Time to pay for my own endorphins
In 2010 I competed in a 50km trail relay walk called WildEndurance, the 18km Kayak4Kids kayak race, the 90km Sydney To Gong Ride and my personal favourite, the 100km Oxfam Trailwalker Sydney.
This year I'm going to add the 90km overnight Hawkesbury Classic kayak race!
Those paying attention will notice these events all have more than long distances in common - they are also charity fundraising events, where competitors are expected to raise a minimum fund-raising amount to qualify to compete. Last year in addition to the minimum charitable contribution I raised about $8,000 for these charities, thanks to the support of many friends, family members, colleagues and social media friends.
This year I've decided to take a break from raising more than the minimum amount, and I'm going to donate the minimum amount myself instead of asking others.
Why? Charitable fund-raising disguised as endurance competitions are clever marketing ploys, but they're psychological marketing strategy too, exploiting common weaknesses in the male psyche as effectively as the sugar-laden energy bar manufacturer telling you their product is healthy and good for you. It works on two levels.
See, human males have evolved to be risk-takers. I can only assume that in cave man days it was the males of the tribal group who did most of the hunting, risked their lives driving off predators, and of course, competed with each other for dominance and access to breeding age females.
From an early age, young boys start taking physical risks, from climbing to the top of their first flight of stairs to swinging off a rope or throwing themselves off the roof of the carport hoping they'll fly. Risk-taking is a big element in determining what a man thinks of himself and what other men think of them. As they age, the surges of testosterone moderate and the demands of relationships, families and careers tend to moderate the risk-taking urge, but it still lurks within, seeking expression.
In their fourties, men are commonly stricken with mid-life crises. With the ego and emotional maturity of a young man stuck in the suddenly aging body of a middle-aged man, we rebel against this sudden awareness of our own mortality. We take off with a younger woman or buy a convertible, make a surprise career move, take up electric guitar, start playing soccer or, in extreme cases, all of the above. It's all risk-taking.
It's this same instinctive rebellion against ageing that I think is the reason most of us have many friends, mostly male, competing in an endurance event with a charitable fundraising compenent. The typical endurance event speaks directly to the risk-taking centre of our brain; it says, "here's a chance to pit yourself against nature, to prove you can still climb that mountain, conquer the wilderness, succeed at something that looks impossible".
The fundraising element gives us a higher cause to hide behind, a reason other than fear of aging to take the time needed to train and compete, to spend the money needed for equipment, meals and transport. It's handy justification for the wife, kids and workmates who'll be seeing less of us during training.
Problem is, for many of us, endurance events are addictive. The endorphin high is as addictive as any drug and much more socially acceptable. We like how we can run up a flight of stairs without losing our breath, how we can eat what we like and still lose that little pot-belly the odd gym session could never quite shift.
But get addicted to endurance events and there's a hidden toll - if you're a friend of mine, last year I would have asked you for a charity donation at least four times. One time is fine, four times maybe, but if I do five events this year are you happy to support me with a cash donation nine times in a two year period? If our positions were reversed, I wouldn't be, and I say that as one of your closest friends!
If it was really all about the charitable cause rather than the masculine cause, maybe, but not while at least a part of it is sustaining my endorphin addiction. So this year I'll take the year off. I'll pay my own endorphin tax. You're welcome to donate if you wish (I'll post the links here) but you won't hear me asking. If you do, please do it for the sake of the charity, not for me.
