Some people wear their heart on their sleeve, Hashers wear their slogans on their back or chest.
Join us on a run.
It’s easy: Run (or walk). Drink (beer, wine, or water). Laugh. And shout:
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Tag: Hash House Harriers
A Stalwart Hasher
Yes, I am. Looking at all the hashing paraphernalia I’ve got with my name on, there is no other conclusion:
But our big weekend is looming. And the weather looks very wet and windy. So, although I will see myself like this:
I will probably look more like this (hazzled about sorting things for 300 runners and revellers):
Nevertheless, I am still hoping for this (and by Monday I will probably feel like this):
FOWC with Fandango: Stalwart
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My T-shirt Shelf Runneth over
Whenever there is a major Hash House Harrier event, we get a t-shirt as keepsake.
That’s one way to combat the overflow:
Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge: Keepsake
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I’m Good at Reciting
I really am. And I started early. I was in primary school when I learned a poem about a starving, freezing sparrow in winter. When I was called upon to recite a poem for Santa Clause, I chose this one:
Children, I am the sparrow. Children, I am shattered. ...
It brought the house down. My family has never allowed me to forget this occasion.
This is me quite a few years later. I was dressed as half a cardinal, half a rabbi and I officiated at a catholic-jewish hash wedding.
Palindrome On the Run
Our running group shouts “on on” to communicate.
But sometimes it just too long, too steep, too hot – too much! We go on strike!
Some Things Are Better Left to the Purists
The Ragtag Daily Prompt: Purist
Mountain Goat
I’ve mentioned or shown our “social running group”, the Hash House Harriers, before on this blog. One of the things that I really enjoy is the wide age range we have between us. Many kennels allow children but even kennels that are adult only (by choice or by accident) have runners in their twenties and thirties. There are no age limitations. By now, I’m sorry to say, we belong to the so-called old farts and there seem to be quite a lot of us. The oldest active hasher (i.e. one that goes on trails and doesn’t just sit around and wait for the runners to return) is Skinhead (his hash moniker). He doesn’t run anymore but walks the trails. Last autumn we were were at a place in the mountains of the Southern Black Forest, very steep trails, up and down. He kept walking with the vanguard, usually as the frontrunner -walker, easily outpacing much younger folk. He was 89 then and we are looking forward to seeing him as soon as the weather gets a bit warmer.
PS: We don’t just run (walk) together. We also party well together.
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