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Beach volleyball, boxing and oh, the pain.


By Hannah Wallace


Ugh, sorry, I got so caught up in working yesterday that I didn’t make time to post a blog. Rest assured that won’t happen very often…


Among my bigger projects right now is Biz941’s “Top Companies” feature, which used to run in the January issue but has now been moved to August—so it conveniently overlaps the mass Charity Register mailing (September issue) I have to do this time of year. Plus, it’s never easy to get companies to reveal their revenues; these days it’s proving darn near impossible.


Folks at our annual Siesta Beach volleyball gathering.


But at least we had another fantastic, relaxing weekend on the beach—this time Siesta, at Mrs. Harrible’s annual beach-debauch volleyball picnic. We dove around in the court’s soft sand until it got so dark we could only see the ball when it rose above the horizon. Then we took a moonlit swim in the warm water to rinse the sand off. Heaven.

 Of course, I had to rock the Cheetah Club visor.

 Seriously, how could you possibly beat this?


When we got home, CCB and I decided to order the Pacquiao/Hatton boxing match on Pay-Per-View—our logic being that we’d spend about the same amount of money to see the fight at Winghouse, and we would not be able to do so in our pajamas.


Turned out to be a fun fight to watch—all one and a half rounds of it.


But we need all the inspiration we can get: When I took CCB to use his first private training session gift certificate at Uppercut Boxing last week, proprietor and pro boxer Aaron Jaco invited me to join in on the fun. Er, “fun.” Jaco warned us that one in 10 clients puke during their first session. Joy.


I mean, it was fun to put on the wrist wraps and gloves, stand in the ring, get instructions on basic technique and alternate between punching stuff and doing squats or lunges or some other form of torture. But by the end of the hour, I couldn’t lift my arms. Dude destroyed us.


We’ve signed up for weekly sessions.