Hashing

In Ohio, I was surrounded by great, secluded trails to conquer. In Jakarta, you can either run on pavement or on pavement enshrouded in smog. There are a few of your conventional running groups, expat and Indonesian, who try to make the most of it. The expats lead a group at the zoo, which offers tree cover and the occasional giraffe sighting.

Indorunners meet on 'Car-Free Sundays' on one of the main drags through the city. The government shuts down a few of the lanes in the morning, and joggers and bicyclist crowd the 8k stretch of road. While people watching is plentiful, the monotony of running a straight, flat road combined with the merciless sun, makes me still yearn for the days of running trails back home.

This week I was introduced to a running group that breaks from the pavement and just about every other running convention I've ever known. I joined my first Hash. Hash running is far from new, and I've flirted with the idea of joining one since arriving in Indonesia, but hash culture is...unique. For someone who has lived a borderline 'prudish' lifestyle, I wasn't sure if I could hang with a group whose tagline is, "We're a drinking group with a running problem." That's what I thought it was: a hound and hare style running club that drinks a lot of beer. Little did I know I would be stepping into a entirely new dimension with near religious-like ceremonies and traditions. I hesitate even writing about the topic because doing so would be something akin to revealing the secrets of the masons. So, I won't reveal all here...

After an hour and a half of driving out of the city, we wound around some farms and orchards until the pavement ended and opened up to this red-mud trail. It rained hard the whole way out and continued to lightly sprinkle as we gave chase down the slippery path. My shoes each gained an extra kilo or two of mud with every step. We ran/slid along looking for little clues to lead us to the 'hare', but I couldn't keep my eyes off the rainbow over head and the acres of green hills interrupted by small waterfalls. I felt like I was running through Brigadoon...it was hands-down the most beautiful place I've seen in Indonesia to date.

We finished just before the sun sank behind the hills; soaked and covered in mud. As everyone came in from the run, I was asked to join The Circle - a small, white table with an umbrella covering and several overturned metal beer steins. I was the only woman surrounded by six or so men twenty to forty years my senior. There were two Brits, one Welsh, one German, a Scotsman, and two Americans. Each had a role: Hash master, Scribe, Song-something-or-other, and I didn't quite catch the others. I felt like I'd stepped onto the set of one of the British comedies Mo, Jamie and I used to stay up to watch on the BBC. Or, alternatively, it was like being wedged between the rated R version of Waldorf and Statler and five of their closest friends.

There were crude jokes, talk of politics, comments on Princess Kate's gown (once someone acknowledged the presence of a lady), all melded together and spurred on with distribution of beer in those metal steins. Beer was given out only to select members for select reasons at select times. It went something like this: Wasn't Lady Katherine's gown lovely? To the Lady Katherine look-a-like! (Hands me stein). And then came the song. Each beer was accompanied by a song during which the recipient was expected empty its contents. Down, down, down, doooooown. More banter. To the Yanks for getting Osama! Down down doooooown. Lewd joke interlude. For not wearing proper hash gear! Down down dooOOOooown. This went on for a least an hour if not more; I lost track after a while.

It was the first time calorie intake outweighed calorie loss on a run. Wow. But, if they continue to produce stunning landscapes like this one (kicked myself for not having my camera our pre-run), I'll be back for more.