Word: groaned
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...before, checking them for leeches and squelching in wet sneakers. After three days of pulling each other out of the water, sleeping side by side and mocking each other's paddling styles, we're becoming a tight team of novices, and as we struggle into our sodden wetsuits, every groan elicits a grin of sympathy. We'll look back on these days as the easy ones, for we have the Great Ravine ahead...
...Piazza Carlo Alberto that is this town's real pride and joy, however. Sprawling over 70,000 square meters, the market is so colorful and bustling that it will become your ideal of what a Mediterranean seaside marketplace should be. In the shadow of churches and historic architecture, stalls groan under the weight of mounds of olives, vast wheels of cheese, baskets of fresh herbs, plump vine tomatoes and eggplants the size of soccer balls. Even if you buy?and consume?nothing, you'll find the atmosphere alone is totally fulfilling. The market is open until 2 p.m., except Sundays...
...take in the terrific fish market in Piazza Alonzo di Benedetto. But the town's real pride and joy is its colorful, bustling fresh-produce market on the Piazza Carlo Alberto. Sprawling over 70,000 sq m in the shadow of churches and historic architecture, the market's stalls groan under the weight of mounds of olives, vast wheels of cheese, baskets of fresh herbs and eggplants the size of soccer balls. Even if you buy nothing - which would be a miracle of self-restraint - you'll find the atmosphere alone fulfilling. The Piazza Carlo Alberto market is open weekdays...
...wins games in baseball or the notion of “clutch” hitting. Neither is likely true—all the statistics say both prevailing thoughts are myths. But every year, analysts and fans alike continuously praise “manufacturing” runs just as they groan about the unjustness of a coin toss...
...back door at Hampshire.”) What few of our rebellious impulses weren’t screened out by the admissions office are promptly smothered under red brick and ivy. Even our youthful indiscretions—despoiling the John Harvard statue, say, or running primal scream—groan under the weight of tradition...