Why Chris Froome and the Tour de France cyclists are class acts

IT'S been hotter than Mauritius in sun-kissed Eastbourne this week, but from a running point of view only the totally insane would dare to slip on their shoes and string vests during the heat of the day.

This morning I met up with Chris for a glorious 6am saunter over the South Downs. Even at that time of the day, sweat was pouring off us on the climbs up the chalky, grassy slopes, with the English Channel glistening in the sunshine beneath us.

Chris is an amazing guy who I first met at the midweek running club. He is the world's worst pacer who dashes off like a whippet at breakneck speed, and then is dead on his legs towards the end. And he knows it!

The point is that we're both greying, middle-aged and dog-eared, but we can still get out and mix it up with the best of these fresh-faced youngsters on our runs.. We're going to try and get a reasonably quick time at the local ParkRun on Saturday, though whether Chris sticks with me is open to speculation.

I love climbing hills and have perfected a technique which takes away the pain and eliminates the mind games – I count! Although, I have to say that my legs were like treacle today, the energy sapped from my muscles in the early morning humidity and boy did I struggle.

However, as I was trundling up one long, grinding slope today, with two nasty climbs, I thought to myself I could hardly grumble when you witness the ridiculous and tortuous gradients the Tour de France cyclists are hauling themselves up after more than four hours in the saddle each day.

Television pictures can't accurately portray the severity of the climb. 

I remember spending a holiday in Alpe d'Huez one summer a few moons ago, running up and down some of the climbs the Tour riders have endured. 

The mountains were the most gruesome I've ever run up, picking roads and tracks with inclines which left you breathless with the altitude, and demoralised while looking ahead at the never-ending climb. I'm sure at one stage I was running so slow that I got passed by a herd of goats and their bearded shepherd! 

Besides the physical effort of making those climbs, I don't know how the Tour de France cyclists are able to remain mentally focused with all those spectators playing chicken in front of their bikes, creating the narrowest of pathways as they try to keep a rhythm.

Chris Froome nearly came a cropper on Wednesday when a young child got in his way taking a photograph. Then there are all sorts of costumed characters chasing the cyclists, seeking their brief exposure of celebrity and it is a miracle more cyclists don't suffer from the fans' over-exuberance.

The Kenyan-born Froome should win the Tour this Sunday and deservedly so, throwing back the bitter-sweet words of the disgraced Lance Armstrong who said it was impossible to win the greatest cycle race in the world without taking drugs.

What Bradley Wiggins and Froome have done is to show how you can win the Tour clean. I have no doubt that the hi-tech programme devised by the Sky team under Dave Brailsford is clean. They have helped to invigorate the sport, and it is a shame that Froome's spectacular lone victory on Mont Ventoux last Sunday simply provoked layers of speculation and suspicion.

Armstrong, with his tear-jerking, saccharine sweet books, his dismal protestations of innocence and pathetic law suits, set back the sport for years. Team Sky is now restoring that battered reputation.

Watching Froome going head to head with Nairo Quintana up the oxygen-sapping ascent of Mont Ventoux was simply awesome to watch. 

The French newspaper, L'Equipe, ran the headline the following day “Froome Naturellement”. To me his performance was simply naturally brilliant.

I'm not the greatest fan of obessional and mealy-mouthed health and safety – it's there for a reason, but let's have some commonsense. So on a train journey this week, I was struck by the number of people wearing high-visibilty jackets at the station.

So what happened to the old guards, with the caps and the smart uniforms? Now they all look like builders!

I've met John Inverdale a couple of times. I once appeared on Any Sports Questions on Radio 5Live with John in the chair for a live broadcast at Portsmouth's Fratton Park. Beforehand, we had a long chat about his career in journalism and he came over as a charming man.

On television, he asks the best questions of any commentator, and whether it's rugby, tennis or the Olympic Games, John is the man with the stats and with the questions we all want asked and answered.

Now to see him pilloried for his remarks about the French tennis player, Marion Bartoli, during the women's final at Wimbledon is bewildering.

Just who were these 674 Victor Meldrews who complained to the BBC over Inverdale's comment that Bartoli “was never going to be a looker”? 

Now we've had the Culture Secretary get on her pathetic high horse calling for further action to be taken against John, and the BBC's Director General apologising saying that the comments “were totally unacceptable and fell well beneath the standards we expect of our presenters.”

Crikey, put the comment in context. 

Bartoli is a great tennis player, who won a wonderful Wimbledon final, but let's be honest she isn't graced with the greatest looks – I fall foul in both camps, by the way! That's not sexism, it's an opinion.

Much was said in the past of Martina Navratilova, Billie Jean King, Hana Mandlikova, Arantxa Sanchez Vicario - and as for Betty Stove and Francoise Durr, let's not even go there! I was always a Chris Evert fan.

On the television commentary, what John said was a remark which wasn't meant to shock or offend – that's not the Inverdale way – but to demonstrate how much dedication and discipline the French player has given to her sport to make it to the top. It wasn't a clever remark and John has apologised for it, but is has certainly not warranted the uproar it has received.

What John was trying to say in a clumsy way was that while friends would have been more concerned with fashion, looks and going out, tennis-mad Bartoli as a teenager was focused solely on her tennis.

In fact, the story goes that when she was in middle school, Marion Bartoli would do homework in the car while her father, who was also her coach, drove the 100 or so miles from their home in central France to various junior tennis tournaments. During the week, when her dad would finish his day job as a doctor, they would head out for a couple of hours' practice, sometimes starting at 9pm or 10pm

The witchhunt against John Inverdale is undeserved and unwarranted. It  is sad we have ne'er do wells intent on fulfilling their sad lives by finding fault in others. They should perhaps look in the mirror.

John Inverdale is not sexist, he's not crude, he is a gentleman. And he has apologised.

While John Inverdale has apologised for the remark, that should not betray his talent as a class broadcaster who ranks among the very best.