Anniversary Look Back: Paying To Run

Continuing my series of entries focused on comparing where I am today as a runner to where I was a year ago when I started this whole mess, I'm going to look at the phenomenon of road races. Basically, how did I go from the chubby 5-year-old who just learned to hate running in gym class to the 29-year-old who scrapes her budget to find the means to pay to run?

This topic actually came up this week in a few e-mails I exchanged with my co-worker's husband, Matt, who is very nearly finished with the nine weeks of Couch to 5K. He's joining Caitlin and me on March 12 for the Emerald Miles 5K. It's his first race and he's a little disturbed about having to pay to run. I know the feeling. It was quite difficult for me to get over the concept back in May when I registered for the Redlegs Run for Home, my first 5K. The brief mention in this post doesn't do justice to the amount of shock I was feeling at the time.

But I got over it. A lot.

I got over it when I realized you're paying for more than just the privilege of sweating in front of hundreds, thousands, or tens of thousands of other people. Based on my vast sports management/event planning experience (2 or 3 semesters as a college major, believe it or not ... so impactful [corporate buzzword] that I can't remember how long I studied it), here are a few of the things I can think of that you're paying for with a race entry fee:

1. An event t-shirt. Most important part of a race, hands down. Some races don't have shirts. They should be punished.
   
2. A race number bib. Second most important part of a race. Makes you feel like a bonafide athlete.
   
3. Chip timing, sometimes. There's something special about seeing your name and stats in an official list with tons of other runners. "See? Look! I did do it, and here's the proof!"
4. Clear streets. I believe road races require permits to shut roads down. They also require police officers to keep cars from running you over. Police officers require pay ... and donuts.
   
5. Cups. Lots of cups all over the street surrounding the one or two drink stations (for a 5K ... more and more elaborate for longer runs).
6. A venue. Sometimes the races have events inside a building before and/or after a run. Or in a tent. Those things cost money. I bet the ones that are all outside have some cost associated with them, like vendor booths (pipe, drape, signs, etc.).
7. Bananas. I'm sure sponsoring vendors provide their own food for after the race (yum!), but I don't know what vendor would provide bananas. I'm going to assume that the race organizers have to pay for that. Bananas are important.
8. Health care professionals. People, especially runners, do stupid things and get hurt. Let's just think of it as job security for the EMTs and paramedics of the world who get stuck working these runs.
9. Awards. I have no personal experience with this, but I bet there's some kind of award for fast people or participants with the tightest running shorts.
   

So that's just a short list of all the things your entry fee goes toward.

I left out one important thing though. I haven't seen a race yet that doesn't benefit some kind of non-profit organization or cause. These runs are huge fundraising opportunities for these non-profits. Just think of the immense reach of the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. Bajillions of people participate in a Race for the Cure across the country every year. Many of those people do their own fundraising and earn more than just their entry fee for that organization. I'm no math-lete, but a bajillion people times loads of fundraising money is a hoard of cash, you know?

Some races (the Flying Pig, for example) let you select which charity you're going to help by becoming part of a team. As a way to bribe my friend Sarah to do the half Pig with me on May 1, I decided to join the Fernside team. She is an active volunteer there and ran on their behalf last year. (Okay, I didn't really bribe her with that, but she did decide to join in the fun.)

So, not only am I going to pay for another race (and this one's expensive, folks), but I'm going to try to get you all to contribute to my madness and to a pretty cool organization. (In short, Fernside offers grief support to children, teens, and adults. They're affiliated with Hospice of Cincinnati.) Unfortunately Fernside doesn't have it's own snazzy online pledge system, but I do have a spreadsheet (Ooooh, spreadsheet!) to fill out with pledges.

Wait ... before you get too excited, I'm going to wait until I officially register for the race before soliciting cash. So thoughtful of me, no? So just be ready for it when it comes.

**************

So I guess I got slightly off track.

My shock of paying to run went away pretty much immediately when I got to the Redlegs Run for Home 5K. I knew I was hooked right then and there. The feeling of accomplishment (even for a crap-o run) and the energy of the event is enough. Add on top of that the benefit of contributing to some non-profit cause, and you've got yourself a few good reasons to dish out the dough to run. That doesn't mean I won't try to find the event that gives me the most for my money.

The lessons to take away from this post are:

• Don't be afraid to pay to run. You'll love it. Promise.
• Be prepared for a solicitation in the next month or so (which, as always, you are welcome to ignore, because if anyone understands the money pinch, it's me)

Thanks folks. More of these look-backs to come.