"A day at the races? What do you mean a day at the races? You might not have noticed, but there are no horses here, or greyhounds either. What do you propose to use? Computer mice? Chasing each other up the desktop?"

"Use your head Madison. Humans of course! We'll start with a double footed jump down Tycho corridor, that's about 200 meters long. Then we could organise a 4 person 3 legged race. Get the idea?"

I looked at Chief Bentley with a new respect. I didn't know he was into fun things like that. Usually he was into lots of shouting, and his only exercise was throwing his weight around. I got my main exercise ducking heavy objects that he frequently hurled my way. As Head of Maintenance and his second in command I was his stand-by scapegoat whenever anything went wrong in Luna Complex. Pat Madison's the name, and I can hardly be blamed if he employed me thinking I was a bloke, but the fact is, he disliked me from the moment he clapped eyes on me.

"Sure, Chief. It sounds like one of your better ideas. But don't you mean a 3 person 4 legged race? Hey, we could have a race running the wrong way up the moving walkway between John Glenn and Gagarin caverns. We could suit up and have some races out on the Lunar surface too."

I was caught completely off guard, and didn't notice how red his face was getting, though God knows I'd had plenty of practice in recognising the danger signs.

"Madison, you're a bloody moron! One of my better ideas? Do you realise how much work and disruption this is going to entail? I tried to talk those prats at Head Office down on Earth out of it, but they insisted we implement the bloody thing as a regular event, and the first one has to be on the bleeding anniversary of the opening of Gagarin Cavern. They say we're getting too bloody sedentary and fat and lazy up here in the lower gravity. Have they ever come and looked at how hard we work?"

Well, they wouldn't want to come and look at how hard the Chief worked; as pen-pusher extraordinaire, he could afford to lose a few kilos himself.

Then that sneaky found-a-patsy look crept into his eyes, and he said, "As maintenance chief, you'll know what routes they can use for their races, what options are safe and all the rest of it, so I think I can safely leave the organisation of it to you. Get a couple of the lads to mark out the courses and provide any equipment needed. And you have a whole lunar month, should be plenty of time."

I was used to thinking on my feet, but the attack came too swiftly for me to weasel my way out of it, and I stood there with my mouth open as the full import sank in. My husband Adrian had been seconded to Tycho base for the next 2 months, so my husband Jeff and I had arranged our annual leave to coincide with it, and had planned to accompany Adrian for at least 2 weeks.

My thoughts were whirling too fast for any of them to stick, so I was still searching for words when the Chief nodded and said, "That's all settled then. You'll keep me up to date with progress reports then? Good-day Madison."

"Er, Chief?" I asked, "How long will our day at the races be? One Lunar day or an Earth day?" This was a vital distinction, as a Lunar day lasted 2 Earth weeks.

"Madison, were you born an idiot or did you get lots of practice? If you think I'm going to put up with such bloody nonsense for more than an Earth day, you can bloody think again! Get out of my sight!"

That night I poured out my tale of woe to my spouses, or should that be spice? Maybe so, as both my husbands were real sweet, gentle guys, and I considered myself the luckiest woman in Luna, except for my job of course.

"Hey, it should be a pleasant change for you, dealing with normal people for a change. And I'll be at a loose end, so I can give you plenty of help. If you need it, that is." That was Jeff.

"What? Jeff, you're not coming with me either?" wailed Adrian, so I threw a cushion at him.

"It's Ok for you, you'll be over in Tycho, and out of it all," I told him.

"I'll miss all the fun," was his retort.

Jeff and I did our best to ignore him while we put our heads together and started planning. "We'd better put up some posters asking for people to volunteer as contestants in the various events, with a reminder that as far as Head Office went, volunteering was a case of, You, you and you." I said. Adrian did suggest that he could organise the betting aspect. In the face of our objections, he reminded us that we'd get precious few volunteers if the Loonies couldn't have a bet on the outcome.

"OK," I conceded, "but keep it hush-hush. If Chief Bentley gets to hear about it, he'll want a large cut."

"We also need to advertise for judges and officials, and I figure that Loonies being what they are, we'll get more volunteers for these duties than for the actual racing," chortled Jeff.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Maybe each official will have to compete in a race as well. We'll sort that out later. It's getting late, and long past my bedtime. Let's hurry things up a bit."

Then it was a case of deciding which races could be run. The Chief's suggestion of the double footed jump was adapted to include a skipping rope, with contestants skipping their way down a corridor, with only double footed jumps allowed.

Balancing a ping pong ball on a ping pong bat while running a hundred meters would be a challenge in the low gravity, especially if we arranged strong random draughts across the course. We decided that straight foot races covering a variety of distances would be best for out on the surface.

Running against a moving walkway was adopted too, as was an obstacle race. This could involve running up and down moving escalators, leaping over objects placed on the track, suiting up and going out of one airlock into a depressurised section, back through another airlock into a normal section, out of the space-suit and a dash to the finishing line. Just as I was envisaging an almighty traffic jam at the airlocks, Jeff suggested, "This will have to be a race against time, otherwise most of the race would be spent waiting for the person ahead to cycle through the airlocks." Move over Spock!

"We could have a blind race, with the runners blindfolded and their partners making pre-determined animal noises to guide them to the finishing line." Jeff liked that idea, but did he have to keep practicing making animal noises for the next 10 minutes?

Another race would involve contestants wearing strong magnetic boots so they'd feel like they were trying to run through treacle on the metal decks. It was a pity the swimming pool was still under construction, or a few swimming races could have been included too.

By that date, after 25 years of settlement, there were enough kids in Luna so that we could organise a couple of races for them too. "An egg and spoon race might be popular," I suggested.

"A second honeymoon might be popular too, at least with me," mumbled Adrian from behind his newspaper, The Weekly Lunatic. "Come on you two, pack it in, it's late. Toss you for the honours?" he asked Jeff.

"Don't fight over me tonight my dears," I said. "I'm far too tired after being out on the surface all day, and in a suit that stank, as usual. If you must, why not toss for an early morning heart-starter? I'll be rested and fit to go by then."

While they hunted for a coin to toss, I was out of there and headed for the first turn in the shower. We were in for an interesting few weeks, and I sincerely hoped that our day at the races would be worth it all.

© Sandy Parkinson February, 2008 Word count: 1417