Hash Trash #1171: Gravity: friend or foe?

Often when I run, I have a song running through my head.  It sets the tone for the run, and helps me shut off my overactive cranium long enough to get a solid workout.  When I’m running a long, brutal distance, it tends to be something steady and high testosterone, like Eminem or AC/DC; shorter, peppier runs will usually be something more bouncy and energetic like Lady Gaga or Veruca Salt.  During this week’s trail, however, the soundtrack in my head was simply a continuous loop of me muttering various permutations of the phrase “Cervix is a fucking assclown.” 

 

Under 25 to Ride, Bobbin’ 4 Buttplugs, and I were late to the trail this week, so I missed all of the magical moments the pack might have experienced prior to the beer check.  However, I did get to see U25 go down a couple of times, and ladies, let me tell you, it is not a pretty sight.  There is a lot of flailing around, followed by some weeping and asking for medical attention.  But, to his credit, he did get it up again and soldier on to the end of the trail.

 

I will have to guess as to what happened in the first half of the trail:

 

– There were a lot of hills

– They were really ridiculous hills

– People wondered if maybe they should have brought climbing harnesses

– Women, children, the elderly, and the infirm were abandoned as the trail necessitated a “survival of the fittest” approach

– The pack armed itself with pitchforks and torches in the event that the hare ever showed his face again

– Pump and Dump showed us her ta-tas (generally a safe bet)

 

Was I close? 

 

Anyhow, we caught up with the pack at the beer check.  At this point, the vicious hills had already given me a wicked enough endorphin high to start seeing colors that are not within the normal range of human vision.  As a side note, I wonder if only we could communicate this to children, we could solve the nation’s childhood obesity and drug abuse problems at the same time?  I know for sure that I wouldn’t have finished this trail if I wasn’t smacked out on something.  Cleanup on Aisle Three was definitely in the same boat – after pounding three beers at the beer check, he kept announcing to the pack how absolutely great he felt, even as we sweated and scrambled our way up and down rock-strewn vertical inclines.  My theme song changed for a few bars to “Cleanup is a fucking assclown.”

 

We ran, for a long time, and I think there were rocks, or something.  I don’t know, my brain stopped working.  There were a lot of ridiculous hills.  You know it’s bad when even the downhills are arduous and painful.  Slowman claimed that he was walking because he had torn his meningitis.  Or maybe it was his mastectomy.  I forget.  Anyhow, he was blaming pretty much everything except being out of shape.  At one point the trail ran directly off a cliff.  GAP almost dived down after it, but instead he rejoined the pack and somehow had the energy to continue to be annoying.  Then we kept running.  FOREVER.  I don’t think we stopped running.  I think it’s possible we all died running and this life that we think we are living this week is really just a form of purgatory like in the last season of Lost.  Oops, spoiler alert!

 

Somehow we got to the end, and we had a circle, which we were all too tired to care about.  The silver lining was that at least the hare looked as worn out and miserable as the rest of us.

 

For some reason, we decided it would be a good idea to get together a week later and do the same thing all over again.  BAH3: masochism is better in groups?

 

On on

Something Black