For those unfamiliar with the running term "hash run", a hash run (at least here in New Jersey) is a cross-country run of typically one to two hours' duration where nobody's running really seriously and alcohol is involved at the outset, at the end and sometimes at an intermediate point. My running group does a hash a few times a year in the NJ Pine Barrens, along parts of the what's known as the BaToNa (BAck TO NAture) Trail. We generally do them in the late afternoon or early evening when the weather's a bit warmer.
One of our members, Jim, lives very close to the trail so we usually show up at his house, bring alcohol and sometimes a change of clothes and park wherever, then mill around out back of his property while the entire group gathers. More often than not, some beer (purely for sustenance, of course) is imbibed while we introduce new members, identify a "hare" (fastest runner), etc.
On this occasion in late May, my husband and daughter were out of town, visiting relatives. My son was at home, likely playing video games. I had considered taking one of my dogs with me (she loves trail runs), but decided to leave her at home this time (always looking out for her, especially before and after the run, can be a bit tedious).
We had fifteen hashers on this occasion - a slightly larger than usual group, but not so much as to be unmanageable. The atmosphere was light and sometimes a little bit edgy as we did the usual identifying of 'hash virgins' and other amusing categories. This wasn't my first, but my third occasion here. This evening's run was a brief ten miles, probably still dragging me out for nearly two hours in the fading light. Everybody carried a small flashlight for when it would become more than gloomy in the forest, toward the end.
OK - enough of the setup. You get the picture.
The group as a whole was almost all male - only two women were participating. Sue, a ridiculously scrawny wisp of a thing, somewhere in her early thirties - and myself, whom I'll refer to as Linda. I'm in my early fifties and while I carry a little extra weight around my hips, chest and butt, I'm not exceptional nor truly overweight. I'd like to weigh 10-15 pounds less, but who wouldn't? I'm around five-six with a graying brown bob with a flash of artificial color at the back.
Initial beers finished, we gathered on the street outside Jim's driveway as we watched the 'hare' set off in a particular direction, neon vest with a flashlight taped the back showing us the way. And off we went. On this occasion, the route was more-or-less a straight five miles out and then reverse course back. Somebody (Jim's wife) would be at the turning-point with "refreshments" for us when we got there. I was happy to drop back to near the end of the pack almost immediately, following the bulk of the runners ahead of me.
I'm not a fast runner, but I do have stamina. It's the hidden kinks of the uneven trail surfaces which get to me more than anything. And the darker it gets, the more likely I am to not see a bump or a rock or a root - any of which could trip me and send me ass-over-heels. I've received quite a few bruises over the years from what seemed (at the time) like low-impact falls while running.
I settled into a comfortable pace, falling further and further behind the main pack. I wasn't concerned for my safety as there were still at least two guys somewhere behind me. They'd probably take the first half slowly and then exert themselves a bit more toward the end. I wasn't in it to win any serious prizes, even if there had been any up for grabs.
By the time I reached the halfway mark and discovered Jim's wife with two coolers containing maybe a half dozen cold beers, I was sweaty and gross and in need of a cold one. But I hadn't fallen yet! So I paused for a couple minutes to chat and enjoy my refreshing Yuengling and then set off on the way back when I heard the two tail-enders approaching. Wiping the sweat from my eyes, I acknowledged them as I started back, vaguely recognizing them as two newcomers ("hash virgins") I'd spoken to briefly back at Jim's. One a little younger than the other, with the older looking maybe my age - hard to tell, for sure. Both in pretty good shape, though - I wasn't sure why they were so far back, except one of them was likely assigned to bring up the rear (for safety reasons).
The remainder of the run was uneventful other than one of the tree roots inevitably jumping out of the ground (not literally!) to trip me as I swerved around the parent tree. Ooof! I tumbled fairly gracelessly over my right shoulder and rolled maybe six or seven feet off the trail to the right. I lay there, briefly stunned, before making sure all my limbs and joints were still functional, before gathering myself and getting back on-track. By this time, I could see the flashlights of the two tail-enders in the distance behind me.
When I was almost off the trail and about to get onto Jim's street ("street" may be an exaggeration, as it wasn't even well-paved, but there were other houses at intervals along a dirt road), I heard the tail-enders catching up with me and tried to put on a little spurt to stay ahead - and failed, of course! Next thing I knew was I received a slap on my butt as one guy passed me on the right, breaking into almost a sprint immediately so I couldn't tell exactly who he was - followed by the other guy on my left doing exactly the same!
Indignantly, I put on my best pace to try to catch them up, but to no avail. By the time I made it back to Jim's yard, everyone was milling around out back with beers or other drinks already in hand, illuminated only by the fire-pit which also served to keep the mosquitoes and other bitey bugs at bay. There was a wooden bar-like surface along two sides of the pit area, giving people a place to rest their arms and put their drinks - quite a nice set-up. A few chairs were scattered around the other two sides of the pit area, with some people sitting to recover after the run. Beers in hand, of course!
We all milled around, chatting and drinking while 'the organizers' decided on various silly categories to hand out awards for, the idea being to make sure everybody received one award for something. This whole process took far too long and by the time we were summoned to hear the results, I was on my fourth Yuengling. This didn't include the one pre-race and the halfway one. Way more than I would normally consume in an evening, but they were cold, refreshing and went down so easily. I was likely also trying to numb some of the pain from my earlier fall, as my right arm and back were throbbing uncomfortably by this time.
We went through the various awards, me standing against one of the bars with nothing but darkness behind me all the way back into the woods. "To Linda - Most Slappable Butt!" the announcer read out. WTF? That's a new low in categories, although not up to the raunchiness of some of those used in the past. I threw my head back and laughed, then set my beer down on the bar and walked around it to receive my award (an old medal being re-used from some other race). "Show us! Show us! Show us!" chanted some of the guys, with more joining in until almost everyone (including Sue) was chanting in unison. Feeling very little pain and liking being the center of attention, I bent over and wiggled by running-shorts-clad butt at everyone. Somebody (I didn't see who) leant forward and gave me another, gentle slap which set my cheeks wobbling - which I kept moving in order to prolong. "Over this way!" somebody else called out, so I turned to face away from that direction, my butt now pointing roughly toward the caller. Another slap, perhaps not so gentle this time. "Ouch!" I responded - "That was a bit hard!" as I stood upright and made my way back to my beer, swiveling my hips as I went.
One of the "tail-enders" from earlier came up to the other side of the bar and introduced himself, complimenting me on my "awesome butt". I told him he needed to get out more. He asked if I was upset that he had slapped me earlier and to be honest, I was at the time, but in the big scheme of things, it was no big deal. We were all here for some fun and if it edged toward harmless flirting or anything of that nature, I was ok with it.
As we continued to chat, I felt somebody else come up behind me, a little from my right. This turned out to be the other "tail-ender", the younger of the two. He also introduced himself and then lightly brushed at my shoulder, commenting on the dirt (which I hadn't noticed) accumulated there, no doubt from my fall. I let him brush my shoulder and upper arm repeatedly as I continued to chat with both of them. Then he started to massage my neck and upper shoulders. I wasn't sure at first if I was ok with this (relative stranger, etc.) but it wasn't unpleasant and it was dark enough nobody else could see except his friend. And it did start to feel pretty good as he worked my shoulders harder.
He stopped briefly to brush some more forest detritus from my back, daring to go as low as the small of it, where the sweat still made my running tank cling to me. This brought an involuntary shudder from me, which I'm sure he felt and his friend must have noticed. Making sure I was mostly in his shadow from the fire, the older guy reached around my drink and pulled out the front of my tank a bit, peering inside. I'm sure he was disappointed, as my running bra is manufactured a bit like Fort Knox - tight and virtually impenetrable (and a real pain to get on and off, I may add, particularly when sweaty!). It compresses my boobs in place exactly as it's supposed to - running without it would be quite uncomfortable.