Flemington’s impending celebration might stop a nation, but it also gets certain sectors moving. As trainers and thoroughbreds all over town intensify their pre-race fitness campaigns, it seemed only appropriate that this punter hit the track too.
Accordingly, the weekend saw me set off on 3 km of what looked like jogging, only slower. As I turned for home, I was really digging deep, deep into that space where a person’s mathematical ability is supposed to be. Taking into account the time and distance, would I have burned off 5 barbecue shapes or pushed it out to 6?
Distracted by these calculations, I inhaled a little seasonal joy, in the form of some kind of airborne plant matter. This particular piece of plant matter was actually big enough for a person to duck, but unfortunately it went straight in, resulting in a full-blown, public gagging episode.
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