It took some doing to get to Corral E, where I was supposed to start. I squeezed into the line-up around the sign for Corral G, and began to slither my way up to the front. Around the sign for Corral F, I ran into a bit of a bottleneck. This place was packed, really packed. I felt like I was in a commuter train; you know, the kind where they have station agents ready to forcefully jam passengers in before the train doors close. I was on my tippy toes, just trying to keep moving forward with the crowd without losing touch with the ground. I thought of just jumping up and crowd-surfing my way to Corral E - riding high on the waves of humanity. With any luck, they'd pass me right up to the elite starting group; then I might have a chance to win this thing! Yeah...right.
Anyway, after sucking in my gut and thinking happy thoughts, I made it through the bottleneck and to Corral E. I would wait here until the the race began, starting right about in the middle of the pack. And so I waited, in the absolute silence. I swear, only in Japan can a massive crowd of 32,000 make so little noise. Conveniently, I was positioned near a big screen TV that was projecting the view from the starting line.
On the screen now were just the race officials, cheesing it up. They were probably happy the weather was actually cooperating this time (last year was bitter-cold rain). Waving at the crowd, thinking of how much money this mob would be raking in. That'd put a grin on the face of any "overworked" salary-man, quality family life or not.
Now the screen's image shifted to the starting line; the wheelchair division was about to start. These guys looked tough, spinning their wheels, gettin' ready. In their wedge-shaped speedmobiles, built for aerodynamics, they'd be crossing the finish line about 30 minutes before the first elite runners. I really admire these wheelchair athletes. People can really do some amazing things in a chair. I mean, just check out the guys in Murderball.
I didn't hear the gun go off. I only saw the TV image of the race official with the gun in his hand, and then the sharp jolt backward as it fired into the air. The wheelchair athletes were off before I knew it, speeding down the streets of Shinjuku. The first few kilometers of the course were downhill; that must have been a blast on wheels! Everyone cheered the wheelchair racers, even back here in Corral E. Our time was soon at hand.
The elites had lined up right behind the wheelchair racers. Their candor was refreshing; they were all smiles, chatting, hopping about. I wondered how life would be as an elite runner, earning a bit of celebrity in my racing flats. One good thing would be that you could start right as the gun goes off. And when the time came, that's just what they did.
And we followed, slowly. After a few seconds, my corral began walking to the starting line. A few more seconds, and I was picking up my feet, bouncing along with a slow jog. But then came the wall, not the infamous glycogen wall; that will come later, I thought. You know, the pre-starting line surge, where you start half-running, only to be stopped again at a wall of slower runners five seconds later.
As I trudged along, I saw a funny-looking man with a bowl hair cut and red-rimmed spectacles cheering on the sideline. I recognized him from Japanese TV, and some runners were shouting at him:
"Yama-chan, hashiru no?"
"Iya, muri desu!" he asserted, shaking his head and waving his hand in front of his face. I only smiled, trying (unsuccessfully) to feel just a little bit star-struck. I would liken seeing Yama-chan to spotting Bobcat Goldthwait, Howie Mandel or Donkey Lips from Salute Your Shorts. Kind of cool, but not really at all.
This went on and on for about 7 minutes; stopping and starting, moving along with the crowd. When I finally crossed the starting line, I was actually beginning to run at a nice pace. I'm guessing 9:30/mile or so. I would have to increase this pace if I wanted to finish in under 4 hours. But I wasn't thinking about that; I was just letting it all soak in. I was starting the Tokyo Marathon, and I was going to finish, no matter the time. My two prior attempts (once in Salt Lake City, again in Paris) would hold no bearing on the outcome of today. As I crossed that starting line, I could already sense the slightest taste of victory.
No comments:
Post a Comment