Southside’s circle of hell

Hash Hell Weekend through the SouthSaiiide Equation

Cast your mind….A city far from Seoul, new with its buildings and its fresh new children. Aged birds sitting round the only exit at the train station, and Jesus bringing the community together through song.

Now add just a pinch of Southside as well as the visiting crew from Okinawa and Mainland Japan, add a dash of youthful enthusiasm and a few train barrels of suds and well, you got a jungle gym full of pole dancers, spinners , cheeky monkeys and smiles ear to ear. Virgins ,, no more! We put TIGER Balm on the nuts of that flashy joint, and iiit waaas good.

Let’s go back, let’s go back.

After 3 to 4 runs under our belts and the occasional ZAP FLASH of memory (previous night’s rooftop BBQ event) Southside still managed to meet and greet each other with cheer. A few pats on the backs later and PACK AWAY! Into the void we go.

The wonderful thing about running in the country, led by hares, is the scenery and people to which you will not see on a tourist map nor online. We stretched our legs through the weeds and the bushes. We followed shiggy up and round bends, over gated children’s parks and under branches,, and under branches and ,,oh,, under branches. Weaving through the fields of veggies and rice, we were cheered and greeted by my favorite type of Koreans, “agricultural GMLFs”!! They hoot and holla at us as we cascade the areas they plow and jerk. We pass them in packs of 3 to 8 and their faces light up like a slow kids during Scooby Doo. They point and lead us in the direction of the only trails out of their fields and we go gracefully.
– As we ascended the mountains, we came across and ran around the graves of their ancestors.  Some pack members kept quiet to show respect, others blew their whistles. But to be honest, the spirits need to be rustled too. If your spirit was lingering around one of those grassy humps, would you rather have the occasional couple whispering, or a 12 strong running crew, thumping the ground in time with the heartbeat of the universe? I think a couple of those ancient singers and performers hitched a ride on our souls because we sang and performed strong at the ON IN.!! (wait for it)

Up and down we went, passing by wedding folk, hoot hoot, and slapping high fives with tractor drivers. The amount of up hill battles and checkpoints as well as the walking/running trail split , kept the pack close and in range of whistles and cheers. We even found an outdoor café which was apparently crafted out of a pocket knife by Daniel Boone. We were too fast to stop for a mug of “LOG”er. So we breezed out the mountain and into the streets. Local street cops waved us on and occasionally stopped the oxen that were crossing the road.

We could feel BEER NEAR as we came across the neighborhoods and dog barks, and of course the choirs singing praise. I image them in their benches, doing holy bench presses as we cheered on outside. And ON IN it was. A crescent moon shaped theatre space provided a backdrop for our like-minded crew, drink and be merry! The trains and super trains that passed by in the distance could see us gathering and dancing and booty shaking.

As the rain turned heavier we took shelter under the pagodas, near the children’s academy. There, we amazed even ourselves with the amount of song and dance that ensued. A body crawl for bag tags, a few new versus learned from “Manana” < sorry no tilde on my comp>, a fresh new look on the hashers from Japan and Okinawa, real comfort stuff for buzzing adults. It was then that the virgins, allllll the virgins had to perform to the song, “it’s raining men”,, at least I THINK that was the song we sang, (memory fuzzy from suds, biting lip, waving hand in front of face quickly) ! At one point it seemed like an acid flash back with all the new colors of happy coats, warm yellow-golds and royal blues, ocean crashing wave designs with sky blue and white,, and of course the bag tags,,, ohhhh the bag tags flying in the air like sticks of fruit stripes bubble gum on the last day of middle school. The chlidren’s park was thick with our presence and our aroma and our music. I may have seen skin and hiney and side boob in such full effect that I actually KAKAOed myself the expression, “ WHAAAAAAAT” !!

As we wrapped up the circle and swang low, way low with affection , our main man on the pipes C3Pholes, and I on the darbuka hand drum, brought the unifying tunes. Sounds so amazing, with the help of the ancients on those mountains, sounds so pure , inspired by those farmers who clapped and cheered us on, sounds so funky that they smelled like bait! And you know that stanky bait attracts birds, Eagles to be honest, you know , like the ones on the shields of police men cruising the Children’s plyground. Bohemian Phapsody promised the police, in their own language, that most of the people who attended found out about it online, that most of us were military or travelers and that we would be out of the park , and would take our trash, after one last song. Which we did,, and we did it well. And then that cop asked me for my information. Upon asking him why he said, “ I couldn’t help notice that you and your crew really know how to shake it to “ it’s raining men”, and well , I was just hoping to get up on suma dat action!” yeah,, he said that,,,
– SUMA DAT ACTION !! ON UP << ON IN << ON AWESOME HASH HELL WEEKEND

ON-ON
-Bo-Phap

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