So we wrapped up our time at Gwinganna in champion style.

My friend Megan’s vessel performed beautifully for her, through boxing and drum classes, through mountain runs and bosu ball balancing, through all manner of ridiculous aquatic activities. She threw herself at the lot of it.

I was highly impressed.

Then suddenly it was done and we were out of the compound blinking in the heat of Brisbane’s midday sun contemplating breaking our detox with a perfectly chilled glass of Pinot Grigio.

There was a short sharp dash across the road towards the restaurant and ping, pop, bam, Megan’s calf muscle said WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING BITCH?

And just as suddenly Megan couldn’t walk.

Looking on the bright side, the good thing about being confined to a wheelchair at the airport is the clean run through customs. Plus I got to demonstrate my sensational nursing skills, and I wasn’t even wearing my special outfit.

That is all.