Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Hares: Death Breast & Technically Foul
Start: northwest corner of Union Square Park
Scribe: Just KC
Last Wednesday’s Hash can be described in one word: HOT. Oh wait, Humid. No, wait, Sweaty!
It began in Union Square on an 85+ degree day. Before knowing it, we’re in Chelsea. What do you call west of Chelsea? Wechelsca? Is too un-PC to say chic GAY-ville? Y’all don’t believe in PC!
Suddenly and mercifully a couple of chalk arrows point toward an indoor and air-conditioned paradise where no running was allowed. Was all too tempted by cupcakes, the new Anthropologie, and a fountain that looked only a little too dangerous to stick my head under. Emerging, someone speedy presented me with two options: to run the highland park or to take a shortcut. I’m not going to tell you what I decided . . .
We carried on-on to even gay-er ville- a part of the city so adorable, my sweaty butt felt like an eye-sore.
Panting down to the west village- by now I am so hot and thirsty and sweat is getting all over my eye-balls. At the same time, I’m thinking how very attractive this run has been, about my new favorite neighborhood- delectable gayest-ville, and that whoever made the trail must be pretty fuckin’ trendy.
Running though Washington square park- reminiscing about smoking weed in college- right by that tree there- best quad ever. Who ran through the fountain? For some reason I didn’t- I think there was a concert in the way. Down LaGuardia- getting lost but there’s safety in numbers. we found our way noooo problem. I was no help- my mouth was far too dry to even utter an on-on.
By the time we reached china town I’m delirious. It’s toooooo hot! I very seriously considered swiping a bottle of water off a baby in a stroller. I mean, I’m running, what could the baby really do? Luckily the Beer Near appeared and the baby was spared. I don’t remember the name of the bar either but wow it was cool- again, uber-trendy trail-setter being awesome. Tons of fun in the bar, great sesame-seed pizza, everyone in their sweet new shirts. One complaint: my favorite foreskin song was not sung at the meeting. Barry gave me a private serenade later.