Battered, bruised and back to work.
By Hannah Wallace
Well, it was a rough few days at work last week. Fortunately, CCB and I had a stress-relieving series of activities lined up for the weekend, starting with a spring training game Friday evening at McKechnie Field. In addition to the Pirates faithful, there were quite a few Toronto Blue Jays fans there. So much so, in fact, that we were tempted to start a Maple Leafs’ cheer just to see who’d join in. (We’re sort of restless baseball fans.)
We were in a hockey mood, anyway, since we had to leave the game in the eighth inning and head to Ellenton for a 10 p.m. hockey practice. I’m convinced there is no better way to kill the workweek (and your legs) good and dead than an hour-long, short-bench ice hockey scrimmage with friends.

Saturday we met up with Little J and Mrs. Harrible for a mountain biking excursion at Alafia River State Park. (I’d been wanting to take CCB there ever since he bemoaned the absence of mountain biking opportunities in flat Florida; Alafia, an old phosphate mine, has some wicked elevation changes.) With unicycling aficionado Little J leading the way (and putting us to shame), CCB, Mrs. Harrible and I struggled through some intermediate trails on two wheels each.


Little J demonstrates all-terrain unicycling.


Mrs. Harrible only beefed it once—although it was a worthy wreck, resulting in blood and some impressive bruises—while I went handlebars/shoulder/head into a tree, and later took a slow-motion fall down a hill when I just barely failed to make it to the top of a rise. I have to say, I don’t think I’ve ever had bruises on my stomach before, and I can’t for the life of me figure out which part of the bike caused them.

Needless to say, Saturday night’s Earth Hour was a welcome excuse to sit very still and quiet in the dark.

Yesterday was hockey as usual (two games; lots of skating), so after tonight’s indoor soccer game, my legs and lungs will have earned a day off. Dunno what’s in store for the rest of the week. I hear Richard Schiff is in town for the film festival; some West Wing-nut stalking may be in order.