Walking off the L train, I saw a familiar back. A few weeks ago, some writeup touted the advantages of a back running bastard (BRbeauty?). However, the scribe left out two rather important benefits. One, the ability to recognize people from their backs. And two, the privilege of surreptitiously admiring the backsides of cute runners in their ever-so-tight running pants (perhaps the only good thing about the cold weather!). At the BH3 holiday circle, we huddled against the cold. Jostling, positioning ourselves behind the larger wind-blocking hashers. Few cared enough to wear a holiday hangover item, although two brave (read daft) hashers did don on the shorts. We didn't wank around too long, the frigid air was freezing parts of anatomies that need not ever meet the chill. The one virgin, a veritable babyface from Michigan (do you guys card?) was briefed. Jokes abounded yet again about how real runners find some mysterious link to the hash web page. And how they never come back. And we're off...goin' acheckin. Checking, checking, check after check. The check is in the mail, check it out, check it off, Chubby Checkers, King me! There were checks . . . Too much of a good thing? Luckily, the FRB's checked with alacrity. In fact, their enthusiasm could not be checked, and they ran at one point back to an old check on the trail. Notables from the run were running along the river admiring the real city across the way, the hip groovy bi-level disco we passed hidden on one abandoned street, and the very helpful woman who tattled on the FRB's when they, unchecked, ran off. Finally we arrived on home, and up. . . to a fireplace! And leather couches, and booths and lemony water? Is this a hash? And dainty women drinking buff beer with their tea finger out? Meat eaters stuffed their faces with the chicken wings and blue cheese, while the more polite of us had to wait. Oy! Oy! And we circled up. Hares Jerry and Janet were thanked. Brooklyn virgins and the water-drinking baby face down downed. There were sins but you remember what they were (I was tagged post hash to write this, apologies). Oh! Peter for being all suspended up and no one to do. Some late comers came only for the glitzy party . . . Crofty to name one. The food was unveiled and scarfed down hash style. Kudos on the veggies, and if the carnivores could stop licking their hands, they might say the flesh was equally good. Where's the beer? I finally met Hedgehog, a Westchester Hasher who will be off to Interhash come February. At last count, there'll be 4 of us. From a city of what is it now 8 million? There are 4 interhash participants. Sucks for you, I'll bring back pictures . . . or pitchers maybe, or maybe just some good stories. One last ballyhoo -- ih2000.com! As we mumbled about, a cake, afire, was brought out and Ariane's birthday was celebrated, happy birthday fuck you! Christmas and hash songs were scattered about but nothing stuck. Beer seemed to be the only flurry that didn't flounder. Talk of New Year's and how many of us would finally be seen in civilian clothing. To quote Michele from a previous night, "I clean up well." That can be said for most hashers I suppose. The beer kept coming and coming and all of a sudden it was 10:30 and we were stuck in the middle of Brooklyn. One more wink to the cute bartender brought on one more pitcher and plans were made to hike to the subway. As a car took the highfalutin hoity toities away, we (Timmy, Debbie, John and I), with containers of food, trudged out and back along the trail to the J, M or Z. Subway letters I had yet to have the pleasure of meeting. We got on one and it headed over the bridge. The view was nice, but the ride was loooonnnngggg. Nevertheless, as a virgin bh'er (any excuse to be a virgin again, can you ever go back?), it was well worth the trip. Great run, superb on-in! That pub is crying for a summer bbq! As the New Year is upon us, I leave off with some advice about the road of hash and life, consider it Mickey Mouth's moniker. From Grooks by Piet Hein: "The Road to Wisdom":
The road to wisdom? - well it's plain
And simple to express
Err
And err
And err again
But less
And less
And less
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