The End of an Era

It seems to me that the past six months have been building up to one weekend, this past one, for the Breast Cancer 3-Day.

Not being able to walk was such a disappointment on many levels. I felt that I was letting down my team, the people (many of whom I've never met) who sponsored me, myself. I started off and walked further than I had anticipated, making it to the first checkpoint about 2.4 miles in, then part of the way from the second to the third checkpoint before hailing one of the many "sweep vans" they had patrolling for folks who couldn't continue the Walk.

Thinking on it, I somehow feel empty. Maybe it's because I didn't actually walk, but the experience wasn't exactly how I'd thought it would be. There were moments, little glimmers, of the effect I'd expected.

Seeing a cancer survivor welling up in tears as she carried a flag in front of all 3,000 or so walkers brought a lump to my throat. Women whose heads were shaven...on purpose or due to chemo...were also visible in the crowds. I wished that those feelings of compassion and empathy stayed with me for the whole weekend. I wanted to be a part of something bigger than myself, to really understand that the things that upset me don't amount to a hill of beans...or something like that. People in this world have suffered; I've only been inconvenienced.

In the end, the feeling I've come away with is that it wasn't all about breast cancer or survival, although those are parts of it. The feeling was more...commercialized. In the past month, I've received dozens of emails from an official vendor offering to sell me Breast Cancer 3-Day items that I can re-sell at a mark up to raise money...there were kiosks selling the gear at the Walk itself...the ceremonies, while celebratory, reminded me of Princess House rallies I'd attended years ago. The message is, sell more to make more. Sell more stuff to raise more money for research. Buy our stuff. Sell our stuff. Consume. Spend.

I don't know if they're using these sales techniques because they work or if they use them to pitch the idea of cancer research as a commodity without regard to how they may appear. My friends, family, myself and complete strangers donated $2,200 toward my walk, of which only 70% actually goes to research. The rest is overhead. And by any charity's standards, that's way too much in overhead.

Seattle-area walkers raised $8.6 million. You know I can't do math, but it seems to me that 30% of 8.6 million is a goodly sum. That's just from one city. They organize Walks in something like 11 cities per year.

I am glad that I participated; training for the Walk gave me a sense of purpose and a common goal with other people. But would I do this again? Probably not. The whole thing has given me a sort of "Charlie Brown" reaction. It's too commercialized.

The emotions were there, but they were evoked through marketing and technique. Showmanship. The only real emotions I experienced were seeing people who had been directly affected by cancer and knowing that they have every reason to seek a cure.