Run #1098 - Karaoke and Klimbing at Hannibal's

March 31, 2003

Hares: King Shit and Lost in Space
Where: Hannibal's karaoke bar at 6 St and 16 Ave NW
Attendance: 64

If we were a purely fitness-oriented club (perish the thought...) like those misguided but extremely fit people from the R*nn*ng R**m, I could say that Run 1098 was an excellent aerobic workout of approximately 50 minutes with some good solid hill training thrown in, after which everyone retired to the Second Cup for a mild decaf latte with extra milk, two sugars and a quiet chat about church. However, being the Hash, it was more like a bunch of misfits hoping for a short run and a long beer, discovering that they were actually going to have to put some effort into the evening and screaming abuse at the Hares for making them raise a sweat.

We circled up in the parking lot next to Hannibal's around 7:10pm. Skewbie had some announcements in the circle, Limp Dick forgot his name, the Hares introduced the marks, and we were off. Go West, young men (young?), along 16 Ave. Some poor optimists headed North, ever hopeful that King Shit and Lost in Space would keep us away from the dreaded escarpment, but no, 'twas not to be. The checkback and marks indicated that down we go, along the C-Train line to the flatlands in Sunnyside. So down we went, stumbling and mumbling, and swearing revenge. We milled around assorted streets for some times as we searched for marks, everyone desperate for that hill climb back out and heavenwards before our energy ran out.

Well, we found the trail back up. Up, up to freedom! Not. Try up, up, to a f***ing checkback. Oh, bless the hares. So back down again we went. Further East, through more suburbia, along the edge of the hill, to a check, and two trails leading up two paths. "Aha", said the collective mind (?) of the Hash, "We have a 50/50 chance of escaping". Chaaaaarrrrrrrrge! The Hash stormed the Hill, looking very much like a sluggish, multicoloured, waddling version of the beach assault at Normandy. Half went one way, half went the other way. The mob crested the hill and found not one, but two checkbacks. Oh, this was getting annoying. Not to mention that it was starting to resemble, ahem, exercise.

Back down again, as a few slightly brighter souls who didn't climb the hill found marks leading towards the Curling Club Hill. Oh, shit. But no, it wasn't the Curling Club Hill, and thankfully it was a short checkback up there (I gave it capital letters because anyone who's run the damned thing knows it deserves a special title...). It was the stairs. Goody. The last nightmare the hares could possibly inflict upon us. Up the stairs we went. Denise Austin eat our hearts out. Thighs of Iron, Buns of Steel? Hah! Try Thighs of Jello and Buns of Lactic Acid. But at least we're at the top. MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.....Oh, God, the damn trail is going DOWN the pathway. At this point, the Hash didn't really run down so much as collectively fall in a heap towards the Centre Street bridge. Across the road, and another run up the hill. If you did all the checkbacks, you did 4 hillclimbs.

At least there was a regroup at Tigersteidt for those people who felt they could keep a beer down. From Tigersteidt we just zig-zagged back through the streets to Hannibals, and threw up.

I don't remember much of the down-downs, it was hard to hear, but Dreary did a half-yard for his 969^th in fine style. After that it was over to the Karaoke where Smirk stroked it, King Shit told us it wasn't his, and Dreary got his motor running and headed out onto the highway.