Kuala Lumpur - 'Oh shit!' bellows the orthopaedic surgeon as
he emerges from the jungle, his face flushed and sweat dripping off
his nose from running.
'F***ing life-saving!' he shouts as he approaches one of the
drinking stations that dot the staked-out running course. An army
officer shows no mercy and shouts at the doctor to move his 'arse.'
The two Malaysians are in fact best friends, enjoy each other's
companionship and especially the rough language that is part of it.
They are 'hashers,' members of the international family of Hash
House Harrier running clubs, which follow only one strict rule: there
are no rules.
While clubs - or kennels, as they are called - usually meet once a
week for runs ranging from 8 to 10 kilometres, the doctor and the
army officer also participate in a Full Moon Hash.
As the name suggests, they get together once a month only. On a
recent Sunday they organised their annual 'ball-breaker' run - 28
kilometers in the stifling heat and humidity of Malaysia's jungle.
As after every run, copious amounts of beer await the runners at
the finish line.
'Hash House Harriers are a drinking club with a running problem -
or vice versa,' says Jega, who helped organise the ball-breaker run,
on the clubs' philosophy.
Hashers insist the running and sweating side by side welds the
members together as a group. They rave about the camaraderie.
Hash kennels exist all over the world, but Malaysia is where it
all began. The first club was founded in 1938 in Kuala Lumpur in what
was then still called British Malaya.
Some colonial officers became bored of tea parties and rounds of
golf and Albert Gispert initiated a long-distance run with his
friends every Monday evening.
The club derives its name from the annex of the club where the
officers were housed. It was known as the Hash House, hash being an
old military term for boring food.
The club's statutes were designed '1) to promote physical fitness,
2) to get rid of weekend hangovers, 3) to acquire a good thirst and
satisfy it in beer, 4) to persuade older members that they are not as
old as they feel,' says Jega.
He is also a proud member of the 'Mother Hash,' as the original
club of 1938 is known today, and has done lots of research on the
origins of the Hashers.
There are more than 1,700 kennels around the world, even one in
Antarctica, which aptly calls itself the Deep Freeze Hash House
Harriers.
At the recent ball-breaker run outside Kuala Lumpur there were 186
participants from all walks of life - a mechanic, doctor, petroleum
engineer and diplomat.
Some Brits are among them, a few Australians, many Malaysians,
and, yes, even a few women.
'The first time I heard the language here I thought I saw stars',
says Dr Malar, who is a hasher herself but helping out with medical
attention for tired limbs today. 'You either become deaf or leave.'
All members have acquired nicknames, many of which sound rather
rude. Like Captain Prickhart, for example, who did not run but had
earlier laid the paper trail for the runners to follow.
Every few kilometres, the trail ends in a pile of paper shreds,
which brings about yet another jovial task for the runners besides
exerting themselves physically.
'[The trail] continues somewhere within 100 metres of the pile,'
Captain Prickhart explains. 'The fast runners have to find where, and
the slower ones can catch up.'
'The whole idea is not to be competitive but to set your own goals
and beat yourself,' says the grandmaster of the Full Moon Harriers,
Rick. 'There is no accolade or shame.'
At the end of the run, he calls the runners to order in the
Circle, the highlight of every hash. All participants stand in a
circle around some beer crates and the grandmaster reviews the race.
'Bigmouth Monkey, get your ass up here,' he commands, ordering a
runner to stand on a beer crate.
There are traditions to which every member must adhere. It is, for
instance, strictly forbidden to urinate during a run or to point with
fingers, requiring the use of elbows to indicate direction.
Breaking any these traditions results in swift 'punishment' with
Bigmouth Monkey being sentenced to drink a beer in a single go.
Hashers who cannot accomplish that task must pour the remaining
contents over their head.
Likewise, hashers who run in a pair of new shoes must drink beer
from them, sometimes 'filtered' through their sweat-soaked socks.
As Bigmouth Monkey is subjected to his punishment, the crowd howls
anthems with lyrics like: 'Why was he born at all? He's no f***ing
use to anyone. He's no f***ing use at all. He might be a joy to his
mother, but he's a pain in the asshole to me.'
And during the next full moon, the hashers are due to meet
again to run, drink, swear, howl and enjoy being part of a
fraternity.
USA
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