ON ON by KD

In January of last year, I was four months into my glorious 40’s.  I had been run/walking for a few years with little improvement in my pace or weight loss.  I was quite frankly, getting bored. It was around this time that I noticed my girlfriend and neighbor, Ari, was looking pretty damn foxy these days! It was clear she was doing something that was working in her favor as she was toned, sporting an athletic build, and looked really happy. I watched for weeks as she came outside each Friday evening and Saturday afternoons with a large bag in hand, dressed in shorts or running tights with long knee socks, a long sleeved t-shirt, and muddied shoes. I wondered where on earth she was going.  Did she know she looked a little like a psycho nature nut about to embark on some kind of birding adventure; or hike through the back bush of Georgia swamp land? The latter was dead on.

I finally got around to asking Ari what was up.  That was the first time I heard the word “hash”. Okay not really the FIRST time, but this is not that kind of hash. Ari was doing hash runs with local chapters of the Hash House Harriers, an International non-competitive running group.

"At a hash, one or more members ("hares") lay a trail, which is then followed by the remainder of the group (the "pack" or "hounds"). Members often describe their group as "a drinking club with a running problem," indicating that the social element of an event is as important, if not more so, than any athleticism involved. Beer remains an integral part of a hash.  Though the balance between running and drinking differs between chapters, some groups place more focus on socializing while others focus more on running.” Quoted from Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

Ari, being very gracious, invited me to join her on the next hash run. She gave a vague description of how the runs are usually between 4-6 miles.  She also told me to be aware that the trails can go from street, to brush, to woods, to streams and then come to an end with a meeting of sorts; orange food? BEER!? I know she emphasized a few times in there about how she invited other friends in the past and how no one really ever liked it and that it’s dirty and you get scratched.  She said to wear long pants and maybe a long shirt and shoes you don’t care about….blah blah blah… I will be running with a friend and we will have beer at the end; whatever! Sign me up! I’m in like Flynn!! Oh, and the first run is FREE (most runs are 7 dollars to cover beer and food) and I am considered a VIRGIN! Who can pass this opportunity up? I mean really? So I packed a large bag with dry clothes, bags for wet clothes and muddy sneakers, first aid paraphernalia (I am after all a Virgo), water bottles, snacks, towels, money and my health insurance card. I busted out my long wool ski socks and dressed in layers, ready to take on whatever came my way.

My first hash was on an overcast and drizzly Saturday afternoon. It started at a local bar in Tucker, GA on Industrial Blvd. The area was littered with office complexes and warehouses.  It seemed an oddly bizarre area to pick for group run. There were several cars and trucks in the lot, and guys with dogs.  Everyone was loading their bags into one car and grabbing a bottle of water to go. I was introduced to the owner of the bag car, Ballerina Booty Boy.

Hash runners are given a Hash name after their 5^thrun. I met several people but I only knew them by their hash name.  I must tell you that most all of the hash names I encountered were quite dirty. Ballerina Booty Boy was one of the few names that could actually be said out loud in front of children. Most were sexual in nature, politically incorrect, or just plain offensive. But this all makes it so much more interesting and fun!

BBB welcomed me as a virgin and gave me a run down on hash markings.  “Look for the flour “checks “.  They will let you know you are on trail”.  He also gave a clue that the end of the run would be near a blue water tower. Ballerina Boy would be driving our bags to the end point. There was a name for this job as well, but it escapes me.

I believe this particular run was scouted out a week before by the two “hares”.  Today they would be running ahead and marking the trail for the “hounds” to follow. The hares set off.  We followed along shortly after with about 15 other people. It looked like mass chaos!  People were running behind buildings, down hills, through hedges and under fences. Someone was yelling "Are you??" while someone else was yelling back "Checking". Are you what?? Checking what?!?! Then we heard “ON ON” and everyone was off.

Next thing I knew I was scaling down a hill of muck, up another hill, shimmying under a fence, and running along another fence on a thin trail through a field of sticker bushes. At that point I got the high socks and long sleeves because I was getting snagged every few feet. Ari had brought along her Carrion Terrier, Loki.  The poor little guy had to be carried because he was risking losing an eye. This went on for quite a bit until we came to a clearing and found the next flour mark or “check” which had us running through the industrial park, across the boulevard , behind more buildings and climbing down into a creek. The creek had pieces of toilet paper strewn here and there across various branches letting the hounds know they were indeed on trail.

 Things got interesting very fast.  We were scaling the wall of a drain pipe under Route 78 that had a pretty deep drop off at the end, forcing you to climb and balance on a downed tree limb and shuffle your way across and back to drier ground.  After an uphill scramble through brush we came to a road but lost the trail. We ran up and down, searching for the elusive flour check, but to no avail. I was running with Ari and her sister-in-law, who was also a virgin.  It was at this point we met up with Star Whore and her virgin buddy who were also looking for check marks or an arrow marking the trail. We tried heading back down into the creek on the opposite side of the road but found nothing.  It was comforting when an elderly gentleman warned us not to go into the brush again because it was littered with snakes. Great!! We headed back up to the road and into the housing projects where we found the trail arrow we were desperately seeking.  The holy grail of hash!  The flour check!  We were back on trail, heading through the ghetto back to the safety of creek beds and water drains.

At some point during this time I thought to myself, what the f*@% am I doing?? I am an overweight and out of shape forty year old woman running through the ghettos, mud/creek/brush/thorns or “shiggy” as it is termed in land of Hash, all for beer? Am I freaking high or just plain Looney???  What I do know is that I am having a blast! This is anything but boring!  With the climbing, balancing, pulling myself up along creek beds and walls, running, walking and even crawling, I am blasting calories and having one hell of an adventure to talk about later.

We came to a marking called an Eagle.  This meant we could choose to take the easy way to the “on in” or end, or take the longer and more challenging trail. We chose to take the longer route. Why? Because we were having fun! We were also overzealous Virgins with delusions of grandeur; it ended up being close to 6 miles. We went through streams that were so covered in briar bushes that you had to crouch and crawl to avoid your face from being marred.  This was some deep shiggy!  I decided to take a moment for pictures.  While standing in this muck a muck, I slipped and came crashing down on my ass.  Sweeeet! I felt that for a few days after.

We continued on for what seems like eons, crossing a football field, walking through a cemetery, and searching unsuccessfully for a beer stop. Yes, you read that right. Most hashes have beer checks midway through the run. Remember the motto!

We were eventually found by some of the earlier hounds who came back out from the end to make sure we found our way in. It was now pouring rain, but we had made it!  And we were not dead last! I conquered my first hash and still had all my limbs intact! I owe Ari and Star Whore mega thanks for staying with the virgins because we would have never have found our way back, not in a million years!

The end was in the industrial park, near the blue water tower, under the overhang of an office building. Was this legal? Aren’t we on private property? No one seemed to notice or care. Dry clothes were found and shimmied into and beers were now in hand.  Good beer too!  No bud light for this gang. THANK GOD! “Life is too short to drink cheap beer” is the Pine Lake motto. You know I appreciate this, as I refuse to drink Bud or Coors light and my reason is I am not high maintenance, I just don’t drink piss beer. We began to form a circle. BBB poured some beers into several glasses. I soon found out they were to be used in a ritual of sorts, to be drank down by various members of the days hash for things like FRB “Front running bastard”, being a virgin, having a cell phone on trail and using GPS (apparently a major NO NO), wearing a race running shirt (an offense they seem happy to make fun of), having ones balls hanging too low, just kidding, but I wouldn’t be surprised!  Basically, any offense on trail they can think of to make you stand in the middle of the circle while they sing songs about necrophilia  “My name is Jack (nah-na-nah-na-nah-na-nah), I’m a necrophiliac (nah-na-nah-na-nah-na-nah)”, songs for the hares “Hooray for the hares, hooray at last, hooray for the hares, they're a horses ass!” All the songs ended with everyone singing “Drink it down down down down “while the offender’s chugged all the beer in their mugs. If you leave any beer in the mug, you must pour it over your head.  Then the ceremony ends. Cheetos are shared (orange food!), as well as chips, cookies and the like.  Everyone drinks up and then heads for home until the next hash commences in some other unsuspecting neighborhood of East Atlanta. On many occasions there is an “on-after”.  This is where runners relocate to a nearby pub for grub and more beer of course!

Speaking of songs, my favorite down down ditty was penned by a Pine Lake hasher. One Saturday afternoon hash we had run through Panola State Park and inadvertently run onto the private property of Georgia’s finest redneck family. We were corralled by the sons and dad on ATV’s. One of the sons was dressed in full camo/bush costume.  He looked like a faceless Sasquatch Shrubbery.  All were carrying rifles. Papa Redneck didn’t want us trespassing through his little piece of Deliverance for fear of one of us falling, injuring our self and then suing him for all of his worldly possessions. At least that is the BS story he gave us. They kindly escorted us to their property line.  Sasquatch was sure to make his rounds on the four-wheeler to ensure we did not accidently veer off the clearly marked state park trail again. The ditty went a little something like this “This land is my land. This lands not your land. I have a shot gun. And you ain’t got one. Drink it down down down down”. Good times! The end of that particular hash was actually quite a gorgeous locale on the side of a stream.  I had to cross in waist deep water while holding my beagle to keep her from whisking downstream to reach the on in. I ruined my cell phone that day. Whoopsie! Note to self; do not bring cell phone on the hash, or if I do keep in dry bag.

Unfortunately my time with the hashers was short lived as my dear girl Ari fell in love with a Navy man and moved to Florida.  I do miss Ari and I miss the hash too. I give credit to my brief fling with hashers for my new found love of the mud/obstacle run and my introduction to muck, mud, “shiggy” and the thrill of the unknown.  And for the record, I did earn my Hash name; Ram –a Ho-Poken.  That’s another story…