Rooted by Rooter
A small but dedicated group of men,distinguished, mostly follically challenged but elegant in the broadest sense, stand easy on a mountainside. What are they there for and why do I detect an undercurrent of fear, even though the body language is relaxed and the chat amiable? Square Rooter is the hare for today’s Male Hash run, that’s why!
He used to lay real runners trails but now, in the immortal words of Chuck Wao, “Rooter loves the doi. Up and down. Up and down!!” And right he was!
Hare brief covered the usual markings plus a burning bush kind of hanging paper check/Skiddy Sticks-a-like was introduced as eyes narrowed in contempt and distrust. Mmm we’ll see thought the pack. There may be 2 or 3 of them Rooter added, his popularity plunging quicker than the Greek GDP.
Semen Soars was the first to shift into 2nd gear as the pack were dragging their feet, OK let’s do it! One of the early checks was a harbinger. Up a steep road to the left I went, waiting for the ONON call from below. Nothing. On and on I went. Nothing. Skidmarks behind me. A property. Forest. And a dark uninviting path into it to the right. Maybe, just maybe….but I’d done about 150 yards by then…surely not…there it was PINK paper! Bastard! ON ON, puff, pant up a gully into the forest. A circle check. Two obvious paths. I went up and left. Others up and right. Eventually the trail was discovered back down and right…argh.
Turkish and Fishy Fingers took turns leading and even DRP got into the act with some inspired choices at checks in the jungle. The pack were pretty much together for the first half of the run and Kwazi popped up ahead of me mid pack at one stage just to deflate me altogether. DRP advised me to pass him but run quietly as runners on a false trail across the creek might short cut and catch up!
Turkish was working hard and doing a passable FRB impression. Whoring Monkey was steady, protecting his vulnerable ankles. Chuck Wao, injured foot and running in ‘slippers’ (Dutch version thereof), was motivating the pack with his Lazarus like efforts. Actually he was zipping along, abusing most of us, geeing us up, even singing sea shanties at one point. ‘Move your arse, Skidmarks!’ he implored. ‘Its not so easy when you have a fat arse like mine!’ came the reply.
As all sensible hares do to minimize punishment, the last part after a devilishly tricky last circle check, was a flatish forest trail, green, verdant, lush and dripping, leading to a road and there was the hare shouting and pointing ON IN!
Frozen and Dogshit were walking back together like star crossed lovers in the gloaming. All was right with the world until brutality and vendetta (the circle) won out. Dogshit reckoned it wasn’t nearly nasty enough so kicked the ice with his shin and developed a tennis ball size lump on his leg, complete with dribble of claret. Maybe DS will have to run in some ‘slippers’ next week? Excellent tasty fare from Turkish D and off into town to a couple of hostellries to undo all the good work.