I’m going to preface this column with pointing out that I don’t run and I don’t drink. This either makes me the best person to do a story on the Rotten Groton Hash House Harriers or the worst. I haven’t decided yet.

RGH3 is the local iteration of the Hash House Harriers, an international organization started nearly 80 years ago based on a game even older. British schoolkids in the 1800s would play “Hares and Hounds,” in which the players designated as “hares” would run and leave a trail of paper scraps behind them for the “hounds” to find. Adults started playing as a way to keep warm in the winter, and the Hash House Harriers started in Malaysia in 1938. Thousands of hashes have been founded since.

There were and still are four objectives to these groups, now called “kennels”: “to promote physical fitness among our members, to get rid of weekend hangovers, to acquire a good thirst and to satisfy it in beer, and to persuade the older members that they are not as old as they feel.”

Put another way, it’s “a drinking group with a running problem.”

Hares go out before everyone else to use flour to mark the trail. Three consecutive flour patches means you’re on the right trail, a split arrow with T and E indicate a “turkey/eagle” split for easy and hard routes respectively, and the infamous beer checks placed along the trail indicated a bag full of beer cans for the rest of the group.

Before my trip, I was advised to “be prepared for the very non-politically correct razzing people are going to give you, the bawdy humor and potential nudity.” I had to make sure I wore knee-high socks to protect my shins from “shiggy” (the brush), I could only point with my elbow, I couldn’t say the word “head,” and I wasn’t allowed to use anyone’s “nerd name.”

Hashers set themselves apart from other organizations by assigning nicknames to themselves; this tradition goes back to the days in Malaysia when military officers in the groups needed to protect their identities. As someone who plays a sport where even the pros go by names like Scald Eagle and Assault ‘N’ Pepper, I was prepared for punny monikers. For hashers, however, it’s even more important not to “out” each other because a lot of the nicknames are incredibly inappropriate. Fartacus was the tamest out of the bunch. Some, like Philly and Girlfriend, have crude full names but publishable nicknames. And others I’ll just have to leave out.

After bailing out on the Jan. 7 run because I didn’t want to go skidding off the road in the snow, I attended the Jan. 21 run at the Nathan Lester House property in Gales Ferry to get an in-depth look at the organization. My mom also came with me because she would rather go for a walk with me and a bunch strangers than go to a basketball game that neither of her kids were in.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that there was no actual running but rather a leisurely walk through the woods, but it’s a good thing my mom and I both have good senses of humor because we totally got hazed.

We were given lime green safety vests and whistles in the shape of certain male body parts to mark our status as “virgins.” There were song checks where hashers would wait until enough people gathered at one spot and sing various raunchy lyrics to the tunes of favorite childhood songs.

There were screams of “Race-ist!” whenever someone started running or otherwise started taking the event seriously. They made a lot of other jokes that I can’t publish in the newspaper.

At the end of the run, we were put in the middle of the circle with red Solo cups with our beverage of choice — we politely declined the beer — and told to chug.

But light-hearted teasing aside, I could see why people join. EZ, who was my point of contact for this whole process, said she joined and has stayed for the camaraderie.

Philly said little jokes within and among kennels turn into major events, like the annual Hashmat down in New Haven after hazmat teams were called in to inspect the flour markings one year. And Fartacus, who started hashing in Hawaii, said he can always find friends wherever he goes because hashers will always take you in.

For more information about the Rotten Groton Hash House Harriers, visit www.grotonh3.com.

Amanda Hutchinson is a 2015 graduate of Ithaca College, a resident of Ledyard, and the assistant community editor for The Times. Read more of her work at amandalhutchinson.wordpress.com.