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.
No comments:
Post a Comment