A frosty, fanged yeti face is centered in the foreground against a red and grey circular background featuring the text "NO WIMPS!" and "MINNEAPOLIS M3 COLDEST HASH OF THE YEAR."

Minneapolis Hash House Harriers

LXCL:Enjoy No Wimps as it was originally intended: a cold, dreary, wish-I-wasn't-here hash with access to all main activities on Saturday, including trail, drinks, No Wimps! patch, and on-after food. Also includes 1 finisher patch for those who survive.

Cool Rego

LXCL:This optional add-on gets you munchies, 1 drink ticket, and discounted game tokens at Full Tilt Tavern

Friday Drinking Practice

LXCL:So you missed the early bird, no worries! You can still enjoy No Wimps as it was originally intended: a cold, dreary, wish-I-wasn't-here hash with access to all main activities on Saturday, including trail, drinks, No Wimps! patch, and on-after food. Also includes 1 finisher patch for those who survive.

Wanker Rego

LXCL:A special designed No Wimps! microfiber beach blanket! Show-off the coolest event of the year when you hit the hot tub, beach, your backyard, or wherever really.

Hab - Beach Towel

LXCL:A special designed No Wimps! microfiber gym towel! Show-off the coolest event of the year when you hit the gym.

Hab - Gym Towel

LXCL:Like a true dumbass, you decided to wait until the very end. That's okay! Enjoy No Wimps as it was originally intended: a cold, dreary, wish-I-wasn't-here hash with access to all main activities on Saturday, including trail, drinks, No Wimps! patch, and on-after food. Also includes 1 finisher patch for those who survive.

Dumbass Rego

Provide checks or cash to Cushion Pushin or Beaver Careful

No Wimps 36: Twilight of the Hashers Thirty-five years ago, a ragtag band of hashers stared down a Yeti in the Minnesota woods, screamed &quot;ON-ON!&quot;, and lived to brag about it.But they were fools.&nbsp; The Yeti was never the monster. The Yeti was the doorbell.&nbsp; Thirty-six years, three full turns. The wheel has rolled all the way back toward the beginning. Now the ice groans. The sky has gone the color of a week-old bruise. Somewhere deep beneath the frozen tundra, the Dragon has opened one golden eye. It has coiled itself around Hyland Park, scaled in ice and breathing a fog that reeks of expired Hamm&#39;s, wet dog, and the end of days. Its roar rattles every can in every cooler from here to Valhalla. And it wants one thing: wimps. Only two mortals are foolish enough to stand between the wyrm and our beer. Herm and Manholeo, our trusted hares, have gone out ahead into the storm. They carry flour, booze, and a total disregard for the wellbeing of others. The trail they lay will run through knee-deep drifts, across rivers of black ice, and into thickets of cruel shiggy. You will run it anyway, pounding trail snacks and hastily brewed concoctions that slush in your hands, mead of dubious origin and beer of none. When the Dragon draws near, jaws wide enough to swallow a Hasher whole, you will do the only thing the legends ever prescribed. You will circle up. You will raise your voice in song. And when those golden eyes fall on you, you will scream the word that carried this tribe through the end of the world: &quot;ON-ON!&quot; The world may end in fire and ice. But if it does, it will end with a beer in hand, at a check, on trail. Ragnar&ouml;k comes for the gods. No Wimps comes for you.

No Wimps 36: Twilight of the Hashers Thirty-five years ago, a ragtag band of hashers stared down a Yeti in the Minnesota woods, screamed "ON-ON!", and lived to brag about it.But they were fools.  The Yeti was never the monster. The Yeti was the doorbell.  Thirty-six years, three full turns. The wheel has rolled all the way back toward the beginning. Now the ice groans. The sky has gone the color of a week-old bruise. Somewhere deep beneath the frozen tundra, the Dragon has opened one golden eye. It has coiled itself around Hyland Park, scaled in ice and breathing a fog that reeks of expired Hamm's, wet dog, and the end of days. Its roar rattles every can in every cooler from here to Valhalla. And it wants one thing: wimps. Only two mortals are foolish enough to stand between the wyrm and our beer. Herm and Manholeo, our trusted hares, have gone out ahead into the storm. They carry flour, booze, and a total disregard for the wellbeing of others. The trail they lay will run through knee-deep drifts, across rivers of black ice, and into thickets of cruel shiggy. You will run it anyway, pounding trail snacks and hastily brewed concoctions that slush in your hands, mead of dubious origin and beer of none. When the Dragon draws near, jaws wide enough to swallow a Hasher whole, you will do the only thing the legends ever prescribed. You will circle up. You will raise your voice in song. And when those golden eyes fall on you, you will scream the word that carried this tribe through the end of the world: "ON-ON!" The world may end in fire and ice. But if it does, it will end with a beer in hand, at a check, on trail. Ragnarök comes for the gods. No Wimps comes for you.

Minneapolis Hash House Harriers

36th Annual No Wimps!

8301 Normandale Blvd

Cool Rego

$30

Wanker Rego

$35

Dumbass Rego

$50