City Hash Marathon No. 1

The marathon, or half marathon, people did not think they could run

On Saturday 23 May 2026, City Hash House Harriers (Melbourne) turned a marathon into a movable feast:  42.2 km of slow jogging, train-station refreshment stops, opt-in courage, opt-out safety, and the quiet discovery that many hashers were capable of far more than they had imagined.

The Idea:  Break The Impossible Into Eight-Kilometre Chunks

The first City Hash Marathon began with a simple idea borrowed, adapted, and lovingly corrupted from Pog’s brief time hashing in Stockholm:  do not ask people to stare down 42.2 km in one hit.  Break the thing into manageable sections, put a drink stop at the end of each one, make every stop public-transport friendly, and let people decide, section by section, how far they want to go.

That small change alters the psychology completely.  A marathon is frightening when it sits in front of you as one huge number.  It becomes much less frightening when the next task is only to jog to Batman Station, then Merri Station, then Collingwood, then Burnley, then Whiteman Street, and finally St Kilda.  The safety valve matters.  People could join, leave, pause, skip, or decide at any point that their day was done.  Strangely enough, that freedom helped many people keep going.

The event was not a race.  There were no medals, no timing mats, no elite corrals, and no need to pretend that anyone had trained sensibly.  It was a collegiate Hash experiment:  start slowly, stay together where we could, stop often, take the pressure off, and see what happened.

The Start:  Pascoe Vale, A Ragtag Crew, And The Usual Doubts

At Pascoe Vale Station, the inaugural field assembled with the sort of confidence usually associated with people who had either done the preparation, or had successfully avoided thinking about the consequences.  Shiny Dick, Goosehole, Chicken Dicken, Unnamed Hamish, Rubba Hole, Pog, Bondage, James Bondage, Ahsole, Skinny Tool, Dad Stroker, Unnamed Sak, ECC, Princess Mary, Cherry Poppins, Durex, Take A Shot, Chug Queen, and others fronted up for the first City Hash Marathon.

There was scepticism from some, nervousness from others, and outright derision from at least one.  All fair.  Starting a marathon in a place called a Vale also raised the obvious concern that every possible direction out would be uphill.  Nonetheless, the pack set off, slow and steady, with the first target being the first refreshment stop rather than the whole marathon.

That first section meandered north-east on a gentle incline for a little over 7 km to Batman Station.  Nothing dramatic happened, which is exactly what you want early in a marathon.  The group arrived intact, spirits were good, and the idea still seemed just plausible enough to continue.

Through Coburg, Merri Creek, And The First Signs Of Hash Logic

From Batman, the trail pushed east through Coburg Lake Reserve, across the lake, and onto the Merri Creek Trail.  The city began to reveal itself properly:  creek paths, green pockets, bridges, back streets, and the sort of Melbourne running terrain that makes you wonder why we do not link more of it together more often.

The second refreshment stop came at Merri Station after a beeline east from Arthurton Road to the Mernda Line.  By then the pack had settled into the rhythm of the day:  jog, chat, shuffle, drink, laugh, and go again.

The Albion Charles Hotel presented a different form of temptation.  Various hashers made practical use of the facilities.  Princess Mary managed a cheeky pot.  Durex, demonstrating both commitment and questionable logistical judgment, went the full Melbourne Bitter long-neck option from the bottle, despite the fact that there had been a beer stop only a couple of hundred metres earlier.  This was not conventional marathon fuelling.  It was, however, recognisably Hash.

Halfway:  Collingwood, New Starters, New Personal Bests

Back on the Merri Creek Trail, the route rolled downstream through surprisingly pleasant bushland, joined the Yarra, curled around the Collingwood Children’s Farm, and then cut across to Collingwood Station for the approximate halfway point.

By then the day was beginning to separate the early swagger from the durable shuffle.  A couple of speed demons were starting to feel the pinch.  Some may have engaged in the grand Hash tradition of strategic short-cutting, although any findings remain subject to stewards’ enquiries.

Collingwood also brought fresh legs and fresh stories.  MycalfisSOREus joined and completed his first ever half marathon.  Whippet and Klingon joined the day.  Bondage, James Bondage, visiting from Shepparton, also ran her first half.  It became clear that the day was not really about the official marathon distance.  It was about people doing the longest run of their lives, or the longest run they had done in years, because the structure made the next step feel possible.

The Yarra:  Hills, Cans, And Growing Belief

From Collingwood, the trail returned to the Yarra, climbed the Yarra Boulevard hill, and then followed the river toward Burnley.  The route into Golden Square Bicentennial Park and Burnley Station delivered another refreshment stop, another reset, and another round of quiet recalculations.  Earlier cups of beer were now giving way to full cans.  Confidence was rising for most, even if a few very weary harriers were starting to look like they had made a series of poor life choices.

This was the cleverness of the format.  Nobody needed to decide at Pascoe Vale that they were going to run a marathon.  They only needed to decide, five times in a row, that they could probably make it to the next stop.  The gaps were long enough to matter and short enough to believe.  The breaks were long enough to recover and short enough not to seize up entirely.  The result was a rolling support system disguised as a pub-adjacent run.

The Back Of The Marathon Was Broken

From Burnley, the pack ran parallel with the train line to Richmond, down Mary Street, back onto the Main Yarra Trail, across at Swan Street Bridge, past the boat sheds, through Southbank and Crown, and on to the final refreshment stop at Whiteman Street Tram Station.

By then, the beers were feeling very good indeed.  More importantly, everyone knew the marathon’s back had been broken.  There was still work to do, but the impossible number no longer looked impossible.  The last section would be just over 4 km:  Cecil Street, Albert Park, the lake, and the final few hundred metres down Cowderoy Street to West Beach Pavilion.

And then, somehow, it was done.

The Finish:  West Beach, Many Beers, And A Proper Hash Ending

The finish at St Kilda delivered what any sensible City Hash event should deliver:  relief, laughter, stories that became less accurate with every retelling, many more beers, and the satisfied look of people who had just done something they had not been entirely sure they could do.

A naming was also required.  Previously Unnamed Jen became Rosie Ruiz after beginning her half marathon about 4 km in and then offering running technique advice to marathoners who were already at roughly the 25 km mark.  It was bold, it was memorable, and it was duly recognised.

Most importantly, all starters completed the 42.2 km course, although, as noted, stewards’ enquiries remain open.  For many, it was the longest run of their lives.  For others, it was a reminder that distance is less intimidating when shared, broken into stages, and approached with humour rather than ego.

Thank You

A very big thank you goes to the hare and support crew:  Shiny Dick, Goosehole, and Unnamed Sak.  The day only worked because the route, timing, transport logic, refreshments, and rolling support were thought through properly, even if the participants were not always behaving as if anything had been thought through at all.

Hashes represented included Noosa Larrikins, Melbourne Prohibition, Melbourne Lakeside, Sydney Thirsty, and Melbourne City. of course  That mixture was part of the magic:  visitors, locals, marathoners, half-marathoners, seasoned runners, nervous starters, and people who simply trusted the next stop would arrive eventually.

Why We Will Do It Again

The first City Hash Marathon proved the point.  You do not need a race pack, a corporate arch, or a heroic training montage to run further than you thought you could.  Sometimes you need a forgiving route, a slow group, public transport nearby, drinks out of the back of a car, a few people to laugh with, and permission to stop whenever you need to.

That permission to stop is exactly what helped people continue.  The day was built around choice, not pressure.  Nobody had to prove anything to anyone else.  Yet, by the end, a ragtag bunch of hashers had moved from Pascoe Vale to St Kilda, section by section, beer by beer, and story by story.

That is City Hash at its best:  social, slightly absurd, welcoming, and more capable than it looks.