Thursday, 3/24/22:
Last night, I mapped out my marathon training plan. For the next eight weeks, the Nike Run Club app will track my movement around the Imasaka-cho neighborhood of Kanoya City, starting from my water-stained apartment building and looping around the FamilyMart, the Air Force base, the daikon farms, the cool-damp forest trail, and the stretches of sidewalk that smell like burning garbage on bad days, petrol otherwise, and delightful cherry blossom for two weeks out the 52 that make up a year. The weather will change from a light chill to oppressive summer humidity. My long runs will increase from ten miles to 20. I will casually run a half-marathon distance practically every weekend, which (if accomplished) will do insane things to my ego. I will run four times a week, aspirationally, and at least three times a week as a minimally acceptable floor. My knees will hurt, my hands will swell, and my AirPods will, with frustrating regularity, disconnect during what would otherwise be the best bit of a run. I will enjoy the jumble of sounds that is my running playlist: female empowerment rap juxtaposed with the latest news from AFC Wimbledon and planet Mars, RadioLab episodes, the wisdom of the exalted Nike Global Head Coach Bennett, and the best/worst of 2010's pop. I will continue to manifest and check for abs despite doing absolutely nothing in service of that fantasy. I will run and run and run, and at the end of one of those runs, I’ll find myself on the other side of a marathon finish line. Hopefully.
--
An image of my 14-year-old self keeps coming to mind, thin and long-limbed, the type of pre-pubescent slenderness that makes one look taller than they are. I was that age when I joined my high school’s cross country team.
When I reflect on my single season of XC, this is what I remember. Stretching. Leg Swings. “Opening and closing the gates.” Sit-ups on the field. My shins protesting during warm-up laps before loosening into the movement. Saying “ow” going down the stairs. Eating pasta and s'mores bars to “carbo-load” the night before a race. That one photo of me running up a hill where it hardly looks like I’m running at all, my foot just barely lifted in the shuffle up an incline. Our team slogans “we pee clear” and “we run ugly” paying tribute to the importance of hydration and the collective agreement to forgo caring about looks during sport. Losing my purple CamelBak a week after getting it. My subsequent Nalgenes that inspired my ongoing habit of carrying a 32-ounce reusable bottle around everywhere, long before the HydroFlask movement took off. Rain leaking through the bus ceiling on a way to a trail, giggling and sticking my gum on the seam to plug it. My neon orange dry-fit shirt. My favorite ankle socks. My favorite sports bra. My favorite Nike shorts. My Adidas tracksuit with my high school logo on the breast; man, do I wish I kept that outfit if only to laugh at it. My trusty blue and pink Asics sneakers. My dad taking me to the local Sports Basement, happily paying for overpriced meal replacement and “women’s nutrition” bars. My dad making me scrambled eggs and toast on race day mornings, serving them up on our blue and white melamine plates. How much that gesture meant to me, even though my dad sometimes burnt the eggs. My dad, my quiet supporter, whom I love in ways that are too fragile to tell him directly. Jogging to Jamba Juice and ordering “white gummy bear” off the secret menu. My watch tan. My glasses tan. My farmer’s tan. The camaraderie of shared misery. The California sun, the coastal rain, stomping in puddles, weaving around potholes, that point in a run where everyone settles into silence, the shared instinct of knowing when that time has arrived, the resulting relief of not needing to inform one another that we’re too out of breath to keep chatting.
The best part of being a runner is not the running. The running itself doesn’t even break the top ten list, to be honest.
--
As an adult, I’ve noticed that almost all of my anxiety is related to time. Wasting time. Not having enough of it. Not using it wisely. Not reaching societal milestones “on time.” Getting older and having nothing to show for my age.
So, it’s funny that I’m choosing a sport that is primarily evaluated by time.
I still have my PR from high school memorized: 15:12 for a two-mile course, which evens out to 7:36/mile. At the time, I was embarrassed by my slow pace, not knowing that it is probably the fastest that I will ever run. In hindsight, I should have been proud of doing my best.
Since then, my overall fitness has plummeted, but I’m still doing my best. On mid-distance runs, I clock in somewhere around an 11-minute mile pace nowadays.
I think that most people who run as slow as me would have given up a while ago. After all, running at an 11-minute mile pace takes up a massive amount of time. To hit my target distances, I need to spend 4+ hours on a single run, which means using up an entire morning or evening to inch along the sidewalk. For the average person, it takes about 3-4 hours of hard effort to finish a marathon. For me, it will take 5-6 hours of struggling through. I guess there’s something to applaud in that, though. I have always admired people who do not dwell on their lack of natural talent but simply work extra hard to keep up. Determination, while it doesn’t fully bridge the gap, makes up for some amount of incompetency. It’s hard to think poorly of someone who is making an honest effort.
When I feel anxious, I get the urge to hit my stomach with my forearms like I’m performing a discomfort-induced rendition of the Heimlich. I’m not sure if it’s an attempt to punch all the ickiness out, or a method of shoving back in whatever is keeping me sane. Cross country, despite all its positives, often gave me the urge to smash in my midsection. Specifically, racing - the part of things where time mattered - did a number on my psyche.
As a runner who floated around the 33rd percentile, it’s not like there was an expectation for me to perform well. My teammates and coaches were entirely unconcerned with how fast I went. The stakes were low. But despite all of that, trying to PR made me extremely nervous. Competing against yourself is both liberating and stressful. It’s empowering because the outcome is entirely up to you, and nerve-wracking because the outcome is entirely up to you.
I was never worried about being unable to finish or physical exhaustion or getting injured; I was worried about the worst outcome of all: a bad race time. I was worried about that terrible feeling that comes when you work really hard for something, only to come up short at the end. The feeling that in the end, it was a waste of time and energy. It just rattles me, the idea that so much effort ultimately boils down to a single event. That’s what’s scaring me as I embark on marathon training.
To temper those fears, I’m letting go of any time-related expectations. For my first ever marathon, my goal is simply to finish. If anything else goes well - pace, splits, enjoyment of the run - it will be a welcome bonus, not a hard requirement. All I’m asking from myself is to complete all 26.2 miles. Even if I am slow. Even if I am really slow. Even if I need to walk, crawl, or limp - so be it. Just get there. Just cross the finish line.
Thursday Night, 3/24/22:
I had intentions to run a 10k this afternoon. I ended up with 5k. The first mile was fine, but by the second, I was already losing drive. This whole training thing is really going well, eh?
I took a strange route that led me onto the military base near my house. I didn’t even realize where I was until I saw a gate announcing the entrance to the base, and then realized that I was on the inside of it. (Side note: what kind of defense base allows pedestrians to simply jog onto it?) I apologized to a soldier holding a large gun and gave him my best “I am a confused foreigner” smile.
After that debacle, my knees started to hurt. Then, I got stuck behind a salaryman smoking a cigarette, which co-mingled with the gasoline-scented air as I ran down a busy road. At this point, I badly wanted to spit the taste out of my mouth, but I think that spitting on a public street is a heinous violation of the social contract, so I opted to nose-breathe with a pool of saliva in my mouth for the last leg home. Honestly, another three cranky miles would not have done me good, so I don’t feel bad cutting things short. No big deal. More (and more uncomfortable) running is surely on the way.
Friday, 3/25/22:
It’s raining tomorrow, which means I had to run tonight instead. Just got back. Typing this post-shower. I will take a moment to celebrate that I just banged out a half-marathon, an event that the average person has to train for, on a random Friday night. Some high highs: grooving to “Magic in the Hamptons” by Social House for miles and miles, a daikon farmer greeting me, and achieving a sub-11-minute mile pace. Some low-ish lows as well: the end of the run dragging on and on and on. It was difficult to finish, but at least I didn’t walk. I’m worried about how I’m going to complete that distance twice, back to back. But I guess that’s a problem for two months from now. I keep telling myself, “Just stick to the plan! All you have to do is stick to the plan!” and it makes me feel better for about 15 seconds. But my immediate follow-up thought is the famous quote from the poem “To a Mouse” by Robert Burns: “The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” Then, the nauseous feeling returns.
Anywho, on this run I learned:
A pink starburst is not an adequate substitute for an energy gel
Running in the dark is scary, and that makes me go faster
Muji socks, while very cute, are not suited for running
Sunday, 3/27/22:
For the first time in my life, I am feeling the changing of the seasons in my joints. It’s real - I can sense dampness in the air by the ways that my knees creak. I make all sorts of old people noises now: groaning when I get up, humming in pain when I step off the sidewalk, sighing when I sit down. At a certain point, you have to wonder, are the physical benefits of running still outweighing the negatives?
At the recommendation of a few friends, I read What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami. It is a sort-of memoir about his experience with long-distance running and writing, the interplay between the two, and how they contribute to his attitude towards life. I felt honored to receive the recommendation from multiple people. It makes me happy that I am thought of as a runner and writer despite my relative newness to both of those activities.
In the book, Murakami talks about how long-distance runners’ bodies adapt to have slower resting heart rates. He writes, “In America whenever a nurse takes my pulse, she invariably says, ‘Ah, you must be a runner.’”
I think a lot about identity. When can I claim ownership of a specific trait? When is it acceptable to introduce myself in a certain way? When can I confidently call myself a practitioner of something? It is nice to think that my heartbeat might proclaim that I am a runner even before my imposter syndrome allows me to.
Tuesday, 3/29/22:
KAGOSHIMA RUN CLUB, MOTHERFUCKERS. I have been lamenting about not having access to a community running club out here in the boonies (the very nice if not sparsely populated Osumi peninsula) so naturally, I am going to solve the problem by starting my own!!!
The first two members of Kagoshima Run Club are me and my friend Ailsa. To introduce you to Ailsa, she was convinced into running a marathon over the span of two conversations. I think that’s all you really need to know. She’s a writer as well, so I’ll let her tell it in her own words.
Together, Ailsa and I are going to wrangle together every single ALT (and ALT-adjacent person) who has even the slightest desire to run, and we’re going to have a lovely time gallivanting all over the prefecture. I am hyped.
We’ll test out the waters with one or two community runs to start, then pick things up and pin down a schedule if there’s interest. We live near the active volcano Sakurajima, so all our Wednesday meet-ups will be called “Ash Wednesday.” Cute, right?!
I’m just happy to have someone to do this with - this being both running and building community. Looking forward to this easy taper week before things ramp back up.
Saturday, 4/2/22:
This week in running: Chill 5k on Tuesday. Seven miles on Wednesday. Another 5k on Thursday. Ten miles this morning. Sorry for using both the metric and imperial systems. (I think of kilometers in multiples of five and every other distance in miles. [Except 12k, for some reason. 12k can be in kilometers]). Also, sorry for being inconsistent about how I'm formatting numbers. (I'm kind of following the APA style guide, but mostly following my own heart.)
Anywho, I finished this week’s running according to plan! やったー！
Wednesday, 4/6/22:
Seven miles in the bank. Three miles yesterday, four miles tomorrow.
Certain areas of my life are going to shit, but at least I have the comfort of knowing that if nothing else, I managed to complete my silly little run.
Running is on the small list of things I have control over. I respect myself enough to get it done.
Discipline is a function of self-love, and I love myself.
Saturday, 4/9/22:
15 miles DONE. New longest distance. Nearly three straight hours of running.
Ailsa and I ran together. Our friend Justin also joined for part of the run.
The day was hot and sweaty, the sun reflecting off of the endless blue ocean. There were several runners out, all of them faster than me, zipping up and down the concrete pier that extended along the coastline. I enjoyed seeing them, especially the other women, powerful and graceful and full of life.
I had a grapefruit energy gel mid-run, which is a fancy way of saying I had 100 calories of sugar jello in a little squeezy pack. As recovery snacks, I drank a mixed berry protein yogurt and ate a 7-11 egg salad/potato broccoli salad/tomato/ham sandwich. Later in the day, I smashed three bakery breads back to back (an earl grey and white chocolate boule, a pistachio cream-filled brioche, and a slice of focaccia-esque vegetable pizza), before having dinner and a McDonald’s matcha strawberry frappuccino. Delicious. Post-run food is the best.
I’m grateful to have a little running group out here. I’m grateful to have friends who care about and encourage me. I’m grateful for this body. I’m grateful that I’m here.
Thank you, thank you, thank you! My favorite two-word prayer!
Tuesday, 4/12/22:
The weather forecast predicts rain all week long, which means I’m either in for some damp runs or some unpleasant treadmill miles.
Most Japanese gyms require you to have specific indoor shoes that have never been worn outside. My indoor gym shoes are clunky, heavy Asics, which are a literal pain to run in. I’m hesitant to drop $100+ just to improve my treadmill running experience, so I’m going to slog through it for now. But if you want to invest in my running, do let me know. I promise I’ll spend your money exclusively on personal development endeavors.
Wednesday, 4/13/22:
I don’t want to ruuuuuun. I want to SLEEP! I have to run eight miles today >:( How am I going to do this for two more months??!!!! I want it to end already!!!!!!!!!!!
--
Okay. I finished and it was lovely and fast and relaxing. The eight-mile distance is one of my favorites, mostly because I get a laugh out of calling it an “Eminem run”. I watched the sunset and chased it all the way home. I had the thought “I love running” at least three times.
Thursday, 4/14/22:
Half a mile into today’s four-mile run, I seriously considered stopping and taking the day off. I can ignore the constant, low-level ache in my knees, but my right hip is causing me problems. I think it comes from the way I strike the ground; the shockwave travels straight up into my pelvis, where my thigh bone connects to the rest of my skeleton. The result is the feeling of misalignment, like something in my hip needs to pop back into place in order to stop the squeaky, grinding sensation.
When I contemplated stopping, though, I reflected on how deep I am into this whole shebang, and how not finishing a run would be a devastating concession - the first domino to be toppled. I know that it’s silly, I know I am allowed to take breaks and listen to my body, but I want to see this effort to completion, on schedule, with full effort.
So I decided to give it two miles. If I still felt tender at two miles, I’d walk home.
I shuffled through the run, pumping my arms to encourage my legs to move. Once I got through the first two miles, there were only two miles left to go. And two miles is so short, so temptingly easy to power through.
So I did.
Thus, this week of running is complete. I limped around Taiyo using the shopping cart as a crutch. I bought myself 20% off sushi (prices get marked down starting at 6 PM), and made banana protein pancakes for dessert. I ate acai chocolate balls, a pistachio kit-kat, and a peanut butter-filled date for second dessert. It’s 8:48 PM and I’m getting ready to head to bed. That’s the kind of week that it’s been.
No long run this Saturday (bless up) because I’ll be hiking Karakuni-dake in Ibusuki instead. Hopefully this little recovery weekend allows my joints to get their shit together. Fingers crossed that I’ll be healthy and energized when things pick back up next week!
Tuesday, 4/19/22:
I am excited to run this afternoon! My body craves it! Mostly, I want the metabolism boost from running, because I’ve realized that my favorite part of running is how goddamn delicious food tastes afterward.
I think the ol’ hip is mostly fine (though it spasmed a couple of times this weekend), so we’ll see how it goes. Thank you, body, for knowing how to put yourself back together after I slam you into the sidewalk for hours a week.
Going to take it easy in anticipation of 16 miles this Saturday, which will be a distance PR for me. Hoping for no rain, although sooner or later, I’ll have to get used to running in the drizzle.
I’ve been on go-go-go mode since I arrived in Japan seven(!) months ago. I don’t think I’ve really sat down to process everything that’s happened to me since then, good and bad. I haven’t had time to decide how I feel about certain things, to construct my story of what actually happened, or to prepare for who I am becoming. My whole environment is fundamentally different, and so am I. My life is full of good, but also fear and instability. I have changed so much. I haven’t been honest with myself. I was hurt. I am hurt. I am hurting.
People run for all sorts of reasons - fitness, strength, peace, resilience. This week, my running will be for healing.
--
Post-run update: Hip is at a solid 7/10, but I had my first sign of shin splints today. Is it because I took a five-day break? Did downhill hiking cause my calves to seize? Do things really go south that fast? Currently rolling my legs out with an aluminum can of chickpeas. It could be worse.
Wednesday, 4/20/22:
It is worse. This was my most disastrous run yet, really, and that’s including the 10k turned 5k where I ran onto an active military base and had to apologize to a soldier holding an automatic weapon. You’re watching my optimism unravel in real-time.
Today’s run was eight miles out and back on a trail.
I was honestly a bit shaken by yesterday’s shin drama, so I spent an extra-long time stretching before heading out. When the first mile rolled by with no problems, I started to feel hopeful, but soon thereafter, the tightness returned. As I ran, the lower half of my legs became achy and exhausted and tense, as if I had been running for hours instead of for ten minutes. In my left foot particularly, it feels like there’s a rubber band stretched between my toes and heel that will snap if I put too much pressure on it.
Most running pain makes sense; I know why it’s happening and I can tell that it’s not chronic, which makes it an inconvenience instead of a deal-breaker. I have confidence that it will go away with time or technique.
But the shin/calf/foot arch problems that have crept up on me in the past two days are in a different category altogether. They make no sense. They have no cause. They’re just a big fuck-you to all the effort I’ve put in thus far. Why is this happening now, after months of running? What changed in the past week? What am I doing wrong?
It’s not even necessarily painful, at least not in a sharp or stabbing or searing way. It’s just super uncomfortable - the type of discomfort that demands that you listen to it, begs you to please stop.
My form is all over the place trying to accommodate it: favoring the outer edge of my left foot to avoid “snapping” the rubber band (and risking a rolled ankle in the process), landing in a way that aggravates my pelvis because it takes some pressure off of my shins, swinging my arms vigorously to propel my heavy legs forward even though it causes my shoulders to ache the next day. At the exact same time, I’m trying to prevent further injury by maintaining good form: increasing cadence to prevent overstriding, cupping my hands like there are eggs inside them to keep my wrists from flapping, leaning slightly forward so I don’t strike with my heels first.
I’m so focused on my running that I can’t relax into it. It’s like when someone makes you aware of your breathing, and suddenly it’s forced and awkward even though you’ve been doing it your whole life. I’m bouncing up instead of forward. I’m grimacing instead of smiling. I’m getting slower instead of faster. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to run. Or worse, I remember how to run, but I can’t trust my body to do it.
As I neared the halfway mark, completely fed up, I started to cry. My mind wanted to run, my breathing and heartbeat were steady, but my legs simply refused to comply. The amalgamation of all my tiny doubts started to pile up. I got worried. I got mad. I got frustrated. If I can’t enjoy running, what even is the point of doing it?
I swiped at my eyes in between arm swings, trying to jog with tears streaming down my face before finally giving in and coming to a full stop. I put my hands on my knees and sobbed - real, body-convulsing, hot, ugly tears - and not from the exertion of running. From anxiety and anger.
After my cheeky meltdown, I found myself at the end of the trail, salt-soaked and shaky, at the “back” part of the “out and back.” Even if I wanted to quit, even if I wanted to call someone to pull up in a car and bail me out, I was on a pedestrian-only trail with no vehicular access. The only transportation method available was my own two feet.
I turned around and ran the remaining four miles home.
There was some power in that - forging onwards after a mental breakdown on the side of the road. The funny part is that after I committed, it wasn’t nearly as bad. My legs didn’t improve over the span of ten minutes, but my acceptance of the situation did. There was no room for compromise. There was no room for adjustment. It didn’t matter how much I complained, I had to get back home. So I took a page from Nike and just did it.
That’s another lesson that running has taught me. Sometimes it’s helpful to put yourself in a situation where you have no choice. Sometimes the way out is through.
I told you that I am going to run a marathon. More importantly, I told myself that I am going to run a marathon. I’m committed to that. Thus, short of literally being physically incapable, I’m going to make it happen.
Besides, it makes for a better narrative when there’s a low point for me to overcome.
Thursday, 4/21/22:
I’m forging ahead with my training, but I’m being smart about it. I’m swapping today’s run for a 45-minute stationary bike ride, which is my best guess at a cardiovascular equivalent to running four miles. Then, I’ll work upper body, which will be a nice change of pace.
I wanted to hit triple-digit mileage this month, but I don’t think it will happen if I substitute some of my running for biking. That’s okay, though. Everything is in service of the marathon, which is the only goal that truly matters.
Running is a sport for patient people. You can’t rush a run and you can’t fake progress. You can’t run mile 15 when you’re on mile one. All you can do is the right thing for right now. Just keep doing that, over and over, and have faith that you’re headed where you need to be. Take your time. Trust the process. Stick with it.
After all, this is a marathon, not a sprint.
Monday, 4/25/22:
Last Friday night’s 16-mile run was a make-it-or-break-it run for Ailsa and me. We were feeling the exhaustion of running four times a week, both in terms of muscle pain and the fatigue of making time for it amidst full-time work and jam-packed weekends. If the run went poorly, I would have been seriously discouraged.
On Friday morning, I woke up nervous and asked the Universe to bless our joints. I told Ailsa that I didn’t mind cutting our run short if we needed to and she said the same back to me, though deep down I knew that both of us were lying and more or less obligated to power through. Nonetheless, pretending otherwise helped relieve some of the pressure. Our friend Dani graciously agreed to join us for the first bit of the run, which provided a welcome boost of moral support. She said a prayer for the three of us before we headed out into the night. The combined power of our calm and hesitantly optimistic thoughts placated the running gods, and they took mercy on us.
Which is to say, we had a nice run.
Dani, who initially said she’d join for just the first 5k, ended up feeling so good that she ran her longest distance ever: 12 kilometers. Ailsa and I held a conversation for the entire three hours, a tell-tale sign of good pacing. The miles rolled by. We looked for constellations, pointed out the Big Dipper and the three bright stars of Orion’s Belt. We discussed gender and writing and relationships. We had grape and grapefruit-flavored energy gels at the ten-mile mark. I learned how to use my running vest’s water bladder properly, and learned that hydrating on the go makes me feel like a badass. Our legs cooperated. Pain was minimal. Laughs were had. We made it through all 16 miles without stopping once.
Around midnight, we finished our run outside a 7-11. We went home, stretched, showered, then celebrated our success with a 2 AM dinner at the 24-hour chain restaurant Joyfull. I had peperoncino pasta and all the warm liquids: green tea, genmaicha, hojicha, hot cocoa, matcha latte, corn potage, cream potage. In case you couldn’t tell, Joyfull has unlimited beverages and soups.
I could write down every moment that transpired on the run and every moment thereafter, but simply saying that I’m thankful sums it up just as well. Running is a solo sport, but it’s better when you do it together. It’s amazing what one person believing in you can do - and even more amazing that we all have the power to be that source of belief. Tell each other that you can do it because it’s true. You can do it.
And thank you for believing in me. It makes all the difference.
As Coach Bennett says, every run has a purpose. Last week’s tough runs proved that I can persevere through difficult things. They taught me that a bad run is exactly that - a bad run - not an indication of a bad runner. They revealed how much I care about this, how important running has become to me. They made this week’s 16 miles that much sweeter.
The long arc of the moral universe bends towards justice, and the long arc of our marathon training bends towards triumph. We’ll meet you there soon.
Tuesday, 4/26/22:
When I first made up my mind to run a marathon, I looked for official races. You know, the kind where you get a racing bib and a medal and most importantly, access to an entire suite of support staff providing water and fuel and medical attention - the kind of thing you want for your first marathon. Unfortunately, there are no full marathons scheduled to take place in Kyushu throughout the entirety of summer, which is how I decided that I’d simply run one by myself, unaided. “How strange,” I thought. “You would think that there’d be at least one marathon planned sometime between May and July.”
I have come to realize why there isn’t. It is because it is very, very, very humid this time of year, especially when you live one hour from the southernmost tip of the mainland. Conversely, it is very, very, very hard to run in high humidity. Smart people do not train for a marathon during the height of Japanese summer. I am not a smart person.
I’m glad that I made no promises about time or speed because I have a feeling that things are going to get a whole lot slower and stickier and chafing-prone from here on out. To give you an idea, I’m sweating between my boobs and I’m an A-cup.
Thursday, 4/28/22:
Turns out that I hit 100 miles after all! :-) I completed my last five miles this afternoon, for a total of 100.6 miles run in April. I didn’t miss a single training day this month, which is a small accomplishment in and of itself.
I told a friend that the most impressive thing about marathon training isn’t distance or pace or anything to do with numbers. It’s showing up, day in and day out.
The more that I run, the more that I feel like running is less of a hobby and more of a personality trait. Everyone can run, but only certain types of people become runners.
Runners have discipline, focus, and patience. They practice self-awareness, time management, and positive self-talk. Runners follow through. Runners take on challenges. Runners believe in themselves. Runners are dependable and supportive friends. Runners build and lean on community. Runners are cool.
And it all begins with showing up. I wonder what I would accomplish if I showed up in other areas of my life too.
Monday, 5/9/22:
I’m writing to you post-Golden Week, which is Japan’s longest holiday period and the most popular time of year to travel. I would give you a play-by-play of my last eight days gallivanting around Kyushu, but I saw and did so much that the mere thought of attempting to recount it all exhausts me.
Briefly, I stayed in Yakushima, Kumamoto, and Nagasaki with pit stops in Kashima and Tosu. I rode ferries (multiple), got carsick in a shuttle bus, road-tripped through the backcountry and on toll roads, hopped on the shinkansen, and spent plenty of time on my own two feet. I hiked trails at the UNESCO World Heritage Site that inspired Princess Mononoke, watched the sunset while soaking in an outdoor onsen, took timer pics in front of fruit-shaped bus stations peppered along the Isahaya highway, did Fortnite dances in front of Kumamoto Castle (sorry), tossed one-yen coins onto a lucky rock at Yutoku-inari Shrine, kept vigil at the Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Museum, wandered the streets of Chinatown, and ate all the food: flying fish, smoked mackerel, venison burgers, Thai red curry, sea urchin risotto croquettes, homemade sinigang, yuzu soft cream, kakuni manju, castella ice cream, eel donburi, tomato ramen with roasted eggplant, classic champon, earl grey cocoa, mango iyokan jelly jasmine milk tea.
All the while, I stayed committed to my running schedule.
Five miles in a residential neighborhood in Kumamoto, with steaming curry rice waiting for us at home. A nine-mile loop that circled past Kumamoto Castle, where glowing lanterns hung over the river to celebrate Green Day. Five miles alongside Nagasaki Wharf, a million city lights bouncing off the water.
Ailsa and I got that shit done, no excuses, and enjoyed it too. Runners run, even on vacation. Even after full days of sightseeing. Even when the run can’t start until 10 PM, and even when we haven’t eaten dinner or had a proper night of sleep in days. As long as the body and mind are able, the run is non-negotiable. It’s neat how quickly my mindset has changed, how resolute I am.
--
This past Sunday, Ailsa and I wrapped up our insane Golden Week with an 18-mile run, our longest distance yet. It was our final truly long run until the marathon (in two weeks!), which made it an important and daunting one to tackle. Dress rehearsal before opening night.
The 18-miler was probably the hardest run that I have ever done, and yet, it wasn’t the worst or most uncomfortable run that I have ever done. We weren’t exactly set up for success; for starters, we were coming off the tail-end of eight days of travel (which included 4 AM starts and 1 AM ends) and had been subsisting on a diet of unhealthy (but delicious) restaurant meals and conbini snacks. However, I could sense that both of us had a grim determination to get through it.
After driving for six hours and finishing dinner at midnight, we decided that it’d be best to prioritize sleep, which meant starting the run at 8 AM instead of waking up super early to beat the heat. This was probably the right decision, but it also meant that we were running in the May sun, a deadly combo of dry heat and humidity that feels like you’re being sizzled, steamed, and then microwaved. You know how you feel after a day at the beach? That sun-soaked, energy-sapped exhaustion that settles into your bones and pulls down your eyelids? Imagine that fried feeling, but times two, and also you’re running for three and a half hours while it’s happening. We got cooked. Absolutely toasted. I have the bike shorts tan to prove it.
Early in the run, we tried a new trail that led us to the beach, a gorgeous surprise that buoyed our spirits. But after that, it was a real slog, so much so that we barely talked. Unpleasantries included warm drafts, acrid smoke billowing off of field clearing fires, volcanic ash from Sakurajima sticking to the sweat on my face, uncovered trails leaving us exposed to the full blast of the beaming sun.
After the run, I stretched, ate a handful of trail mix, and took a cold shower. Then, I laid flat on my back with a blanket pulled over me, stared at the mesh of my mosquito net tent, and told Ailsa, “I feel like I was hit by a bus.” I think that feeling like you were hit by a bus is probably a symptom of mild heatstroke.
Eventually, I peeled myself off of the mattress, drove us to the best Indian restaurant in Kanoya where we ate saag curry and cheese naan, and returned home to nap off the fatigue.
Weirdly, even though I was absolutely destroyed by the sun, my muscles and joints fared pretty well. I had little to no pain, and after a solid seven-hour rest, I’m pretty much back to normal. Overall, the run did what it needed to do, which was to instill some confidence in my ability to run a marathon. If I could make it through 18 miles in suboptimal conditions and have a half-decent attitude doing it, I can (theoretically) make it through 26.2 miles in cool, early morning weather, especially if I've been sleeping and eating well for two weeks prior. At least that’s the hope!
I feel strong. I feel capable. I feel like I can trust myself to deliver. I’m looking forward to finishing this thing.
Wednesday, 5/11/22:
I am not in the mood for a run. I am in the mood for a cry and a curl into a ball.
A childhood friend of mine committed suicide yesterday. Typing that made me cry, so there are tears in my eyes as I write this. I think that everything is catching up to me - personal matters, unprocessed feelings, the general global catastrophe that we all have a front-row seat to. I am not sure that an ongoing journal about running is the proper avenue for these thoughts, or that I have the right to this degree of emotion for problems that I have the luxury of largely being spared from, but both are happening anyways.
I just returned home from work. I pulled my hair into a ponytail and started to change into my running kit, but I stopped halfway. I’m still wearing my work pants. I’m sitting on the edge of my bed now. I’m heaving, and snot is trickling down the front of my face. There are two used tissues on my bedroom floor and a slip notifying me that I missed a package delivery. The sky is gray, completely overtaken by cloud cover. I don’t want to move. I’m telling you this because I don’t know what to say.
I’m all over the place. I am at least three people every day, and only one of them is a runner. I regurgitate platitudes like “Anything is possible!” and “Life is good!” because I believe that they are true (mostly), and because they are helpful and affirming to hear, but I also know that all of us are living with and amongst very real, painful, and visceral suffering. Being on earth and moving my body and sharing space with and being seen by you - all these things bring me true, palpable, uncomplicated joy - and at the exact same time, I admit that I’m lonely, worried, destabilized, afflicted, just plain sad.
I’m doing everything right. I’m exercising and spending time with friends and cleaning my house and meal prepping and reading and writing and journaling and teaching and talking to young people who have ideas about the world and how to improve it and why it’s lovely nonetheless, and still, still, I have the lingering, irritating, melancholic sense that something’s off, that something strange and unknowable and threatening is looming around the corner. And sometimes something terrible happens that confirms that fear and I have reason to let it rule me all over again, even more stringently this time around.
I don’t want to oversell either side of things. I’m healthy and happy and spiritual. I’m unwell and confused and nihilistic. Everything’s good and everything’s bad, all the time, in every direction.
I don’t know how to fix it, if it’s fixable, if it’s even an issue or just an inevitable, unavoidable by-product of being alive right now, of having a mind that evolved 300,000 years ago and isn’t designed to handle Twitter or microplastics or nuclear weapons proliferation. I keep doing the only thing that seems to resemble a solution, which is to just keep throwing more and more love at everything. I remind myself that I love you and I love me and I love life, and that love is a reciprocal force that will return to me with the same intensity that I dole it out with. I offer myself as a conversation partner and a friend, and I mean it, and I sincerely hope that you take me up on it.
Today, I taught my students the conditional form using "if."
If you were still here -
If I could speak to you -
If I had known -
I’m not going to run. I’m going to stay still. Feel what I feel. Grieve for lost friends and for all people who are in pain. Please know that I am thinking of you and praying for the protection of your peace.
Thursday, 5/12/22:
It is pouring rain, because of course it is, which means that I cannot run the nine miles I was supposed to run yesterday today, which makes me feel unreasonably guilty. I told Ailsa and she told me, “Just take a break!” which despite being obvious, was a revelatory message to receive.
Honestly, I was looking forward to having an angry, cathartic, messy, penitent run, but plans had to change and that’s okay. I’m going to cross-train instead. Today’s activities will be four treadmill miles, 30 minutes of biking, and a 30-minute YouTube workout. That’s the best I can do, or at least all that I’m willing to do.
You might be thinking, “why don’t you just run all nine miles on the treadmill?” and the short answer is because running on the treadmill sucks. The long answer is because my indoor gym shoes are clunky and annoying to run in, because there is a (loosely-enforced) 30-minute time limit on the treadmills at the gym, and because I don’t want to pay 320 yen to run on a machine when I can normally run outside for free.
Monday, 5/16/22:
After a weekend that consisted of truncated sleep, curry rice, a new half marathon PR, yakiniku, and dancing in a cabin next to a wind farm, I am very tired, slightly ill, and moderately pleased with my training performance.
I had a truly fun 14-mile run last Saturday. Despite going into it with a “hey, let’s just take it easy” mentality due to the fact that Ailsa and I were operating on five hours of sleep, we started off at a surprisingly brisk pace. Around the halfway mark, I realized that we were well on our way toward a PR and got excited. I’ve been a little put out watching my average mile pace get slower as the weather warms up and the training distances get longer, so I was encouraged to find myself running at speeds that I thought were currently out of reach for me.
Several things went well: the clouds shielded us from the sun, my legs felt sturdy and light, and my arms pumped back and forth with precision. I experienced a moment of clarity where my vision brightened and I felt fully present, which was either runner’s high or the 50 milligrams of caffeine in my lemon energy gel kicking in. Either way, I leaned into the contentment and rode a second wind all the way to a half-marathon finish time of 2:17:11, which comes out to a 10:28 mile pace. For me, this is fast.
Though running is a sport, we don’t “play” it in the same way that we play soccer or tennis or baseball. However, we totally should. Sports are about having fun! Sport is play! Running is play! And on this run, I played running.
At the end of our most-frequented trail, there’s the option to continue onto a wide road that extends alongside a golf course. It’s a good way to tack on some extra distance and stretch out your legs as you stride downhill. It’s far less pleasant to struggle back up the incline. However, on this run, I was keen to tackle both parts - the enthusiastic, buoyant descent, and the tiny-stepped, labored breath-inducing shuffle back up.
I was shocked at how eager I was to keep going and going and going. After finishing, I proclaimed that the half marathon is my new favorite distance to run: long enough to induce the satisfaction of a genuine challenge, but not so long that I need to pass out afterward.
Subsequently, I completely dishonored this fantastic run by having a terrible recovery. I didn’t eat enough or healthily, or sleep enough or very well, all of which led to me getting sick, though I won’t belabor my mistakes because whinging about them won’t resolve anything. However, I will admit that I am feeling worn out and a bit bummed that instead of going into my final week of training coming off the high of a successful run, I’m going into it hoping that my nose stops running by the time Saturday arrives.
Marathon training programs usually end with a three-week taper where you slowly reduce mileage following your most intensive week so that you can run the marathon with fresh, well-rested muscles. However, Ailsa and I are racing against time, literally, as the rainy season and complete and total burnout close in. So, we’re substituting a three-week taper for a one-week taper, which means that the marathon is in only six days. This has been the plan for a while (not a last-minute change - don’t worry!), but nonetheless, it feels like the marathon crept up on me. I can’t believe it’s here already! I have dedicated so much mental and physical energy to this goal that it is scary to be at the point where all my hard work must come to fruition.
Everyone tells me that the first 20 miles of a 26.2-mile marathon are the easy part and that it’s really the last 6.2 miles that do you in. Well, the furthest I’ve ever run is 18 miles, so fortunately and unfortunately, I have no conception of what is in store for me. But I am the readiest that I have ever been, and I’m also equipped with the extremely powerful motivation of not wanting to fail, so I am pretty confident that I will make it through all 26.2 miles this weekend.
Usually, things feel nebulous and daunting until I am actually in the middle of them. So I just need to keep doing and not thinking.
Wednesday, 5/17/22:
I tried to run four miles yesterday but started getting the sensation of shin splints about half a mile in and noped out at the one-mile mark. I remember thinking, “if the marathon starts like this, I am absolutely fucked.”
This late in the game, I think preserving a can-do attitude and positive mentality towards running is far more important than trying to hit a certain mileage, so I’m not too concerned about how far or long I run this week. I’m not going to gain or lose physical fitness in the span of four days, so I might as well focus on doing what it takes to maintain a calm mind, even if that means not running. I just don’t want to psych myself out, you know?
At the moment, the majority of my preparation is just eating a shit ton of food. I normally don’t eat breakfast and never really have, but this week, I’m consuming simple carbs at all hours of the day. This morning, I had a bread bun stuffed with chocolate pudding (weird) and a sweet potato bread twist (delicious) all before 8:30 AM.
Despite the increase in caloric intake, I’m not feeling particularly full, which makes me think that I wasn’t eating nearly enough during the training weeks before this one. TMI (but not really, since it’s a common experience among new runners), I stopped getting my period around the same time that I picked up mileage six months ago. There’s a high likelihood that it’s a side effect of my birth control implant slowly expiring in my arm (whoops!), but on the off-chance that it’s not, I want to eat more and more nutritiously to fix that. Exercise-induced amenorrhea, the prolonged halting of one’s menstrual cycle, happens when your body does not have enough energy to ovulate, and so it stops. As pleasant as not having a period is, ensuring that my body has enough energy to perform a basic biological task is probably more important. That’s another benefit to running; it makes me want to take care of my body so it can function at its best.
The correlations between disordered eating, body image, and exercise fascinate and scare me, and I’d be curious to explore my own relationship with food and self at a later time. I was only half-joking when I said that my primary motivation for running a marathon was to get abs, and I am a little disappointed that my outward appearance didn’t change more. However, I know that my insides (like my cardiovascular and pulmonary system and such) are presumably shredded, and I suppose that’s what really matters in the end.
I know that running is nothing special because we all know how to do it, and I know that running is very special because I still feel nervous to call myself a runner after all this time. Even though there is no required distance to complete before “becoming” a runner, everyone secretly knows that it is the marathon. So after I run one this weekend, maybe I’ll finally feel worthy enough to describe myself as one.
Friday, 5/20/21:
So here’s where we’re at less than 24 hours before the marathon. I tried to go for a mid-distance run on Wednesday and only made it about a mile and a half in before my calves seized. I walked back home and have not run since. At this point, I’m basically just trying not to scare or injure myself.
My total mileage for this final week of training was 2.5 miles. Very impressive, I know. Let’s not dwell on it, though. I’m mostly just disappointed that I didn’t have one final, exuberant run to get my mental state in order before the big event.
Nonetheless, I’ve decided that even if I can tell that the marathon is going to be painful early on, I am determined to just keep going. I originally told Ailsa that if something feels off in the first few miles, I want to stop and postpone the race because it’s important for me to not only complete the run, but also to enjoy the run. But then I really thought about it, and I changed my mind. After some personal deliberation, I’ve decided that the most important thing to me is getting this shit over with ASAP.
I’m not running a marathon because I want a blissful frolic through the fresh air. (That’s what 5k’s are for, duh.) I’m running a marathon because I want to challenge my mind and my body, to brush up against the limits of what I am capable of. We don’t get to perform only on our best days. We have to show up even on days when it’s difficult, especially on days when it’s difficult. Besides, it’s going to hurt even if everything goes well, so why not welcome the hurt early?
There’s not too much else to say. Right now, I’m single-mindedly focused on making it through.
Monday, 5/30/2022:
I’m writing to you as a marathon finisher. Yup, I did it!
Excerpts from a letter I recently sent to a friend:
“Feels a bit trippy to remember how I told you that I was nervous to attempt even 10k…now we’re both standing on the other side of our intentions, which is a good reminder of how quickly and ‘easily’ our goals can be accomplished when we’re not afraid to grab at them. I’m proud of us. I love when things come full circle.”
I’ll give you the play-by-play of how it went down.
After a breakfast of English muffins with peanut butter, sliced banana, and honey, Ailsa and I started running promptly at 4:19 AM. It was drizzling and gusty, the strong winds picking up raindrops and pelting them at our faces.
In the lead-up to the marathon, the number one piece of advice I received was to start slow, like really slow. Luckily, I am extremely good at running slow and moderately well-versed in following directions, so this was an easy strategy to execute. Miles 1-3 were “ran” at a 14-minute mile pace, which was slow enough to feel like they didn’t really count at all. Just two foreigners having a nice neighborhood stroll at 4 AM, in the dark, during a rainstorm. Casual. I got a little worried that I might be the only person in history who has started a marathon too slow, but in hindsight, this was the correct pace to kick things off with.
Miles 4-13 are described in my post-marathon notes as “chill”, which is a pretty encompassing descriptor. You would think that I’d have more to say about ten miles of running, but there’s not that much to elaborate upon. Some people use running as a time to process and think things through. Apparently, I use it as a time to zone out and refuse to have even one thought worth sharing. Vaguely, I remember the smell of cows, weaving to avoid being splashed by semi-trucks speeding through puddles, and craving takoyaki after passing a shuttered stand that once sold it.
Somewhere in this stretch of distance, I reached the point of complete saturation, no longer able to get any wetter. My ponytail resembled a brush dipped in paint. My windbreaker was steadily dripping water from the elbows and cuffs. I had stepped directly into at least three puddles. Perhaps an overshare, but even my underwear was damp. It sounds like it would be miserable, but honestly, it wasn’t so bad. Once I accepted and yielded to the fact that I was going to get drenched, I was able to embrace the rain. It wasn’t that different from running on a clear day, and it certainly beat the sun.
Around this time, I also re-confirmed that energy gels are kind of disgusting. Sadly, ingesting liquid sugar is not as tasty as it should be. Throughout the marathon, I choked down three and a half gels: banana gelée (so sweet that it made my chest hurt), mikan (mostly fine, unoffensive), apple (what I imagine biting into a block of frozen juice concentrate tastes like), and grapefruit (the old standby). I apologize to my teeth for putting them through so much. For me, the existence of energy gels drives home just how intense running a marathon is. You’re literally supposed to eat pure sugar. Wild.
After the halfway mark (13.1 miles), we dipped into a 7-11 to use the bathroom, then left the city and made our way to the coast. The 20-mile guided run from Shalane Flanagan that Ailsa and I were listening to concluded somewhere near the start of the beachside trail - the same one we were on when the humid summer heat steamed us half to death. After listening to guided runs from male coaches throughout the entirety of our training, it felt special and fitting to be coached by a woman for the marathon. Additionally, listening to the guided run broke the marathon into two manageable parts: 20 miles to start, then a cheeky 6.2-mile (10k) run to finish.
At the 20-mile mark with 10k left to go, I felt pretty decent. I reminded myself that I’ve run plenty of 10k’s before and kept on keeping on.
Before the marathon, many people warned me about “hitting the wall” or “bonking”, the dreaded point around the 20-mile mark where the glycogen stored in your muscles is depleted and you’re overcome by fatigue. I was nervous (and hesitantly intrigued) to hit the wall, but luckily (disappointingly?) it never came. Don’t get me wrong though, I was in a decent amount of pain. But on the edges of that pain was quiet and warm happiness, a candle of contentment catching fire.
I listened to “My God Has A Telephone” by The Flying Stars of Brooklyn, NY and let it wash over me like a blessing. I thought of Jacky Hunt-Broersma, the para-athlete who ran 104 marathons in 104 days and drew strength from her mantra “I can do hard things” written in sharpie on my inner forearm. I thought about Murakami’s three rules of running (reaching the finish line, never walking, and enjoying the race - in that order) and found that I was accomplishing all three. I thought of my friends (CC, BZ, MC, SC, OD) who are kind and tender even when the world is not, who I am too embarrassed to tell directly how much their support means to me. I thought of my favorite affirmation, “I am on my personal path to ecstasy” and realized that I was jogging down it. I thought of all the runners who I’ve encountered on the roads, trails, and streets - all of us chasing down something just out of reach, slamming our joints into the ground in exchange for joy, respect, community, solitude, health, penance, accomplishment, punishment, peace, endurance, grit, self-love, courage, healing, euphoria.
I finished in 5:15:38 with negative splits - 2:45:59 for the first half and 2:29:39 for the second.
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I owe more thank you’s than I can write. Here are a few:
The running community. Thank you to anyone and everyone who runs. I’m only able to cross starting lines because you crossed them first. Thank you to Dani and Justin, for running with me. Thank you to every person who encouraged me or told me “you got this!” or "keep going!" or “頑張って!” It made a difference. I promise to continue 頑張ります-ing very hard, just for you.
Coach Bennett, Nike Global Running Head Coach. I joke that this man is my equivalent of a pastor, but the more that I run, the less that I am joking. Coach Bennett’s voice in my ear has guided me through an international move, a complete restructuring of my life trajectory, celebratory sprints, before dawn shuffles, good days, bad days, “just like any other day” days, the sensation that everything is collapsing in on itself, the hope that everything will piece itself back together, and at least 350 miles. I listen to Coach Bennett, I laugh, I cry, I think, I jog through it. If you’re interested in running but don’t know where to start, my number one piece of advice would be to download the Nike Run Club App and complete his “First Run.” It worked for me!
Ailsa. Meeting on that mountaintop was destiny. I think that running made us both better people, and I know that meeting you made me a better person. For my first marathon, I wouldn’t have wanted anything other than our homemade race and your steadfast company. Thank you for being my teammate, my friend, and the other ½ of Kagoshima Run Club. And thanks for being so easy to believe in.
Lastly, myself and my tiny, tepid idea that maybe I could learn how to run.
I’m reminded of 14-year-old Britney again, terrible at running but decent at agreeing to do it despite. I think I’ve done a good job honoring her, of wrapping up our loose ends. I’m still the same person in so many ways: sun-tanned and wide-eyed, kicking around in the 33rd percentile, fascinated by language and storytelling and trying to do the right thing. I’m still curious about the world, still abrasive and foolish and self-assured, still grateful for and upset about my youth. I’m still easily persuaded, still clueless but cognizant of it, still putting one foot in front of the other and trusting that it will lead somewhere beautiful.
I’m here and I’m alive. I’m running because I can. I’m cheering for you with all my might.
I hear my small, clear voice saying “yes” and it sounds like the opening bell to more and more life.