Many friends, upon hearing that I like to run have asked if I have been hashing. My response was always no although it was something I wanted to try. So, being that yesterday was my monumental 32nd birthday, I had a friend take me to his Thursday night hash group. We convened at the Smithsonian Metro and a rather large crowd collected. A few minutes later, a windowless white van arrived that served as a mobile beer dispensary and baggage check. I refer to these as rapist vans. I, being a first-timer (AKA Virgin) was called out with the other Virgins to introduce myself and identify "who made me cum." Cute.
A bit later, the group of "Hares" went out to define the route. 10-15 minutes later, the runners went out to find the route and begin the festivities. I was expecting a relatively gentle pace but much of the run was pretty damn near 5k pace. There were two "Shot checks" along the first half of the route where each runner is encouraged to take some drink. Fortunately, they were holiday-themed and pretty docile; although milk at the beginning of a run is seldom a great idea. After 2.5-3 miles, we arrived at the "Beer check" under a highway where the rapist van was parked. Options included keg beer and Natty Cans. Oh, memories of college.
After 3 beers and maybe 25 minutes we were off again. The sloshing brew in my stomach did not make for a pleasurable beginning to the second half. After a quick stop by the capital for a Bailey's and Cocoa shot, we were closing in on the end. The second half was more like a second 1/4 because we were running for barely another 10 minutes before we came upon another highway overpass/skate park which would serve as the terminus.
The rapist van arrived with beer and snacks and people milled about. Thankfully, nobody asked me to help with a couch. Then the lame came. At least 45 minutes of bullshit and song-singing all specific to hashing. Bring the hares out, sing a song; bring the virgins out, sing a song; bring the visitors out, sing a song; and on, and on... some of the folks are way into the scene. Tattoos of feet with "on-on" (a hash thing) is a great way to show one's inability to grow up.
The bar they designated for the post-party was Remington's, a gay bar. Alex and I grew tired of the zoo and decided to head out. Entering a gay bar with a group of 30+ others and people know it's a mixed event. Entering a gay bar as two sweet-looking dudes and people might get the wrong impression. Thus, we went over to Barracks Row to grab some drinks for my birthday.
I could see hashing being a good time and something to break up the monotony, liven up running, and meet some fun people but I doubt I'll be doing it again. Just like my experiment with adult kickball; I feel like I'm channeling the good Sgt. Murtaugh.
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