Where do they come up with things like this? Tonight Nash introduced me to one of the most peculiar and entertaining recreational activities ever invented, called "Hashing." This bizare, underground phenomenon involves anywhere from 10-50 people running through neighborhoods or in the woods, following cryptic dots, arrows, and signs marked out in chalk and flour. Some signs indicate a dead end, and others prompt the group to spit up in three directions looking for the next lead. The markings are scattered anywhere from 100-300 feet apart, so you have to keep your eyes peels while jogging along. Runners at the front of the pack call out what they found and every now and then the group breaks into total chaos scattering into the bushes or down slopes hunting for the next arrow. The kicker is the end of the line where large letters signal "beer near" and the run terminates in a tail gate party with old drinking songs and verbal abuse poured on in good cheer. Then the boisterous crew wanders into a local pub to finish the night off with more drinking and banter.
We arrived at the end of 9th street in the Sunset, next to Presidio at 6:15 on a Monday, where a small group of runners gathered around a few trucks filled with kegs and chips in the back. Since I was the only "virgin" participant that night, the "hare", or the person who set the course, gave me a quick tutorial on the basic rules and how to interpret the chalk marks. Then, at the sound of the whistle, we were off. By this time a large mass of 50 runners had assembled and everyone suddenly bolted in all directions looking for the first clue. Nash and I headed down a path into the Presidio and were fortunate to find three flour piles indicating the correct path. From there, the journey meandered around a lake, up an access road, through a neighborhood, between apartment buildings and down tiny trails leading all the way to the Pacific ocean, just in time for a spectacular sunset by Golden Gate bridge. At times the runner formed one single line, or doubled up in pairs and clumps. And then at other times, when encountering dead ends and other symbols, everyone slowed down into a mob scene. The dead end signals served a useful purpose, slowing down the fastest runners so the slow pokes could catch up while forcing everyone to take a breather. It was an incredible evening, and everyone was congenial and jovial, chatting along the way and introducing themselves with their code names. Whenever someone does something stupid or notable on a run, they're roasted at the end and dubbed with some goofy and lewd title. Though, despite the epithets, the crew couldn't be more harmless.
Nash and I had a ball. It was like being back in high school cross-county, going on wild goose-chases in the Stanford Hills. The course couldn't have been more scenic or stunning. We trampled through eucalyptus groves, stands of Monterrey Cyprus, and across sand dunes. In the setting sun, the landscape looked like a mirage with muted browns, and greens contrasting against the bright yellow of the flowers and freshly cut grass. The ocean spread out like a shimmering blanket nestled between the Headlands and Pacific Heights. And the heather was in bloom, filling the air with its pungent aroma.
The roots of hashing stem back to a Victorian game in 19th century England. As far as I can tell, in the original game one set of children, called "hares," would mark a trail in the woods for other children, called "harriers," to follow. Another version of the game evolved on an English army base in Asia and involved running around and drinking beer. For the full history see the wikipedia page(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hash_House_Harriers). Today, it's played all over the world and teams gather both nationally and internationally on occasion. But, it's primarily a non-competitive sport.
We arrived at the end of 9th street in the Sunset, next to Presidio at 6:15 on a Monday, where a small group of runners gathered around a few trucks filled with kegs and chips in the back. Since I was the only "virgin" participant that night, the "hare", or the person who set the course, gave me a quick tutorial on the basic rules and how to interpret the chalk marks. Then, at the sound of the whistle, we were off. By this time a large mass of 50 runners had assembled and everyone suddenly bolted in all directions looking for the first clue. Nash and I headed down a path into the Presidio and were fortunate to find three flour piles indicating the correct path. From there, the journey meandered around a lake, up an access road, through a neighborhood, between apartment buildings and down tiny trails leading all the way to the Pacific ocean, just in time for a spectacular sunset by Golden Gate bridge. At times the runner formed one single line, or doubled up in pairs and clumps. And then at other times, when encountering dead ends and other symbols, everyone slowed down into a mob scene. The dead end signals served a useful purpose, slowing down the fastest runners so the slow pokes could catch up while forcing everyone to take a breather. It was an incredible evening, and everyone was congenial and jovial, chatting along the way and introducing themselves with their code names. Whenever someone does something stupid or notable on a run, they're roasted at the end and dubbed with some goofy and lewd title. Though, despite the epithets, the crew couldn't be more harmless.
Nash and I had a ball. It was like being back in high school cross-county, going on wild goose-chases in the Stanford Hills. The course couldn't have been more scenic or stunning. We trampled through eucalyptus groves, stands of Monterrey Cyprus, and across sand dunes. In the setting sun, the landscape looked like a mirage with muted browns, and greens contrasting against the bright yellow of the flowers and freshly cut grass. The ocean spread out like a shimmering blanket nestled between the Headlands and Pacific Heights. And the heather was in bloom, filling the air with its pungent aroma.
The roots of hashing stem back to a Victorian game in 19th century England. As far as I can tell, in the original game one set of children, called "hares," would mark a trail in the woods for other children, called "harriers," to follow. Another version of the game evolved on an English army base in Asia and involved running around and drinking beer. For the full history see the wikipedia page(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hash_House_Harriers). Today, it's played all over the world and teams gather both nationally and internationally on occasion. But, it's primarily a non-competitive sport.
1 comment:
whoo hoo!!! so much fun! glad you could join the party!
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