ROAR!!!! And March is now upon us. After such a lamb of a winter, March's Lion reared its head unexpectedly. When does Spring start, I wondered as I stood bundled against the cold and rain. And where the hell was the snow???

One nice aftereffect of Rainy Days is that the streets seem cleaner and quieter. Not many spots in NYC are quieter than the West Village. Quaint brownstones mixed with low-rise apartments and coffee shops, the Wets Village has an "artsy" look and feel all its own. It is, by far, one of my favorite running haunts.

Few others share my admiration as evidenced by the rather measly crowd huddled under the awning of the Blind Tiger Ale House (actually the pizza joint next door, but they were unanimously voted "Honorary Assholes of the Year" for rolling up said awning in a futile attempt to disperse our gathering, and I promised I would say nothing of worth about them.) Another reason for the lack of runners, provided later to explain the unusually skewed proportion of 3 women for every man, was that the "boys" were visiting soggy ole London again. Yes, the Dogs ran wild, leaving me and Crofty behind to protect and serve the ladies. Oh, the crosses we have to bear... One last explanation for the small crowd was that several hashers had been spotted a few blocks away, gathered at a subway station. Do these people not read these writeups? Do they not listen to the entire Hotline message?

Rectifying this situation, Mike rounded everyone up and quickly sent us on our way. The trail headed southwest through the Village, eventually emerging along the remnants of the West Side Highway. Some people crossed to the Hudson Promenade, others, finding the real trail, stayed on the east side of West Street. Myself... I took the hard way and practiced my cross-country running down the bramble filled center divider. Leave it to the resident scribe and AotY to slice his legs apart on an easy hash! Turning East around 8th St., we ran into, around, and through Washington Square Park. Were there checks? Yes, but with the rain falling, we just kept running through them. The hares seemed to do the same thing because almost every check was solved within a few minutes. Out of the Park, we turned Northeast and crossed to Broadway, where we began the longest and straightest part of the trail. Every trail has a section like this, where you begin looking for a turn at every corner just because "there must be a turn by now". By the time we hit Union Square, we were losing faith in our hares. However, the obligatory check was discovered and trail sson found heading east. Before we knew it, we were On-In.

The 19th Hole is just that, a hole in the wall. Small, quiet, and, because of the rain, uncrowded, it served us well. Probably not a good idea for a Wednesday night run of 40 people, but our little group of 15 fit in well. Down-downs were given quickly so Mike could head out (we tried to make him drink, but he likes his car too much, so Kerry stood in). Then came the virgins: Welcome Heather, a former swimmer who now enjoys running and drinking. Visitors were Pam and Tight Lips. Pierre garnered a Down-down for showing up late, yet still braving the rain. I got one for my expedition. Finally Crofty and Alex were awarded for grabbing their 15 minutes of fame in the NY Times.

The On-In was pleasant, especially without the sweaty, stinky men bothering all the lovely women. The din was relatively quiet. Even the locals enjoyed our company, or ignored us and went on watching their basketball, but none of them left. I think that's a hash first!

By 6 PM, our numbers were thinning and I bid the rest "adieu". With a smile on my face, I headed home feeling relaxed and ready to face the world on Monday. Maybe a hash like this every night would help us get through the workweek easier? Could NYC handle that? Probably not, so forget I said anything...

On Out

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