Every time I hear the rhythmic pit-pat pit-pat coming up behind me, a strange fury boils inside. As they pass, it's a struggle not to curse out loud. Only the fear of breathing in what they've just breathed out stops me.

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At first, I thought it was just me. For years, I'd kept my loathing of city joggers - or runners as they like to call themselves - to myself. I quietly suffered the intrusion on my personal space and inner peace as they thudded past in parks and on footpaths.

Sydney is a great place to visit but I'm not sure I could live there again. If the traffic on the road is bad enough, the traffic off it can be worse. Setting out on wh

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