Why I Relay
Sunday, March 4, 2012
By: Lindsay McEwen

A reflection on my wonderful experiences as a relay participant.

In today's society, self-obsessed and ruled by our busy schedules, it is easy to push aside anything that we don't consider necessary. We suffer under the constant mantra of "go, go, go," putting off friends and family and neglecting our own health on the premise that we need to maximize our time for personal gain. It is therefore both incredibly moving and wonderfully refreshing to participate in an event like the Canadian Cancer Society's Relay For Life and see thousands of other people coming together to donate their precious time and money to a worthy cause.

Started in 1999, Relay For Life has grown both in the number of participants and the amount of money collected each year. In 2010, volunteers raised a total of approximately $16,000,000 nationwide. That number is staggering considering the fact that participants only need to pay a $10 registration fee to join and the average participant may only raise a few hundred dollars on top of that. It is always a moment of collective awe and appreciation when the unofficial donation total is announced over the speakers at the end of the twelve hour relay. Any lingering exhaustion from the long night of walking laps vanishes in the wake of the thunderous cheers that follow the announcement.

In my experience, this overwhelming feeling of camaraderie underscores every aspect of Relay For Life, from the minute you arrive at the track and set up your tent to the next morning as you pack it away. Bright costumes and posters make colorful splashes all across the field, while energetic music is pumped through the stage speakers. Chatter buzzes excitedly in the background, booths selling handmade food and trinkets in order to snag some last-minute donations are set up, and everywhere you look people are smiling. The cancer survivors queue up on the track to tumultuous applause; their first lap signals the beginning of the relay and suddenly every team is walking, running, skipping around the track in an unending line of matching Canadian Cancer Society t-shirts.

For the next twelve hours, at least one member of every team will be walking the track at all times. The sheer energy emanating from the mass of participants lasts all through the night. As it gets dark, glow sticks purchased for the price of a small donation appear on every available appendage as bands of luminous color that light the night alongside the many campfires. But it is the luminaries that catch and hold everyone's gaze. They are lit one by one where they line both edges of the track -- tea light candles in white paper bags, purchased in memory of departed loved ones and decorated with care. These hundreds of small, soft lights glow at the feet of the participants as they walk. Next to the track a display is erected, more of the luminaries arranged against wooden letters to spell "HOPE." The sudden respectful quieting of voices as the luminaries are first lit is as infectious as the cheering was. For a while everyone walks in thoughtful silence, reading the names written on the paper bags and imagining the stories behind them.

The morning after the relay feels a little bit like a dream while participants, sleepy but elated, pile into their cars and head back to their daily lives. The atmosphere of the relay slowly dissipates as regular stresses and responsibilities once more claim our thoughts. But for me at least, there always remains some small piece of that shared unity and awe, buried deep but never quite disappearing -- enduring proof of humanity's capacity for selflessness and desire for change.