Running with a twist - meet the Hash House Harriers

(HHH Shield, complete with bottle opener, eating eagle runner and the "So What" mantra)

As many well know, I have gathered a great affinity for running in the last couple of years and thought that perhaps joining up with a Geneva running club would be a brilliant idea for combining the sports passion with a similar minded social group. Per recommendations from random people meetings in Tokyo this past summer, I thus sought out the Geneva based Hash House Harriers club ... with the promise of many a good laugh along the running trails.

And indeed, many a good laugh there have been ... I know not where to begin. Let's see, first of all, everyone goes by nick-names such as Frog Chopper, Hover Crap, Cats & Dogs, Sexposure, Tightass, Sputnik or Forest Dump, just to name a few ... the rookies are Virgin 1, Virgin 2 etc, until appropriate names can be determined. Club officers? Forget such drab and boring positions such as President and Treasurer, the Hash House Harriers are kept in line by a Beermeister, Grand Mattress, Hash Habber Dabber, Songmeister, Hash Cash, Geek and Trail Master. Ahhh ha. Geneva now requires not only a pocket atlas for identifying "weird" countries of origin of your collegues, a dictionary of the billion-and-one organization acryonyms, but ALSO an guide to understanding Hash House Harrier lingo.

Following group "stretching" (a phenomenon that must look something like the hokey-pokey performed by drunkards) sung to the song "Father Abraham had many sons", a debriefing is offered on the signs of the evening. You see, the Hashing is more than just running ... it's entails running getting lost, finding your way and getting lost once again as you attempt to decifer the codified course along forest trails throughout the greater Geneva area, which the "Hare" has marked with a series of different chalk and/or flour symbols that can lead to false trails, turn arounds, group meet-up points, etc. Essentially it's a fast-paced orienteering ... in the dark and in the FREAKING cold of what they tell me is Fall, but really feels much more like an Artic Winter.

Of course, the Beermeister officer is not there for nothing ... one of the symbols along the trail is the coveted "BS", shorthand for Beer Stop, where a car miraculously appears with ice chests full of beer and other munchy nummies. "Shots" of beer are poured - and chugged - by anyone who happens to look the wrong direction ... and more songs are sung, including "Why were they born so beautiful?" or the "Wild Rover". Did I mention there is actually a song book? Ah yes, that would be the responsability of the Songmeister ... running/orienteering club-cum-choir. When the BS has been closed with the appropriate songs, a short trotting brings the entire club of slightly off their (our??) rocker expats to the "On-on", ie designated dinner location of the evening.

As I apparently have yet to do/say something stupid enough pass through the coming of age rites, I remain "Virgin 1" and come home laughing to myself as I wonder how in the world I have ended up in the crazy mix of 90% British expat beer and sport lovers ... nearly all of whom are about 40 years my elder. (Indeed, we celebrated Cats & Dogs' 66th birthday last night) Crazy comes as crazy goes, I suppose ... I've yet to come upon a more entertaining crowd!

If you're bored and looking for a good chuckle or two, check out their website ... it will explain the whole Hashers phenomenon far better than I've been able to; I'll be waiting to see who starts a new club in their corner of the world :-)

genevaingear.pdf