Fit for a cause: it's a heartwarming workout for body and soul when you join a charity walk, run or ride

Natural Health, May, 2004 by Robrt Pela

When Ellen Callahan learned that her sister was diagnosed with breast cancer, she knew she'd go the extra mile for her.

Literally.

"A spiritually uplifting experience" is how this Maryland attorney describes her participation in the Komen National Race for the Cure in Washington, D.C. Herself a survivor of breast cancer, Callahan was a little overwhelmed when she turned up at her first race. "I saw all those women in pink T-shirts--that's the color worn by cancer survivors--and I felt less alone," she says. "It brought me to tears."

Callahan is one among millions of Americans each year who run, walk, bicycle, skate, swim, dance, dribble and otherwise exert themselves to support family, friends and strangers stricken by debilitating illnesses. "I want other survivors, especially those recently diagnosed, to see that I'm fit and healthy and that I walk because it's what I can do to help," she says. "I'm doing a little bit to move us closer to a cure for breast cancer, so that maybe my 16-year-old daughter won't have to deal with it."

Unlike black-tie receptions and $1,000-a-plate dinners, charity athletic events offer nearly everyone a chance to push themselves physically while experiencing the solidarity of a shared achievement. Hitting the streets for a cause alleviates the helplessness most people feel in the face of illness.

"After a day spent getting high fives and being cheered by total strangers, I came home feeling confident that people wouldn't let cancer continue," Callahan recalls. "I came home thinking, 'Yeah, we're gonna find a cure.'"

This might explain why walkers trek 30 miles in rainstorms, why ailing runners turn up ready to roll in wheelchairs, and why setbacks like the shuttering of Pallotta TeamWorks (the Los Angeles fundraising company that pioneered the AIDS bike rides and breast-cancer walks) do not diminish the returns of grassroots fundraising.

go the distance

There's almost always a powerful personal story behind every participant's involvement with a charity race. People like Callahan turn out to support their sisters, mothers and grandsons--or themselves. After being diagnosed with AIDS, personal trainer Tom Kunze received assistance from the Los Angeles Gay & Lesbian Center. "I wanted to give something back," he says. "At one point, I was almost dead; I couldn't walk. So I made it my goal to not only walk again, but to walk in the [center's] AIDS LifeWalk. The next year I ran in the same event."

Now he participates in the AIDS/LifeCycle, a seven-day, 585-mile journey from San Francisco to Los Angeles that benefits the center and the San Francisco AIDS Foundation. "I see people crossing the finish line who have been transformed--and I'm one of them," he says.

For Dave Misencik, who takes part in the National Multiple Sclerosis Society's annual 150-mile bike ride, it was about doing what he could after his wife was diagnosed with the disease in 1975. Misencik started volunteering administrative assistance for the local MS chapter, but that was just the beginning. Today, the ride is a family affair: Misencik is one of two Phoenix-based trainers who prepare riders for the event; his wife mans rest stops and hands out medals at the finish line; and the couple's 22-year-old daughter is an enthusiastic rider each year.

People will do just about anything in the name of sweet charity. The first time Joe Phillips joined the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life, he was wearing a dress. "Every year, the teams come up with different themes," he explains. "That year, my wife was on a team who were dressing up like the medical unit from M*A*S*H, and they needed a Klinger. You know, the guy on the show who dressed in drag? I put on an evening gown and sparkly tennis shoes, and I was in."

Phillips, who lives in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio, mostly runs in shorts or sweat pants these days, but his involvement has expanded to include a spot on the relay committee and a personal mission: to keep the event upbeat. "My specialty is fun and games in the middle of the night," he says. "We have pajama hour, where everyone walks in their PJs and crazy slippers; we have stupid-song karaoke--anything to keep morale up. I watched my uncle fight cancer, and I figure, if he could do that for a year, I can take one day of my life and walk for people who've fought so hard just to live?"

get physical

Because some fundraisers collect per-mile donations, a participant's ability to cross the finish line can mean a sweeter contribution. There's also a bigger payoff in terms of fitness and self-esteem.

"If your charity raises money with an event that's physically challenging to you, all the better," says Chuck George, executive director of the New Orleans Track Club, which produces 35 fundraising races each year. "If you're a walker, and your charity sponsors a 5k run, there's no better excuse to train and get into shape. Everyone benefits."

The extra effort is a vital part of the experience, says Kunze. "If you want to do something easy, just write a check. But if you want to show your concern and really make a difference, choose an event that's going to be difficult to finish."