Hashing is not for everyone. It is a social gathering of active, outdoorsy, open-minded adults (18 and over, and in the US, 21 and over for anyone drinking). It is a regular opportunity, within a "safe" circle of friends, to exercise freedom of self expression, let off some steam and give your alter-ego free reign, knowing that afterward you may return to your daily role of upstanding citizen and professional, without judgment or damage to your reputation.
So when I laughed and said that on the many Hash events I attend out of town, state, or country, that "I check my dignity at the border and gather it back upon re-entry," I do so knowing that:
There are always non-drinkers in the group, always alternative beverages available, and no undue pressure or requirement to drink. I tend to drink sodas at a hash, especially if I am driving, and when I do drink, I'm usually nursing one cooler or beer over the course of the hour or so. Should one of our group over-imbibe, there are sober others who provide them a ride home, and see to each other's safety. We are responsible adults and good friends.
As succinctly described by Flying Booger, the Hash is ". . . a mixture of athleticism and sociability, hedonism and hard work; a refreshing break from the nine-to-five routine. Hashing is an exhilaratingly fun combination of running, orienteering, and partying, where bands of harriers and harriettes chase hares on four- to seven-mile-long trails through town, country, jungle, and desert, all in search of exercise, camaraderie, and good times."
Hashing is an activity that requires some athletic ability. You're on your own to get from start to finish, and often in the company of marathon-class runners. One needs to be able to stay on trail and to reasonably keep up. It is definitely not for the weak or vain. Sweat, mud, blood and scars are often trophies of great hashing.
A hasher is not one who balks at racy wit, songs or antics; and is neither offended at or afraid of running in groups of 18 to 800 while wearing red dresses or lingerie, or the occasional flash of anatomy inside the circle of friends.
In March, 1995, at my very first hash trail on the island of Guam, I found myself chest-deep in a stream, trudging through a dense jungle at night, hoping to avoid a nocturnal encounter with the infamous brown tree snake, and thinking to myself that the only way I was going to get out was to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I discovered that strangely, I felt more alive than ever that night. I fell in love with hashing, and have been avidly participating ever since.
My definition of a truly fabulous trail is one that requires all four limbs and a full body workout. My best memories of hash trails include not just running and walking, but scaling and descending muddy banks or rock walls, ocean-swimming, pseudo-rappelling and spelunking (caving); swinging from tree to tree with (and without) ropes, crawling through webs of roots or labyrinths of rock canyons and tunnels, dodging mini-avalanches, and crossing crevasses by either balancing on a well-placed fallen tree or taking a leap of faith.
I proudly carry hash scars on my left knee from a tumble in the jungle as a "Hound" (member of the "pack", following the trail), and on my right elbow from loose footing which landed me on my backside at Forbidden Island lookout as a "Hare" (trail setter, leading/being pursued by the pack).
Since my return Stateside, I've traded jungles and beaches for deserts and canyons, conduct regular post-hash sessions of pulling cacti-pricks out of my skin, and currently I sport a beauteous series of purple-greenish-black bruises on my legs from vaulting the series of six foot-plus walls in north-central Tucson with the Arizona Larrikins Mr. Happy's hash group last Wednesday night.
When I travel, I check out the hashing opportunities and take advantage of them whenever possible. Many hashers plan their vacations and international travels around Hash events. You get to know people and see places you never would on the prepackaged tours. Being a hasher plugs you into a worldwide network of like-minded, active, fun-loving people, who do look out for each other. Introducing yourself as a hasher from XYZ city/country is like an internationally recognized presentation of credentials within hashing circles.
My travel preparations include looking up the destination hash club on the internet and sending off an e-mail to find out about run opportunities. The e-mail response with run start time and place is most often accompanied by, "Do you have someone to pick you up at the airport? Do you have a place to stay? How can we help you out during your visit to XX?" from people I have never met.
Through my hash experiences I have made lifelong friends all over the world. International friendships and camaraderie - now that's pretty cool.
Hashing is a lifestyle and one that I'll continue to "run with." A measure of a true hasher is that when faced with relocation decisions the pivotal quality-of-life question - right behind "How are the schools?" - is "Is there a hash?" Positive response to this inquiry was prerequisite to my moving to Tucson and will remain so wherever life's journeys take me.
- More Sex, jHavelina HHH, Tucson, Arizona USA
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