge so to avoid any further diplomatic incidents I decided to join the Half Share, the MOS and her Personal Shopper in the cafeteria for ordinary people and women. And guess what was for breakfast? Yep more spicy stuff, eggs and a curious drink – tea made in a cappuccino fashion. You would have thought that after all those years as part of the Empire they could have perfected the art of tea making eh?

After a quick visit to the shop to be ripped off for the last time for a week (200 whoopees for some flippin' chewing gum I ask you!!) we boarded the flight to Bagdogra. We arrived after a 2 hour flight and with the temperature nudging 30 degrees I was glad I was wearing my fleece. Bit of argy bargy with Himalaya Charlie when I found out I hadn't got a car but that I'd have to travel with the plebs on a bus. Me – on a bus!! I haven't been on a bus since I was in Class 5 at St Gabs Junior School in the 1960's – but I made sure I couldn't be seen and settled down for a bone breaking 2 hour journey up through the tea plantations towards the Lake Resort of Mirik.

I remember thinking that I was very impressed with this country – all the work in the fields was being done by women which I thought was a good idea. I'm not sure what time they finished work though – what happens about making dinner and cleaning duties I mused? But what a journey it was! We climbed high up into the mountains along switchback tracks and rough roads – this place was looking more difficult to find than Barns Green!!

Eventually we arrived in Mirik – which is in a place called Gherkinland. Apparently the local Gherkin people fight for the British army because there's no other work for the men – so its kind of like Scotland but not quite as wet.

Mirik was to be our base for the next couple days whilst we acclimatised to the altitude. I did try and insist that having spent three weeks in Fairlight, near Hastings I had no need for altitude training but this fell on deaf ears as well.

Our arrival in Mirik was slightly chaotic. No make that very chaotic. I met with Himalaya Charlie and was slightly disappointed to receive nothing more than a hand shake from him. After all I was here! I'd arrived! Ron was with him. He seemed more pre-occupied with people from other countries to spend all his time with me – and like, right Charlie – how many of them foreign people are Olympic medal hopes?

As well as me, the Half Share, the MOS, the MOS's Personal Shopper and about 20 other Brits, the assembled crowd of 63 participants was a motley crew. I think most of them were probably out of work by the look of them and most seem to have been ravaged by alcohol and good living (apart from a man from Scotland who was just plain white - all over). I made a mental note to try and make some contacts for future Olympic training locations. There were people from South Africa, New Zealand and the USA – so no shortage of bag carriers there. There were a couple of nice people from a place called Canadia which is a small place in the USA. The Europeans were well represented with a man called Captain Underpants from Austria prominent in more ways than one; plus a smattering of Italians, Spanish, Finns and Germans. All in all there was nobody there that I could see causing me any problems in the racing – if I was going to race – but the thing is ... could I manage them off the race track?

After a briefing from Himalaya Charlie it was another dinner of curry and bits.

It is at this point in the trip that I'm afraid I have to raise the subject of .... personal facilities. Yes – toilets. Now, this kiddie is made of stern stuff I can tell you. But I also have certain standards and, well lets just say that I steadfastly refuse to poo in anything other than a proper toilet. Holes in the ground and other French-like toilet devices just don't appear on the Ron radar – so tonight I faced my first real test of staying power. But I was determined. I wasn't going in no hole in the ground.

However I didn't mind having a little wizzy wazzy in a hole. And so it was that I found myself standing near one such hole and next to a German man. Both of us were being quite adult about the task in hand ie staring straight ahead and whistling. Then I felt something on my arm. I looked down to see the biggest flippin flying cockroach-y type thing you've ever seen.

I was so shocked at what I saw I let out a yelp and snatched my arm upwards to rid myself of the creature. Unfortunately my hand was, at that time, performing an important function to ensure that my aim was true. And as I wrenched my arm upwards I succeeded in not only ridding myself of the bug – but in giving my German companion a decent soaking well.

How to make an impression eh?

Another bit of argy bargy tonight with Himalaya Charlie over the amount of tips required by his people – 60 dollars each I thought was a bit excessive and probably enough to arm a medium sized third world country. I mean how many whoopees do these people need?

Anyway, after dinner we were then bussed to our digs about 20 minutes away from Race HQ. It was about 8 o'clock by now so I got myself changed, left the Half Share to unpack, sprayed some Old Spice behind the knees and wandered down to find the bar. The place though was in darkness. One local lad was guarding the place and I asked him about where to find a snifter. Well I might just as well have asked him to split the ruddy atom. After some persuasion he eventually told me that the nearest beer was about an hour's drive away. So what, I asked him, was I supposed to do now? Its 8.15 on a Saturday night – where's the action?

But there was none. So there was nothing left but to go back to my room. I opened my goodie bag for something to do – usual stuff, number, pins and .... err bright orange necktie and woggle!! I put mine on and looked like an advert for ruddy Tango so I made a mental note to have a word with Himalaya Charlie about the dress codes he was trying to implement.

And at 8.30 I went to bed. On my holidays!

I felt 10 again.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Day 1 in Indialand – our arrival in New Delhi

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keep on tapering

Ron

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

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

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

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

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

But first I had to cover a few domestic issues.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then a strange thing happened.

Somebody pinched half my day.

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

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

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

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

Oh what a cruel life.

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

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Piece of cake!

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

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

















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

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Oh Dear

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

But more of that later.

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

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

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

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

What a great bunch of foreigners they were.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm going to deck that Psycho.

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

Say La Vee as they say in Poland.

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

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

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

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

Makes you think eh?

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Its called 'hitting the rails'

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

So how's training gone in week 2?

It hasn't.

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

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

And I only went and knacked my bloody knee!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Don't panic - I'm back!!!

Well I hasten to utter the words too loudly .... but ... yup. I'm back.

Yer old mucker has wiped the sleep from his eyes and emerged fresh faced and lily livered to face his legion of fans and Ronnettes. No more hiding under stones. No more dodging the media. No more looking away embarrassed when eye contact is made with an adoring fan.

For too long now this kiddie has been hiding his light under a bushel.

But now its fess time.

Where have I been? What have I been doing? Why have I kept quiet? What am I going to do now? And what of that highly publicised Olympic ambition?

Well I'll tell you.

I began the year on a bit of a low. Training wasn't going well. I only had to look at a menu and another 10 pounds in weight clamped itself, limpet-wise to my midriff. The Half Share in the House was giving me grief that I seemed to love my career as an Olympic Champion-in-Waiting more than I loved her. (Bit of a tricky one to defend that one entre nous). But, to be fair, this kiddie was still pulling in the crowds. Like a kind of modern day equivalent of a road running George Best, I continued attracting huge crowds wherever I went. (Mind you I also seemed to attract more than my fair share of nutters, liberal democrats and people from Yorkshire too, but that just goes with the territory I suppose).

But what really caused me to nip behind the bike shed for a few months was a result of some devastating news I received just around the New Year.

I wasn't going to Peking for the Chinese Olympics.

I know. I can sense that you share my disappointment. My shock. My despair.

Now I acknowledge that my Olympic ambitions might appear lofty to mere mortals but I firmly believe that the road I'm on will lead inexorably to Gold in 2012. As sure as retired 110 metre hurdlers are uphill gardeners. So, whilst I was pretty chilled about the Peking bash, twixt you and I, I did think it would have been good to have a bash at the Marathon. I know that I've probably got another six months training needed to bring me up to Olympic standard. But this glorious sport of ours is not just about winning gongs. Its about fellowship. About supporting your team mates. About flying that flag. So that's why I offered myself to the British team off to Peking as a kind of talisman. Just imagine the impact I would have on the team as a mentor to the likes of Paul Radcliffe and that bloke who jumps.

But it wasn't to be. I got blown out. The team bosses just refused to have me along. I know finances are tight – but come on you blazers!!

Anyway that's in the past now. My rejection though did leave some scars that have taken some time to heal And that's why I've kept myself quiet.

But as Peking got off the ground last weekend, I decided to let bygones be hasbeens.

Its time to pull on my Green Flash Dunlops and get back into the groove.

Ron is back.

Not that I've been entirely idle this year mind you. I've pottered around the fine city of Bruges for the Ostend to Bruges 10 Mile Race; I've been to Paris for the Marathon in April – did it in 5 hours 7 minutes (I think I finished 5th); I've been rfto Luxembourg for the Night Run and to the Arctic Circle for the Midnight Sun events in Tromso, Norway (food was eight and half quid a pint!!).

But the biggest is yet to come.

Because in November I'm off with the Half Share in the House to win the Himalaya 100 Mile Race.

How exciting is that?

And so it was that on Sunday, with around 105 kgs in added weight I took in my first proper training race. I travelled to a place called the North to take part in the Great Warford 10 Mile Race.

Now I don't mind missionary work - but let me tell you that is some distance to travel – but indicative of the sacrifices an elite athlete has to make. It took me some 6 hours to get there – although granted we did stop off in the Midlands to get used to funny accents.

I did OK. Went through my anal crunch routine for the locals then zipped through the race in what I thought was a rather nippy 1.52.33. Now, if you think that Paul Radcliffe is aiming to do the Peking Marathon in 2.20 – well, wow, I'm half an hour ahead of him!!

So that's race 1 under my belt – here's to the next ones.

Anyway I'll keep in touch with you once again. I promise no more sulks and no more unexplained absences.

Himalaya here I come!!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

How am I supposed to run with this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Getting ready for the Big Off

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keep on tapering.

Ron