Eating to Feed the Hungry

Yesterday I was convinced, as I am each year, to participate in a confusing fundraiser called “Run to Feed the Hungry”. There are so many things that aren’t right about this annual event:

1. First of all of the roughly 20,000 people doing this “Run”, only about oh, maybe 10 are actually running. The rest of us are walking. And we are barely even doing that. There are people who actually bring wagons with children and coffee and snacks in them. The race pace is such that at no time are the children, coffee or snacks ever in any danger of being tipped or bounced at all. Also the parent who is dragging all of this cargo is really not very tired by the end of this 3 mile race, which means that perhaps the word “run” in the name of the race is a little bit of stretch…

2. Which is fine. Because I think the rest of the name is a stretch as well. As I don’t really understand how my running (or waddling, as it were) is feeding the hungry. Yes, I get that my registration fee goes to charity, and that’s all well and good. But why not cut out all this silly early rising and slow moving and just write a check to the charity? Wouldn’t that accomplish the same thing? Without the muscle aches? I’m just saying.

3. When we are done with this run/really barely walking we are showered with various food and beverage to replenish the 4 calories we just burned. Does this seem ironic to anyone else? That we are eating at a Run to FEED the HUNGRY? One might point out that the HUNGRY might enjoy and need the food and beverage we were consuming a little more than we do. But then one might be cynical. And that’s not really my style.

4. Did I mention the early rising and slow moving? No me gusta. Why can’t we feed the hungry after noon sometime? Why do I have to get up at 7 a.m. to feed the hungry? And why do I have to burn calories so that others can eat calories? I don’t get it. But most of all I don’t get why my Shake Awake alarm didn’t shake me awake, leaving me to run around my house like a crazy woman at 7:35 a.m., because I had to meet my friends at 7:45 a.m., and I was so not only 10 minutes away. Then as I was speeding to our meeting point I remembered a little game my friends like to play. It’s called “Dawn’s Always Late, So Let’s Tell Her To Be There 15 Minutes Early.” I called the girl who told me to be there at 7:45. It was 7:50.

“Did you tell me to be there earlier than everyone else?”
“Uh, maybe.”
“Bitch.”
“Are you there?”
“That’s not the point.”
“HA! You’re not there! You’re late!”
“What time was everyone else supposed to be there?”
“8.”
“Well, then I’m right on time.”
“HA!”
“Bitch.”

Man I love the holidays.