HHH, Are You Tough Enough?

The Malaysian Tourist board owe Karyn and I a sizable commission cheque. We have been living here for just under 2 years, and there isn’t too many places we haven’t visited. We have encouraged countless visitors and local friends to go explore.

Whether you want the hustle and bustle of an Asian city, or the tranquility of old traditional temples. Rock climbing on amazing steep limestone, or mountaineering on exposed granite at altitude. SCUBA dive in search of Nemo or just or lying on a desolate beach.Malaysia is a very good place to take a holiday.

At some point, I’ll stop “getting away with it”. I’ll wake up to the reality they have found me out, and are shipping us back to somewhere less Tropical. However until that day comes, we’re continuing to fill every minute.

I have a short mental list of things we must do before we get deported back to the UK. Running “The Hash” has featured on this list for some time.

I had read about the Hash House Harriers many years ago, however when my company asked me to take up post in KL, I never linked the two.
It took a scan through a copy of the Lonely Planet to realize the crazy tradition actually originated in Kuala Lumpur.

I fancied doing one, however the thought of running through thick jungle in 35 degrees heat and 90% humidity, brought back a flood of TV memories.
I love the story of the guy in the Railway, who shouted to the German, as he was leaving the office for a walk down Buchanan Street, one unusually sunny lunchtime in Glasgow. “ Ho Graham! You watch yirself oot there. Everyone knows your sh:te in the heat”

The fact is, Scottish folk are generally all sh:te in the heat. We’re not that well adapted to exercise in the Tropics. One visitor I had last year told me the minute he stepped out the shower, he felt like he needed a shower. Any sort of physical exercise, results in heavy sweating. Now days I define physical exercise in much broader terms, which includes carrying shopping from the car to the lift, or walking across the car-park to get to the shopping center.
The thought of long distance running took 6 months to even contemplate. Even then, I tried a wee road run with embarrassing results. After 1.5miles, I wished I had brought along the fare for an Air-Con Taxi. After 3 miles, I was walking, feeling sick and looking more like a capsized canoeist, than a runner.
Nevertheless, the longer we live in the heat, the more accustomed our bodies seem to become.


I also visited a couple of website, which were full of “Hash Jargon”. I realize to the dedicated Hasher, this is no different than our beloved NOBRA p:sh patter, but … it’s was crap patter, which only a NOBRA member will understand is much worse then our pish patter ???
It actually put me off, so I dropped the idea.

And then there’s the wildlife to consider. The jungles around KL are wild places. In a country, which still has wild Elephants, dangerous reptiles and the occasional tiger, remote outdoor sport is a serious under-taking. The worried looking Glaswegian in the photo below is me. The local guys are foolishly looking at me for advice. This is a 10ft long Malaysian Python, caught in the receiving area of our facility. The other picture is of a Cobra, caught just last week. I work in a factory in a built-up area, 15K west of Kuala Lumpur. Hardly out in the sticks.





But I can’t live in KL and not take part in at least one of the Hash races, so I check out the Petaling Jaya Hash website for details. The directions on how to get to the start, are given as an intricate plan. The whole thing has an air of secrecy about it, which reminds me of a Rave in Glasgow during the early 1990’s. I’m starting to like it, so I copy down the details and let Karyn know I’m going outside, and maybe some time.

By 4:15pm on Saturday evening, in the middle of nowhere, 65 KM north of KL, in the blistering sun, 60 runners assemble around an old van, full of Tiger beer, and bottles of water. The race organizer explains the format for the race very briefly, blasts a big air horn, and off we go into the thick of the jungle. And I mean thick!

I quickly realized I was right at the front within the first 5mins. This was unfamiliar territory for me, since I typically find myself further back in the field. I knew my fitness had not developed significantly since coming to Malaysia, and doubting some late developing natural ability, I knew something was wrong. Racing snakes were behind me, while real snakes were probably up in front.

We were following a trail of paper, with a Dennis the Menace logo printed on one side. Then suddenly, without warning, the trail ran out.

The couple of guys in front of me shout 'Searchin' and head off in different directions, leaving me standing, wondering what to do next. I decide to go straight on, and start my own search for Dennis. The route is silent for about 100meters. The theory being, as the front-runners try to sniff out the trail, the slower runners catch-up. When the trail is located, the finder shouts 'On On', and the lemmings (covered in leaches!) follow on. The front-runners, who are out searching in a different direction, then try to catch-up again, and effectively the race starts over. So regardless of how good a runner you are, if you have a poor sense of direction and natural navigation, you're screwed.

The trail was located at 90 degrees to the last paper marker, and therefore my 10mins-searching straight ahead, was all wasted effort. As I crawed through thick jungle, and over a Cafe Latte colored river (ever conscience of the who really belongs in it!), I realized why so many experienced looking runners were not bothering their arse at the start of the race.
I was now at the back, trying to pass people who I'm sure was sniggering at the stupid new guy.

After about 20mins of effort, I was back near the front, slightly wiser than before.

Within a couple of minutes, the path came to another halt, and we were faced with more “searching”.
By this point, I was knackered. I looked down at my sweat soaked running vest, which was now covered in jungle insects. I thought Denggi! And frantically started swatting them off my body. Although I had applied good quality Deet Repellent, the river and the sweating had either washed it off or at least diluted it’s effectiveness.
Before long, I realized I was fighting a loosing battle, and decided to concentrate to moving forward again. The middle of the pack had just reached where I was standing, when we heard 'On On' over to our left. I felt slightly guilty as I easily joined the trail. Apart from the finder, the other front-runners were somewhere within the radius, and my wee rest had given me an advantage.

I tried to catch the guy in front, but after 10mins, I seamed to be making no progress on him. I was in the company of two fit guys, who had managed to catch up with me.
Then all of a sudden, a river blocked the trail in front. The Leader was waiting on company before starting the waist high wade back to Dennis who was teasing us on the other side.
We all jumped in together, shouting and splashing uncontrollably, probably out of fear.
Safely on the other side, we started running again. We could hear swearing behind as the next group of runners spotted the river, directing their obscenities at the race organizer. I was smiling, and then my face changed to panic as I realized, my car keys were in the wee pocket (normally used for Taxi fare money) in my Nike shorts. Since the waterline was above my waist, I was sure the electronic key has been drowned. No point worrying about it now, so my mind returned to the leg pain, as we did the fell runner up hill march, with hands on knees, up and over a very steep ravine. I was feeling gubbed and wondering when the next problem would present itself.

We arrived on a land rover track, leading into a rubber tree plantation. It was great running for a change, and a chance to stretch out the legs. I looked down to see blood on both legs. The group I was running in also had similar war wounds. This was no picnic.

However, one guy asked me if I wanted to go to his Bar-B-Q the following day? I thought it was a strange conversation between competitors near the end of a race, however it was hell of a nice of him to ask, all the same.

I recognized a familiar building ahead and realized we were near to the cars, and hopefully the end. All 4 of us were running at pace, although the front guy was very strong. He left the track still following Dennis into very rough jungle again. Reluctantly, we followed, adding to the cut as we waded through the thorn bushes.

The path of paper came to another stop, but the guy in first was out of site. I decided to stay with a big guy with ginger hair. Built like an outside toilet, and obviously a veteran of several past Hashes, since he knew all the patter.

He did a grand job, finding the trail within 30seconds. We left the Jungle, and ran across a clearing, before joining the tarmac road, which gave us 200yards to the finish.

We could see the first guy nearing the left turn to the finish, as we picked up pace. The Ginger Toilet thought we could drop me with a short burst of speed, but I hung on. He tried again, but again I came level, as we made the left turn towards the Beer,

I get the impression no one really wins a hash. Everyone just takes part. However the competition is always there. 'Its not the winning, its the taking part that counts...???”
I personally don't agree with that statement. I never win races, however every time I run a 10K, a Half Marathon or run the KIMM, I'm always racing against myself. I always time my performance against my previous records.
If I have a bad race, I call it 'just training' for something bigger in a couple of weeks time.
If I do well, I smile from ear to ear. I typically pick out someone in every race, who I plan to beat. The guy has no idea, he's been stalked by some competitive nutter, but I've been doing it for years, and it helps pull better performance from somewhere.

Big Ginger knew he was in a race. Whether the rules say so or not, we were joint second and he was pissed I couldn't be dropped.
I offered my hand at the end, but he showed me his bleeding cut across his palm. I nodded, and offered him a bottle of water instead. He took it, and asked if it was my first time.

We sat down and watched the others fight their way out the undergrowth, and down the road. I was consuming 100 Plus and Water, like there's going to be a fluid shortage.

When I got Home, Karyn couldn’t believe the state of my gear. The vest had blood, mud and grass stains all over.

It will take several washes to get it clean, however it will take several weeks to wipe the big smile off my face.


Alan Kelly
Kuala Lumpur
14th Aug 05