SUBCULTURE
Shades of anarchy
A bizarre scene recently greeted townspeople in
conservative Lynchburg, Va. A circle of some 80
runners, clad in scarlet dresses and flimsy lingerie,
flapped their arms in a midtown parking lot,
rendering an off-key version of the nonsensical song
"Father Abraham." At the screech of a
whistle, the group--which included a judge, a
seventh-grade teacher, and other workaday
folks--poured into the street across four lanes of
traffic. Stunned drivers stomped on their brakes and
marveled at the sight.
Who were these
crimson-costumed jaywalkers? Just the participants in
the annual Valentine's Day run hosted by the local
Hash House Harriers, a worldwide, unofficial network
of running clubs dedicated not just to exercise but
to shades of anarchy. Based on the British game Hare
and Hounds, hashing, as the drink-and-run sport is
called, features a lead runner who marks a trail for
the pack to follow, with stops en route to chug beer.
British officers stationed in Kuala Lumpur developed
the tradition 60 years ago, naming it after a local
pub that had been nicknamed "hash house"
for its second-rate food. Today, there are more than
1,000 groups of hashers in some 137 countries. Many
military and government employees say it's the best
way to find a social group overseas, although neither
the State Department nor any branch of the military
admits knowledge of the sport.
With good reason: There's
an unsettling image clash. Runners arriving at
Lynchburg's post-hash happy hour had chalked their
names on sidewalks, mooned each other, and been
stopped twice by police, one of whom asked:
"Mind tellin' me where you're runnin' to, and
who you're runnin' from?" The answer isn't who,
but what: Spending a couple hours breaking every rule
they can, hashers say they are running to escape the
norm.
Marissa Melton