The San Francisco Hash House Harriers are always on the move.

 

 

 

This social running club, a part of a global society with chapters around the world, runs every Monday night in San Francisco. Members come from all parts of the world and are a mix of seasoned veterans, visitors, and relative newcomers that team up weekly to socialize, exercise, and enjoy a good beer.

 

 

 

On a typical hash, the team meets to relax, check in with their friends, and go for a quick run around the block. They spend their evening connecting with each other and developing both professional and personal ties that will last for years.

 

 

 

They recently broke down their evening routine for Business Insider. Here is what it looks like.

 

 

 

Muff Daddy stands on a streetcorner at 6:00 PM and always kicks off the hash with asking for money.

 

 

 

“I find the best way to set the tone for the hash is when I focus on people prying open their tight fists and giving me the cash,” Muff Daddy said. “I get here early just in case there are old chips left over from last week.”

 

 

 

At 6:15 PM sharp, Cuming Mutha arrives, moments before Hand Pump pulls up his white van.

 

 

 

Cuming Mutha has hashed in San Francisco for decades, so his friends and family know that’s the only place they’ll be able to find him. Luckily for him, his wife On All Fours is also a member, so he doesn’t get too much grief when he is at the bar late or when he tracks flour into the bed.

 

 

 

Cuming Mutha greets Do Her Well and Chicken Bone Her to sort out details the upcoming Big Gay Mustache Run at 6:30 PM.

 

 

 

Do Her Well finishes talking to them and quickly chugs her first beer. “Alcoholism is contagious,” she said.

 

 

 

At 6:40 PM, Do Her Well discovers that the hare left the trail maps locked in her car and that there is one virgin.

 

 

 

Before the hash goes off, Do Her Well likes to give chalk talk because the hash is contractually obligated to laugh at the 3-69s joke. Vagina Dentata makes an announcement about dues. The virgin ignores chalk talk.

 

 

 

“Five minutes!” Do Her Well yells. Just Doesn’t Get It takes off immediately.

 

 

 

The pack sets off around 6:45 PM.

 

 

 

Once the pack starts running, the kennel is fully engaged in solving the trail to figure out where the beer is. During the running of trail, Tonya Hardon and her colleagues help each other to discern true trails from false directions.

 

 

 

“What do you mean a fucking backcheck?” One And Done wails.

 

 

 

“We ran down these stairs—nothing!” Pepe Le Poop was lying. He had run around the block twice and come upon the back of the pack by accident.

 

 

 

“Are you sure it was a backcheck?” Dick Ass Mother Fucker screamed at the virgin, who had just arrived to the front of the pack. “Did you see three lines or an open circle? Didn’t you listen at chalk talk?”

 

 

 

After about five minutes of arguing, the pack stumbles upon trail again completely by accident.

 

 

 

Fuck Buddy sends Bitch’s Bitch running into traffic with a strategic On On!, while Just Doesn’t Get It shortcuts directly to Coit Tower because that’s where they’re going.

 

 

 

The pack remarks over the beauty and grace of one of San Francisco’s premier landmarks.

 

 

 

“Tickets can be purchased ahead of time on the SF Parks & Rec website,” Cosmopolitits advised.

 

 

 

Around 7:05 PM the pack is descending back towards the Embarcadero.

 

 

 

“Trail probably should be finishing up around now,” Good Shit predicted. He hummed and thought optimistically about what the keg might hold in store—perhaps some tasty Michelob.

 

 

 

“I could keep running like this for hours,” Hello Titties breathed deeply. “This is fantastic weather—perfectly temperate and not too humid.”

 

 

 

Looks like it’s time to head back up some stairs towards Washington Square Park.

 

 

 

“Isn’t this away from the start?” wondered Geordi La Foreskin, who despite being from New York seemed to have a better sense of direction than some of the SF natives.

 

 

 

“Where’s the beer?” whispers Can’t Eat Pussy in chagrin.

 

 

 

A car pulls up beside the pack. Eat My Pussy revs his engine. “Vroom Vroom, motherfuckers.”

 

 

 

Around 7:15 PM, the pack encounters a Turkey/Eagle split in Chinatown.

 

 

 

To the hash, the turkey/eagle split is an opportunity for the faster runners to stretch their legs a bit more, while the slower runners can take a breather, get ahead of the faster participants, and do some of the solving themselves.

 

 

 

“There was a split?” asked Wee Wee.

 

 

 

Around 7:30 PM, the pack has mostly merged back together, and it is time to find the beer van.

 

 

 

“Are you sure you checked the BART tunnel?” asked Worst Bottom Ever.

 

 

 

“There aren’t even marks in that direction!” protested Bierectional.

 

 

 

“Still,” Worst Bottom Ever set his jaw firmly. “That’s where I would stash the beer van.”

 

 

 

By 7:45 PM, most of the pack has stumbled onto Hand Pump and the beer.

 

 

 

Cum Test Dummy is talking to a group of hashers about a recent poor experience at a 10K, where the race organizers didn’t account for the women’s rankings. “I didn’t even get a prize bottle of wine,” she complained. “At least with hashers I know that my assets are appreciated.”

 

 

 

“We recognize that women in society are undervalued,” Good Shit Lollicock explained. “That’s why we are really encouraging whenever we see a harriette go by.”

 

 

 

The hash then travels back to the start. The kennel has two major trail locations—the start/finish is where the pack meets and handles circle afterwards, while beer check is typically somewhere nearby. The pack will walk between the two.

 

 

 

While they are commuting, hashers will sometimes listen to podcasts, read the hash trash, or check emails on their smartphones.

 

 

 

“I love both the start and beer check,” Backwash said. “It’s nice to have somewhere to walk to after we’ve really pounded down the beers at some bar we stumble into. At Front and Union, there are a lot of closed businesses and eateries, while over here in Sydney Walton Square Park, there are more prostitutes. I’m grateful to experience both locations.”

 

 

 

Vagina Dentata makes the best of both locations by using a portable notepad to record crimes and a reusable cup to drink his beer.

 

 

 

“This pen is my favorite? I think it’s a Bic? Is that what you wanted me to say?” he told us.

 

 

 

A big believer in community engagement, Vagina Dentata finds accusations from everyone and then settles on the ones he was able to write clearly enough to read under the streetlamp.

 

 

 

One major topic of discussion was how everyone enjoyed the night’s trail, laid by Fuck Norris. It was her first attempt at setting trail.

 

 

 

“The trail is always freshly laid, seasonally appropriate, with refreshing views that will ready the pack for the rest of the week,” commented Hand Pump.

 

 

 

Also discussed were Sister Fister’s recent re-appearance at the hash.

 

 

 

“You look very nice tonight,” Masterbaster complimented her.

 

 

 

“Oh, thanks,” she replied. “I just picked this up at Macy’s for thirty percent off last week.

 

 

 

Circle is a perfect time for any and all concerns to be aired before the kennel.

 

 

 

“What do you mean you lost your virgin?” yelled Crabs.

Tonya Hardon planted her hands on her hips. “Like you’ve never lost a virgin before!”

 

 

 

“Actually, I haven’t,” Crabs retored. “I have never lost a virgin in my life.”

 

 

 

“I barely even knew him. He was just this guy I found, like, in this other running group.”

 

 

 

“Another running group?” gasped Peekabooby.

 

 

 

All the important milestones in the members’ lives are celebrated at circle.

 

 

 

“Happy birthday Dick Simmons!” Roman Showers handed him a book. “I ordered this from Lulu.com, a self-publishing platform, using Dick Simmon’s own trails as mapped on Strava. It’s something I do for all my closest friends.”

 

 

 

“My last birthday I got a condom. We didn’t even get to use it.” Backside Banger remarked.

 

 

 

Still, the best way to wind down after an evening spent hashing is a short sojourn at the on after, the bar that the group goes to after circle is adjourned.

 

 

 

“Anyone need a lift?” Eat My Pussy screeched to a halt, barely avoiding Big Cock Chains crossing the street. Minor 69er, Dildo Baggins, Just Get It Over With, and Cosmic Pussy pile in.

 

 

 

Do Her Well waves goodbye. “They never fail to put a smile on my face.”

 

 

 

“I thought that was your failed experiment with botox this afternoon?” Just Doesn’t Get It asked.

 

 

 

At the on after, Tonya Hardon finds her virgin.

 

 

 

“Sitting here on a barstool, hanging out with my friends, I reflect on my key wins and challenges and prepare for the adventures of drinking this next glass because… oh boy, the ground’s coming up at me. Whoa there,” she said.