What with the success of "Shrek" and the almost-ran, "Atlantis",
I thought this write-up should follow suit and adopt a style commonly know as
"warped-pastoral-hearkening-back-to-mythic-past". (Sure, "Lipstick Leslie Birthday
Run" has its appeal, as most guys would attest, but you're bound to get some
wank when you have a guest scribe.) That said, the name of this run has been
re-dubbed, "Mouldy Socks and the Three Hares."
The quest began as I shouldered my belongings and haberdashery bag and trolled
down into the dank cavern of the 57th St N & R station. Bad omens everywhere
- letting 2 overstuffed trains go by on 2 separate lines, standing near a woman
screaming "Shut the f*ck up!" to her 2 screaming daughters, I was happy to emerge
into the relative daylight of 110th & Lexington. Not the most scenic spot for
a start, and the skies were darkening. Sticky was engaged in an interview with
someone from a gaming magazine, and his sidekick, a woman whose green hair nicely
complemented her khaki pants - a goblin? We milled around, waiting for the Three
Hares, mumbling about the heat, the imminent thunderstorm and the Corporate
Challenge Giant said to have taken over Central Park. I hoped for a short run.
(As the resident lazy bastard, I always hope for a short run), but as Fireman
Bob arrived looking sweaty, Ed Lunch caked in flour and Lipstick on a bicycle
(I may have been imagining this - either heat stroke or acid flashback), my
little hobbit heart sank. Fireman B. begins, "Has anyone got any chalk?" Further
sinking. Then something to the effect, "The run is set in flour and chalk…but
if it rains, you're in the shit." Heart now in my tiny curly-toed leprechaun
slippers. Fireman B. then explained the markings to the 2 virgins and Ed pointed
us east, after saying there were 3 water checks and some scenic porta-potties
in case we'd over-indulged in the water potions.
The merry pack of travellers gamboled toward the park and up into the 102 (or
106th?) street entrance. Here, I get fuzzy, possibly due to the magic beans
I'd purchased from a little man in a pimp hat. I do believe we snaked around
Harlem Meer, hoping to catch a glimpse of the water Jaberwocky, aka the resident
spectacled caiman. (I could swear I heard some of our male contingent talking
of vanquishing the creature with their mighty swords…but guys, keep in mind,
this is a fairytale after all). Then we ran up hills and down shiggy dales (all
very green and enchanting) on the west side with some clever little loop backs
which had people like me, who mindlessly follow trail uneccessarily running
up steps and hills only to run down them again. Running past a group of park
bench sitters I got the comment, "Whoa! Go Greta! (Now I'm a big Waitz fan,
but was that sarcasm or myopia?) Around Harlem Meer it began raining. Heavily.
I took momentary shelter underneath the shade of a magic oak tree as others
were checking for rapidly-disappearing chalk marks. The magic began immediately,
with a contact high generated by some locals engaging in some recreational weed
usage. We lost trail on the west side around 106th Street, by which time Scottish
Lesley's glass slippers were unrecognizable and Fluffy's carriage was morphing
into a pumpkin. As we were moping around, the gallant Prince English Andrew
offered to carry me away on his iron steed to a place of rest and shelter. Or
maybe it was "Hey, Sarah! My car is just 2 blocks away. We should get in and
drive to Hooligan's!" (It should be noted here that most of us had a suspicion
our old favourite, Hooligans, would be the site of the on-in, yet continued
to attempt to follow pink chalk in Harlem.) Silly me. I refused. The trail was
found heading north, and at some point involved Morningside Park, and a lot
of streets from 115th to 122nd on the west side. At this point, the pack had
split up, and I was running with Birthday Boy Jesse, Tennessee Rick and newbie
Terry. As to the remainder of the pack, who knows where they were. Alison of
the Rapunzel hair fame had the right idea - she was hashing on her bicycle,
long gone in the distance. The locals were all very obliging and we were encouraged
along by comments such as "Faster, faster. You're WAY behind!" and, "They went
that way! Hey! We won't bite ya!" Rick even took it upon himself to teach a
rather eager young, nubile local how to hash. She ran about half a block with
him until she realised that her platforms were going to be damaged. When we
headed back into Marcus Garvey Park for the second time, I dropped my ladylike
demeanour, threw aside my veil and swore. Jesse extracted his sorcerer's cordless
phone and dialed the hotline. We were caught in a time warp. Apparently it was
again Monday 18th and we were in Queens -- no new hotline. This motif of repetition
reared its dragon head as we awoke from our bad dream to notice we had just
passed the 110th and Lex subway stop, at which point was the chicken-eagle split
AND the on-in location. Our shoes, of their own accord, began clicking and chanting
"There's no place like home. There's no place like home" and the trail went
the way of the wicked witch. And it began to rain. Making it to Hooligans, I
discovered there were quite a number of people there already and I sulked off
to the bathroom to have the fairy godmother transform me into something less
damp and grumpy. Being out of pixie dust, it took her longer than usual. She's
fired. Food was being laid out as I emerged. Alice arrived. Peter decided in
the interests of preventing wholesale snaffling of the wings (tempted here to
make reference to the 3 little pigs…) that down-downs should be conducted. They
began with the hares and Lipstick did her fine version of the porn star audition
with her swallowing. Fireman Bob and Lunch Lynch were much less adventurous
and swallowed voraciously, but without as much imagination. Virgins, Mike "the
Asshole" and Terry "Danger", were next. The rabbit ears were produced and it
was a 2-way tie between Lesley and Ewa who took shortcutting to such heights
that Ewa actually arrived at the bar before the hares. (Note to self: Get the
wise tortoise to tutor me. Skip off singing "If I only had a brain…") Lesley
got the ears, purely because Ewa was coveting them. English Andrew got the "Slowpoke"
(try bifurcating that word) award for challenging several toddlers from el barrio
to a drag race, and getting his sorry UK ass (apologies, "arse") whipped. Birthday
down-downs were given to Jesse, Lipstick, Ted and Fluffy. AOTW went to Newbie
Mike, for conning fellow newbie, Terry, into giving THEMSELVES nicknames in
order to "fit in". (Note to hashers: Mike is henceforth known as "Plunger".)
That over, the ravenous hordes threw themselves upon the food. We love Hooligans.
Mass quantities of food. There were even leftovers, and they serve Shepherd's
Pie. Non-English Andrew managed to show up in time for the food, having just
run the bunfight they refer to as the Corporate Challenge, along with 25,000
other corporate types, including our very own Heather. (You have to admire a
man who likes Shepherd's Pie and then is up for two consecutive shots of tequila.)
After having downed several beers, located AC/DC and Abba on the juke box with
the aid of Crusty and polishing off my second tequila, things were getting rather
oddly surreal. I told the 7 dwarfs I would neither cook nor clean for them and
bolted for the door. And, following that, I'm sure we all lived happily ever
after, Thursday hangovers aside. On out.