Becky Reports from the Field: Hashing

Last Friday, your author, who enjoys both running and drinking to the point of pain, set out on a grand adventure: her first hash run.

Modern day hashing looks exactly like this.

Hashing, you see, is this thing where people who are grownups take bags of flour and write symbols on the street. And then other people who are grownups run where the symbols tell them to go, but sometimes the markings are deceptive and they get lost. And everyone’s really drunk and sings shockingly crude sexual songs at infrequent intervals. And then afterward, everyone gets even drunker while standing in a circle and flogging their fellow runners for things that sometimes don’t make sense. And all the regulars have special hasher names, which are bawdy and outrageous, and everyone acts like it’s normal to never call anyone by their real names. This is something that people do for fun.

I had only a rough inkling of the protocol described above when I bundled up on Friday night for the “Jingle Balls” Hash (gentlemen, attach your bells appropriately). I expected drinking, low to moderate weirdness, and a run that in and of itself would not be taxing in any way.

“It will be so short!” I was told, repeatedly. “Like, a walk around the block!”

WELL, WELL, WELL. What did I actually encounter whilst hashing?

Not all that much drinking (on my part, because I felt oddly sick for no apparent reason…ugh, lame), EXTREMELY HIGH levels of weirdness, and a run that was, no lie, probably FIVE MILES in the freezing cold, with me wearing a winter coat the entire time because I had subscribed to the whole “walk around the block” myth and was fearful of hypothermia. (Prior to the run. During the run I quite quickly discovered why it is that people don’t normally do five-mile runs in their winter coats.)

Here are my observations about hashing:

1. WOW, THESE SONGS YOU PEOPLE SING. Because I’m actually twelve, I spent a lot of time wondering if you’re allowed to say such things in public places. I also spent a lot of time wondering who came up with these songs, because they’re really quite clever…in a grossly perverted and over-the-top sort of way.

2. PUBLIC NUDITY. It’s this whole thing.

3. After the run, I sat around and watched people make genitalia out of Play-Doh.

TO SUM UP, hashing was pretty damn weird, and also the run made me tired.

Several people have suggested I try a Saturday afternoon hash, as those occur during the daytime and are a somewhat different experience. When the weather gets warmer, I might…but I have to keep careful tabs on how many times I go. If I make it through five hashes, I’ll be “named” in a ritual that promises to be humiliating in the most awful way possible. As someone who develops Tourette’s while intoxicated and will tell any embarrassing story that comes to mind about either herself OR anyone in the immediate vicinity, it would SEEM like the naming process would be something I could handle. But honestly, I’m not sure I’m up for it. I’m not sure I’m up for any of it.

I’m not sure I’m up for hashing, period. I’ll try just about anything once (even if it takes me six months to talk myself into it), but I need to sit on this one for a while and figure out if once was enough…

(We stopped mid-run to drink beer from the back of a car parked in a cul-de-sac and small children huddled at the door of a house down the street to watch us drunkenly flail around in unison as we sang a song about a tiny dick. Dear Youth of the World, this is what awaits you in adulthood.)

Etching from HERE, Play-Doh HERE.