Spaghetti Carbonara

My running gives me time to clear my head. I think this is true for many runners, and it's one of the reasons running is so popular. Just the fact that it is "my running" makes each step, each mile, each record our own.

Our sport is one of the most personal, most customizable, most introspective. A lot of us go out there with thoughts rattling around in our heads; and by the time we return home, we've got everything figured out. It might take a few hours on the road, a few runs in a week, or even a whole marathon training plan to do it. But we runners get it done; we think things through, and find whatever we need to find in ourselves.

Lately, my thoughts in running have been all over the place.

*The goings-on of my mind resemble

a spilt plate of spaghetti carbonara,

each neuron yearning for

another

noodley,

delicious,

synaptic connection.

Damn you, dendrites; find your destination!

And in doing so, find mine too,

my feet will do the rest.*

Spring does this to me; it spins me 'round, ruffles my feathers. The warming scents of Spring return, reminding me of yesteryears, squandered opportunities. Making me write poems about the metaphysical.

My running kicks may be landing symmetrically, but my thoughts are flailing like a drunkard trying to dance to Pink Floyd's "Money."

Maybe this funk is due to the fact that I achieved my first marathon goal without immediately setting up another goal for myself. All (or at least most) of my running thoughts pre-Tokyo had to do with the race itself. Now I'm left out there, on these runs, without a unifying purpose in thought.

Oh well, I'll be out there again tomorrow, to give it another go.

Maybe with another goal in mind,

steps toward a finish line,

or mindful meditation:

where I am and where I want to go, in time.

Tokyo Marathon 07: Mount Up.

The end of every marathon holds an interesting dilemma: to smoothly steer your way to the finish line, enjoying the party atmosphere and reveling in the accomplishment of running a continuous 26.2 miles; or to try and squeeze out the last few miles as quickly as possible, shaving seconds off of your finish time, aiming for a personal record.

I was sort of sitting on the fence about this issue. I hadn’t imagined that I would actually be in this position, lined up to finish in under four hours. And, as any marathon runner will tell you, the phrases "mile-23" and "coherent thought" don’t belong in the same sentence. So for these last few miles, I decided just to keep going; and to not really think about pace that much. I just wanted to finish, and if I found myself near the finish line with a couple minutes to spare, I might make a break for it to clip under the 4 hour mark. Sounds simple enough…

Not really. In the last few miles, all I found were hills and a headwind. The hills came as we crossed the bridge to Odaiba, Tokyo’s manmade island, the garbage dump – turned – high-end entertainment district. And, with the bridge, came the breeze from the Sumida River and Tokyo Bay, both somehow blowing right into my face.

There is something about hills and wind, though, which makes me push myself harder. For the hills, I shortened my stride slightly, slowly making gains and focusing on the peak. "What goes up must come down," I thought to myself, "I’ll be blazing down the other side of this thing." I thought of how far I had come, how long I had trained, how it all came down to these last few miles. The wind was another issue, and I tried to simply welcome the cooling effect that it had on me. I focused on my stride and tried to not let the wind make me waste my energy by over-compensating.

The spectators on Odaiba were cheering more loudly now, and I could hear Taiko drummers playing in the distance. "Gambatte, ato mo sukoshi!" they shouted, "ato ni kilo!" I passed them at the 40km marker and made my way up the final hill to the finish. The runners here looked like they were on a death march.

I spotted another foreigner in front of me, his name printed on the back of his shirt: David. "Come on, David! Almost there!" I patted his back as I passed, "Let’s go!" This cheer was almost more for me than David himself. As I shouted these words, I felt as if the wind had left me, the incline had flattened, and my final kick had begun.

3:55:45, according to my watch at the last kilometer. With no more hills in my way, I was kicking it to the finish. I was going fast-fast-fast, faster than any other kilometer split on the course. I was passing runner after runner, I felt like they were just standing still. I was going all out, and I heard it from the crowd. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw spectators stand up and yell just for me, "Go, go, go! Fight-o!" I heard exclamations of "Ohhhhh, hayai!" and "Sugoi!" All of these shouts of encouragement pushed me even faster. I was running so quickly, I hardly noticed the 100-member Taiko group drumming away as I passed them, nearing the finish line. In the last 50 meters, I hurriedly found a niche in the sparse crowd. I then raised my fists in victory, and crossed the finish line of my first ever marathon, in 3:59:31.

Tokyo Marathon 06: Sweets Satisfaction

I'm a big fan of bananas. I love them in a bowl of Rice Krispies, or just plain and peeled. Oh, and combined with strawberries, what a delight. I heard a while back that bananas are going extinct. So, we've gotta enjoy them while we can. And a marathon course is just the place for that.

Japanese newspapers would later report this impressive race statistic: 60,000 bananas prepared for all of the marathon runners. I'd have to say at least four of those were mine. I'd been grabbing banana slices from the sidelines ever since around 21km, the halfway point. These bananas would be my front-line in combatting the infamous glycogen wall, the place where too often dreams of marathon PRs (or completions) are crushed and defeated.

After passing the 32km marker, I felt great. Here, I started to snag little bite-size chocolates from the cheering crowd. I had a feeling these little yummy sugar treats would really help in the last little bit coming up. And man, did they ever.

Passing 34km, I kept my pace going strong. I wish I could say that for some of my fellow runners on the course. It was around here where people started slowing down, stretching, and dropping like flies! I was passing so many people, I felt like my pace was increasing with each mile. This continued as I ran along, though I became a bit wary of this high. I was sure the Wall was going to come around any minute and hit me in the face. But I just kept going, listening to my body for any warning signs...

35km, nothing. I see a man stretching on the side of the road. My legs are feeling too good to stop. I'm afraid of interrupting my pace to stretch if I really don't need it. I make my way left, to the water station for a cup or two, and almost crash into another runner who had stopped mid-stride to drink his fluids.

36 km, nothing. Up ahead, I watch a man crumple to the ground. Strangers in the crowd rush in to assist him. His race is over. Further up the road, I pass a runner who is limping. He wears a grimace of determination as he holds his right thigh in pain. But he keeps moving forward.

I was at 37km when I realized I had just over a 5k to go. "Five kilometers, that's my shortest training run. 3.1 Miles, that really is nothing! That's just a quick loop around the rice fields back home. I've bypassed the Wall of Doom, I've got this in the bag, I'm actually going to finish!" I looked down at my watch. 3:31:15. "Yes, oh yes, oh yes."

Tokyo Marathon 05: Math, Magick and Going Mental

21km to go. What does that mean? About 13 miles. I had done all of my training in miles; thinking of minutes/mile, averaging my weekly distance in miles, always pushing myself through the last mile of a long training run.

But now, I found myself on a course measured in kilometers, and with twenty-one of them left to go. There were markers for every single kilometer, and this kind of threw me off. I like to think of chopping up distances into larger blocks than just one kilometer at a time. So, for the last 21km, I decided to do a little math and break it down into segments. This proved a little more difficult than it seems. See, after running over 13 miles, my brain starts to turn into mush. Nevertheless, after a few minutes, I had picked out my Magic Number markers to look out for: 26, 32, 37, and 40. I would just try and ignore all the other km markers until I saw my Magic Numbers in the distance.

For this part of the race in particular, I switched over to auto-pilot. My stride and pace were great, so I just kept my brain busy. Whispering calculations and coincidences with the Magic Numbers in my head, I sped along through the streets.

"Twenty-six, Twenty-six, stack one thousand metric sticks..."
"I’ll have completed my first marathon before the age of 26..."
"I wonder how fast I’ll run at the age of 62, as it’s 26 reversed..."
"Will cars fly by the year 2026?..."
"If these kilometers were miles, we’d almost be done by 26..."

Passing the bold red gate of Kaminarimon, I couldn’t help but notice how dead-quiet the spectators here were. Maybe it was out of respect for the nearby Sensoji Temple, or maybe out of exhaustion; these people would have been cheering for over two hours. Either way, I awkardly waved to the crowd and cameras as the course flipped around and headed back toward Ginza.

Just before Magic Number 32 came around, I spotted my pals Steven and Nobue on the side. I stopped and chatted with them for a minute, still bouncing up and down. "I’ll be to the finish in about an hour," I predicted. And I was off again, only realizing after I had said it, that I would be finished in just one more hour. Sweet.

Tokyo Marathon 04: Freeze

For a moment the crowd went silent. There was no music, no cheering, not even the sound of other runners' footsteps pounding the streets around me. Only the pain in my left knee rang out like a shrill, high-pitched scream. And for an instant, time froze.

I was floating in the air, bouncing up from what could be a race-ending injury...

'That felt like my knee just twisted slightly the wrong way; and after 17 km running a certain way, any change is an unwelcome one. It could be a fluke; or, maybe I just need to stop and stretch 'em out. It might be something worse. I hope this doesn't give me troubles later on. I'm not even halfway yet, and I'm having knee pain?'

My right foot landed, pressed, and pushed off. I was in the air again.

'I need to finish. Okay, no matter the time, I said I would finish. I'll limp across the finish line if I need to. This is no Salt Lake. This is no Paris. Third time's the charm, I need to finish. This step seals it; I'll keep going, even if this damn thing stings again.'

My left foot struck the ground again, pressed down heel-to-toe, and pushed off. Time returned, as did the cheers from the crowd and the sound of other runners. The knee pain was gone. I slowed down and gave my legs a quick stretch anyway, just to make sure it wouldn't return. And it never did.

I kept running, focusing a bit more on my stride. I got back into my groove by 21 km, the halfway point. "Only 13 miles left," I thought out loud, "that's nothin'."

My watch read 2:00:00 as I slowed to munch on a pre-peeled banana, and chug some Amino-Value sports drink. If I kept an even pace, I'd be able to finish around 4 hours. But that wasn't factoring in how hard I would hit the wall, if and when it came around.

Tokyo Marathon 03: Send My Regards to Luigi

I looked up as we passed the Keio Plaza Hotel, where I had spent my first night in Japan. And oddly, enough, I found myself running along the same street I had run that first morning in this foreign metropolis.

On that day, I had jet-laggedly awoken at 5am, slipped on my kicks and headed out. The streets had been surprisingly quiet for a city of 13 million. I had smiled as I passed the rows of vending machines, storefronts and street signs; all in, what was then, a beautiful yet incomprehensible language. This had also been my first time in a large city, so I remember spending much of that run just gawking up at the impressive metal structures. I couldn't believe I was actually in Japan, actually in Tokyo.

That same disbelief came back to me now, as I ran through the streets of Shinjuku. The crowd was insane, and they kept my attention even better than the high-rise splendor of the urban sprawl. I've heard estimates of there being one million people cheering along the course. And I'm not surprised. The crowd was constant, and always at least 2-3 people deep. I was bombarded with chants of, "Gambarre! Gambatte!" and, once in a while, "Fight-o!" from the odd spectator keen on internationalizing the field.

With so many people in the crowd, it's amazing that I actually spotted my pal Steven yelling, "Run Dan! Run!" He didn't think I had seen him. So he chased me along the sideline, this tall British bloke knocking down who knows how many helpless grannies to get-in another cheer down the way. On my second pass, I gave him a wave and shouted, "Thanks, man!" I wouldn't see him again until the second half of the race. And Amy was planning on being stationed around the halfway point. So, I had some time (and miles) before I had to scan the crowd again for my peeps.

I shifted my gaze to the course. I was passing Kabuki-cho, the...entertainment district. Karaoke clubs, bars, cheap food places lined the way. By this morning hour, all of the soap-club doormen and their respective hostesses had dispersed. Probably to prepare for the next big night of debauchery. Lord knows a marathon runner needs a good massage in the hours after the race. Maybe they would be cashing in on that prospect this evening. Maybe.

It was becoming easier to run at my marathon pace, now that the crowd was thinning out a bit. Though, without a GPS, I was just using my stopwatch and kilometer markers to judge my speed. I settled into a nice groove around 5k, after about 28 minutes.

That's when I realized that I had inadvertently lined up my pace with a man in a Super Mario costume. Everyone we passed shouted, "Mario! Mario! Gambatte!" This guy was messing up my chi. I needed to get away, so I kicked it up a notch for a few minutes and never saw Mario again. Game over, plumber boy!

I was passing the Imperial Palace near Tokyo station when I saw Tokyo Tower in the distance. It looked different from here, maybe because I knew I'd be running to it. But it stood as a nice beacon for a few miles, until I passed it and made the turn back up to central Tokyo.

At 15 km, I knew I still had a long way to go. But I knew I was still up for it. My 20-mile run three weeks before had gone really well. This would just be six miles longer. Just six miles...

A false step around 17km sounded off a slicing pain in my left knee, and for the first time since I began the race this morning, I started to have my doubts.