Even as a hasher who resides in Brooklyn, it's taken me three years to finally show up to Fluffy's Annual Polar Bear Run. Last year, it had started to rain or sleet as I headed to the Brighton Beach start and I turned back, and the year before I thought it was just too weird that anyone in their right mind would want to make the trip all the way out to Bum-F*ck, Brooklyn, which is just past my little hovel of a home, conveniently located in West Bum-F*ck, Brooklyn.

Arriving early with hideously cold temperatures, I immediately sought shelter in a Russian clothing store and found myself tempted to partake in an impromptu shopping spree. I spotted beautiful bathing suits at less than half-price which were perfect for the day's activities, a full range of ugly Hawaiian print shirts for less than ten bucks each, and gorgeously tacky bright red under-garments which would be apropos for the fast-approaching Red (under-?) Dress run. No purchases were made, however, as I was low on cash and can't speak Russian, and therefore unable to sign up for the lay-away plan.

We set off on the trail with camera gal Pipa close by, who was taping our antics for the Fox Cable station - something about how nutty New Yorkers can be and what we do to let off steam. (I'm not sure, but isn't it true that hashing is a worldwide phenomenon with more than 2,000 chapters worldwide - not specific to NYers? Oh well, I won't tell if you don't.) This was a pretty good trail with some good (or bad) checks, but as we all know, the real feature is the annual dip into the Atlantic.

Fluffy informed the foolhardy that the water temperature was hovering around 38 degrees Fahrenheit, with a brisk wind from the Southeast -- but spectacular sunshine made the dip a must to a brave few. With an audience of about 20 other hashers who happily huddled together on the shoreline, a group of 12 de-robed and plunged into the icy waters as if it were the Fourth of July. Those who took the plunge and their reasons for temporary insanity included:

· Scot Gleason, in celebration of his 100th run;
· Sarah DownUnder, to show off how good she looks in a white bikini;
· Jesse, because he was seduced by Sarah in her aforementioned white bikini;
· Vince Cloud, as an opportunity to flash his ass and flaunt his family jewels (we have photos!!);
· Roy and Ewa, because Roy holds the Polar Bear record and Ewa is up for just about any challenge;
· Ed Lynch and Fireman Bob, as a testament to their fondness for each other;
· Mike Andanov, in honor of his Eastern European heritage; and
· Sucks After Dark, because it's cheaper than an annual doctor's check-up to see if the ticker's still working.

After our dip, most of the gang jumped on a bus to King's Highway, while others caravanned over in their respective hash mobiles. Our destination was a new-ish bar that was immaculately clean and far too pristine for the likes of us. Upon our arrival, however, the situation immediately rectified when the cooks took it upon themselves to fry up a sack of onions, leaving our gathering area smoky and with many hashers suffering from teary eyes.
After a slow start, the on-in heated up after minute amounts of food were brought out and devoured, resulting in the majority of us getting pretty plastered. In addition to those who went for a frigid dip, down-downs were given to JM Roy, for an on-trail tumble; Mike Andanov, for sharing with us the fact that he wasn't wearing any undies; Sucks, for caravanning to the on-in solo in his oversized, four-wheeled hash shack; Vince, as (ahem) a visitor; Mei and her friend as Virgins; myself, for my new sneaks which hold about a pitcher and a half of beer; Pipa and the other FOX-TV camera guy, for stalking us; and Jerry, who was voted "asshole" for always planning the Polar Bear Run but never taking a dip himself.
As the night went on, discussion and coordination of getting back to Oz ensued and after much logistical maneuvering Elaine, Tom, Ed, Fireman Bob, Yi Shun and others made their way to the Whitestone Bridge and then somehow miraculously back up to Elaine's apartment, where she served a late night buffet of Boar's Head hot dogs, potato pancakes and applesauce. Satiated, Fireman Bob apparently took it upon himself to take a little nap in Elaine's bed, where Ed "came upon" him with some vanilla-scented lotion. Some where in there, a plant fell victim to Ed and Bob's frolicking, and a follow-up e-mail to Elaine left her even more perplexed when Ed said that he was sorry he was such an asshole. Reports have it that Elaine is still overpowered by the smell of vanilla all over her sheets, but Ed and Bob are closer than ever. Whatever. No comment. Let's just leave it at that. On-out.