finisher fundraising

The scale of the “Run for the Cure” event we participated in recently was vastly bigger than other recent charity-focused runs I’d been a part of.

Heck, I noticed the scale even just driving there, I skirted the course and endured a parade of irate drivers who didn’t realize that the road closure they were tolerating was part of an effort to raise a boat load of money for breast cancer research. All they likely saw was a bunch of orange traffic cones and an extra five minutes bolted onto their Sunday travels as a whole corner of the city was constricted by a fun run course.

I continue to be simultaneously amazed (and a little amused) that these big participatory running events have become one of the flagship fundraising efforts for a long list of organizations.

What is it, after all, about lacing up and jaunting around as a community, as a vast hoard of be-sloganed t-shirt wearing part-time athletes that makes them work? Not only do we all pay to participate, we donate extra and then beg friends and family members for even more money with the promise that (a) it’s for a good cause but also (b) I’m going to go sweat it out for thirty minutes, too.

Is it about community? Is it about public commitment? Is it because a race has a clear finish line and this damn disease we’re collectively fighting seems like a race that never ends?

Maybe a bit of each. Or maybe it’s just a reason to find some solidarity in an unfair universe. Either way, if you had a long commute to church or brunch or grandma’s house on Sunday because of a race closure, you can feel good too that a lot of sweaty people were delaying you for a good cause.