NYC Marathon Hash
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Hares: Dr. Steve and Wet Willy
Start/End/Jeering Section: 97th and 5th Ave.
On-In: Crowe’s Nest, 2nd Ave. at 93rd St.
Scribe: Empress Norma
WARNING! THIS IS A MARATHON WRITE-UP FOR A MARATHON DAY. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK! PREFERABLY WITH FULL, FROSTY MUG IN HAND!
On a crisp and sunny Sunday morning, sensibly lazy and appropriately hungover hashers gathered on 5th Ave. by 97th Street – aka mile 23 of the NYC marathon – in anticipation of jeering their fellow overachieving hash bastards as they r*n by while relaxing and enjoying delicious hot and cold adult beverages (the only way a Sunday morning should be spent). I don’t know about you, but I relish a good jeer, especially when it’s earned. Upright citizens may have cheered the runners as they cruised (or towards the end, limped) by, but being hashers, we don’t hold to such nonsense. I mean, come on! 13- 16- and 18-mile training runs? On Saturday mornings? Denying yourself the pleasure of getting absolutely wrecked at the GGFM Halloween hash because you’re saving yourself for a 26.2 mile r*n with 40,000 other overachieving bastards? What the f*&k kind of craziness is that? That is not cheer-worthy, but jeer-worthy I say! Now, if I could only find the right pom-pons for such an activity…
Anyway, this part of the write-up is not meant to take our overachieving bastards to task, that’s what the circle was for many, many, many hours later (see Chapter 3). Instead, I’ve been assigned the ridiculous task of writing about the hash that Dr. Steve and Wet Willy set so that we could feel good about ourselves as we stuffed our faces with bagels and cream cheese (except of course for yours truly, scallion tofu spread rules!) and drank the aforementioned delicious adult beverages (Slip and Go Naked which is a weird lemonade concoction meant to disguise the revolting taste of Budweiser and spiked coffee, with dairy, boo! Next year guys, hold the moo juice). I say ridiculous because really, who cares about the hash on such a day? I know those of you who are reading this, sure don’t. Those overachievers sure didn’t. And I probably don’t either. But duty is duty, so here is the hash in a thankfully brief bullet format:
- We started in Central Park (duh) and got lost while attempting to solve checks laid in shiggy territory. Gee, how clever.
- We exited the park at 110th Street and gradually meandered over to the East Side greenway. Good choice given the gorgeousness of the day.
- A Chicken/Eagle split at 96th St. was strategically placed so chickeners could get to the drink check on 1st Ave. waaaay before eaglers did. Smart move.
- We watched the elite female racists fly by while standing next to cheerleaders with kick-ass skirts. Just Dan does a wicked impression of them, ask him to demonstrate.
- We slowly wandered back to the start to console ourselves with carbs and more carbs, because after watching said racists, how can one begin to compete? If you ever want to feel like sh*t about yourself, go watch some incredibly fit machine of a human being accomplish things you couldn’t even dream about. That will definitely do it.
And now, for a completely different perspective on how the day went, let’s hear from our esteemed JM, Eager 4 Beaver on his marathon experience:
The long-running-bastards met up, as we usually do, at a little triangle of a park in the orange corral parking lot – conveniently located near the PA system and overflowing garbage bins. The English and Japanese announcements were fairly restrained but the Italian announcement was so loud that we all jumped every time it came on. (And made your scribe even more hard of hearing than he already is) (PS – not an editor’s stet)
Per the hash marathon tradition, the women-folk spread out plastic sheets for the men to recline on. Plastic sheets keep the bed dry and prevent staining. In this case we just wanted to keep our *sses off the filthy ground. The great thing is that we didn’t even have to remind them to bring sheets – women are hardwired to just bring them. We feasted on Clif bars and traded Powergels and waited for our waves to be called. Salt Lick and her boy Just Ian and USMW and her boy Noah’s Dinghy were somewhere in the crowd, probably being all coupley. Team Helen Dole and Marie were comparing chafing injuries with Paula. Peter and Fast American Dave were in Wave 1 somewhere with the other fast bastards; Fire in the Piehole, Tit Totaller, Hot Rod, Keep My Clothes On Lauren, FMIG and I brought up the rears.
We went our separate ways as our waves were called up. FitP, TT and I were in nearly the same corrals leading to the upper level of the Verrazano. Last year I ran in steerage in the lower level. Running in the damp, cold shade of third class was as great as it sounds but NYRR was thoughtful enough to provide sprinklers of refreshing liquid along the sides of the bridge. I think it was supposed to be lemon Gatorade but it tasted like too much iron. Anyway, the gun went off and so did we – right up the bridge. The 3 of us ran together for, oh, 100 feet, when they both rocketed away, leaving my fat *ss to struggle up that godforsaken bridge. Even the guy running in full firefighter gear – no, that was not Fireman Tim – was outpacing me. Well, Fireman Tim was definitely outpacing me too, even if he did show up late and barely make the starting line (we’ll talk about his other abilities another time). Hopefully he’s a little more timely on the job than he was at the Marathon.
After a quick rendezvous – not that kind of rendezvous, as there was no hot tub nearby – with 69 Down and AARP*nis at mile 8, I was on my own to struggle through the boroughs until I arrived at mile 18, where Sarah Down Under and Manservant were waiting with sponges and fruit. Just what I needed! As I sponged my head and neck and started up 1st avenue, I saw that 50 feet away was the official Poland Spring Sponge and Fruit table. Hhmmph. No good deed goes unpunished in the write-up.
Since yours truly couldn’t stick around for the on-in at Crowe’s Nest post-marathon, the following paragraph is all based on hearsay and shameless gossip. Thanks Mean Jean for those loose lips! Go sink some ships!
The only down downs you missed were for Dr Steve and Wet Willy as hares. Then Lesley and Viagra Vince for shortcutting trail (wisely) to see the elite women at the drink check. Then the finishers: FAD, Devo, Fireman Tim, Jeremy Barger, and (I think) Dr. Bruce. Maybe John Lynch was in the first batch as well? (Editor’s Note: She conveniently forgot the “esteemed JM’s.” Perhaps not so esteemed? And where was Hot Rod, our fashionable haberdasher?)
OK, now that you know what happened from the lazy-ass perspective (yup, that would be me), from the overachiever perspective (thanks E4B), and the really-not-paying-attention perspective (go Mean Jean) here’s a chart that will let you know how much our fellow hashers truly sucked – or not – that day:
Hasher Total Marathon Due to Arrive@23 m Actual Arrival Actual Finish/Official TimeFast American Dave 3:00 12:19 12:19 2:58:01
Devo 3:05 12:23 12:27 ??
Fireman Tim 3:10 12:28 12:51 3:10:56
Peter Nguyen 3:10 12:28 12:32
Dr. Bruce 3:15 12:32 12:59 3:43:16
Marie Wickham 3:20 12:36 12:41 3:21:23
Helen Dole 3:20 12:26 12:36 3:14:28
Jeremy Barger 3:30 12:45 12:40 3:18:59
Fire in the Piehole 3:45 1:19 1:18 3:42:47
Tit Totaller Piehole 3:45 1:19 1:18 3:42:47
Boston Teabag 3:50 1:23 ?? 3:38:53
John Lynch 3:55 1:27 1:44 4:16:56
Eager 4 Beaver (esteemed JM) 3:59 1:31 1:25 3:51:26
Crazy Bob 4:00 1:12 1:48 3:49:48
FMIG 3:50 1:30 1:59 4:24:41
Lauren (esteemed JM) 4:20 1:50 1:39 4:01:23
Salt Lick 4:20 1:50 2:01 4:27:53
Ian Baird 4:20 1:50 2:01 4:27:53
Hot Rod 4:30 2:18 2:22 4:30:30 4:30:30
Jeffrey Levine 4:30 2:18 2:26 4:30:20
Noah’s Dinghy 4:45 1:52 2:21 4:51:18
US Marine Whore 4:45 1:52 2:214:51:18
Mastercard ?? ?? 2:26 4:32:33
And with that, what else is there to say except ON-OUT!