I write this in a haze of mental devastation. Yesterday, I read a sinister and potential sanity-threatening article in the Telegraph Online, that might prove more problematic to my quest than black holes appearing at the LHC in Switzerland.

Former topless model turned media deity ‘Jordan’ AKA Katie Price AKA whatever you care to call her for the purposes of this discussion, has announced her desire to represent the UK in the 2012 Olympics.

Needless to say I feel like those Dutch lads who sailed straight past Australia a couple of days before Captain Cook found it.

What is so galling about this situation, it not that I now have direct competition for the honour of biggest nomark to get to the Olympics, but it’s the resources on hand to achieve said dream.

I currently have a massive overdraft and a fat belly on which to lay siege to the Olympic ideal.

Mrs Price has myriad weapons at her disposal, and that’s not including the two UMD’s strapped to her sternum. She’s a multimillionairess, with full time trainers, an army of advisers and a long standing deal with ITV – a richer entity than I.

What this has brought home is just how hard my fat ass is going to have to work to achieve all this.

The one bonus of it all, is that she’s doing jumpy jumpy on horses, which means that the horse is doing most of the work and if she gets to the Olympics I’m sure it will feel like a hollow victory, whereas if I walk out in front of the 90,000 or so in the Olympic stadium, I will do so knowing that I have slain Medusa, Hercules, Achilles, Cyclops and Goliath (and no, their not my nicknames for Jordan).

No one is reading this at the moment – more ool you. I have explained my task, now it’s a matter of getting around to business. I think Eminem said that.

Part of my problem is finding a sport which I can actually become competitive in, in a matter of just 3 or so years, to allow me to fulfill my olympic objective.

There are a small matter of 30 Olympic disciplines to choose from, although thanks to the insensitivity of Darwinian theory or God’s decision not to make me special (depending on your perspective) I am entirely incable of about 25 of them. And that’s me being overly confident.

In reality, I have a “chance” in perhaps 2 disciplines, so here is my somewhat tenous list of prospective events. Don’t laugh…

Archery

Cycling

Shooting

Kayaking

Athletics

If you are an expert in any of the above fields, please do not garnish my comments section with “what the hell are you thinking, you’ll never ever be fit to string a bow, never mind fire an arrow” (I bet that’s the wrong terminology too), because I’m more than aware of my limitations.

I have simple conlcluded that these disciplines require either pure strength and stamina, or pure skill. It will undoubtedly transpire that I’m dreadful at all of these, but for the time being I ask you to bear with me.

So here’s the deal… I’m 6’1″, weigh 78kgs, am naturally fairly athletic. If you were me, and you were batshit crazy, which would you attempt. Quick answers welcome, after all, I haven’t got time on my side.

The difficult second post

It’s so far, so good. Admittedly this is only a couple of hours on from my first posting, but I have survived a trip to the shops and 50 sit ups. Now that’s what I call progress (Maggie Thatcher should have used that tagline, it would have got her further in life I think).

You’re probably wondering where the inspiration to do all this came from, aren’t you? You’re not? Ok, fine. I shall tell those that are interested then.

Some time ago, I was very drunk. As I whiled away the hours in a haze of wispy cigarette smoke, staring down the barrel of an empty cocktail jug, my friend began to extol the virtues of Einstein being the greatest scientist that has ever existed (my counter-argument that he initially made up a bit of his theory of relativity to fit his mindset fell on inebriate ears).

Out of nowhere I said, nay spluttered, the words ‘But what if the greatest scientist has been and gone and never knew he was remotely good at science’?

Cue ridiculous rabble at the bar about how ‘that applies to everything’, and ‘Mr X wasn’t the greatest scientist because he never did any science’ and those points are true, but this post, this blog, this insane pursuit of the Olympic dream are about exactly that – giving potential a chance to shine.

Do we all have an innate talent, a god-given gift buried deep inside us? Does talent force its way out subconsciously? And how bloody hard is it to uncover those talents? We’ll all be soon to find out.

There’s a strong chance that I have nothing to offer the world athletically, and looking at my physique at the moment, 3-day old road kill would stand a chance against me in a straight-line race, but I’m fully committed to this. My friends think I’m either stupid, or stuck with an incurable brain condition (there’s a chance it could be a combination of the two).

The goal is simple. Get selected to represent Great Britain at the games in 2012. I’m not after a medal, records, or glory… Yet. It all begins today.

What the hell am I doing?

I have just made a vain attempt to touch my toes. After an uncomfortable and probably ill-advised bout of spinal bouncing, I’m convinced I grazed a hair on my ankle whilst suffering the sort of shock to the nervous system that only prolonged exposure to the music of Black Lace can give you.

My expectation was to wake up, lean down and touch my toes with the grace, poise and balance of a 1970’s Romanian gymnast. In reality this morning’s exertions were more akin to a man trying to violently self-fellate, whilst rocking out to Metallica’s ‘Enter Sandman’. Elegant it was not.

Hmmm. This wasn’t quite the start I was hoping for in my (probably vain) attempt to represent Great Britain at the 2012 Olympics, here in London.

From a base of zero talent I’m going to try and identify an Olympic sport which I have enough skill in to give me a chance of – even if it is just a single percent – representing my country in. If it seems ridiculous to you, it’s even more stupid and naïve and ridiculous in my head.

Over the next four years, and who knows, perhaps longer, I am going to chart every movement I make in video, text and picture as I rip my body into pieces for no discernable gain, to see if this is an experiment that could, just possibly work.

Hi, I’m Dan and welcome to potentially, the most spectacular failure of all time.