13.1 Miles Around a Sewage Plant

Three years ago, I started running. During that time, I realized there was a decision to be made, do I want to continue a relationship that had already ended for me emotionally or should I keep trying to rekindle a phantom passion? Trying to make that decision overpowered my daily routines. It was all I could think about and I obsessively beat myself up thinking I was a horrible person for wanting out when on the surface everything seemed fine. The weight of the relationship felt entirely up to me. I realize now that’s never the case in any relationship, it’s symbiotic, but at that time I felt fully responsible.

My decision was to run. I hated running and my body yelled at me after each run. The whole point of ensuring pain on my body was to give me something else to focus on. Instead of telling myself I’m a horrible person for wanting to abandon a marriage that others continuously told me I was lucky to have, I could focus on the burn and the fatigue from running.

Six months later, I crossed the finish line of my first half marathon and suddenly my decision was clear. It was time for me to come to terms with the death of that relationship.  Soon after, we parted ways. One small victory pushed me into an entirely different path, one I never planned. Since the first race, my life took many unexpected twists and turns. Many were painful, but through it all, I continued running.

At first, running was a form of masochism. Any time I would feel angry or depressed, I would run just to feel the ache throughout my body as to try and forget the internal turmoil. Eventually, running evolved into therapy. I have to admit that I am a sloppy runner. What I mean is, I will start with a light jog and slowly pick up speed. Before I realize it, I will be in a full sprint, arms flailing, tears streaming down my face, uncontrollable runny nose and complete blindness by my own sweat. Occasionally, I’ll pass someone and see a look of confusion on his face. This is pretty embarrassing, but I when I hit that emotional breaking point, I have difficulty controlling anything about myself. Luckily, I’ve gotten to the point now I can run with minimal breakdowns. Now, running has grown to be more hypnotic and reflective. Before coming to Japan, I promised myself to complete a marathon to remind me of how far I’ve come since the first day I toppled in pain from running less than a mile.

It’s very difficult to join a race in Japan. Many of the races require foreigners to be a resident here for more than a year with a certificate showing his/her speed from a previous race. If I wanted to run a full marathon, I’d have to prove I participated in another marathon and that I was able to complete the race in a specific amount of time. Because everything here is incredibly bureaucratic, there would be no loopholes or ways around this. My Japanese friend was kind enough to help me find a race in Yokohama that didn’t have policies to weed out foreigners. Unfortunately, there were no spots available in the full marathon, so I signed up for the half marathon. I was just happy to have something to train and look forward to.

Race day, February 6^th, and my friend, Patience was there to cheer me on. Patience and I are so different, yet she was incredibly supportive. This meant so much to me. I expected to start and finish the race alone, which I didn’t mind, but it was nice to see someone just as excited as me. As I stretched, Patience lit up her cigarette and said with her Irish accent, “Look at us! Me the smoker and you the marathon runner…isn’t this fucking exciting?” I smiled and nodded, “It’s fucking awesome!” There were moments when waiting to start that Patience seemed more excited about my race than me. I felt touched that my dear friend who describes herself as a chain smoker and ‘not a morning person,’ took the time to meet me early in the morning on her day off to stand on the side lines and wave goodbye as I began the race. She knows how far I’ve come and how difficult the last few years have been. We’ve laughed together, cried together and held each other’s hair when hugging the toilet from getting wasted together. Here was my friend, total opposite of me, waiting at the starting line to cheer me on.

When the gun went off, we all started running at a fair pace. I was impressed how consistent everyone’s pace was. Very few people were pushing and shoving. Japanese people are far from aggressive, but it was interesting how structured we all were. Everyone was equal distance apart from one another and our steps stayed synched to an imaginary eight count. People here are punctual and precise, but I didn’t expect to see that in a race. The race began and exactly 11:30, the time posted, and we all kept about a 9:30 min mile as a group, much different than racing in the States. The only disappointment I felt was the choice of the race route. The 13.1 miles circled a water sewage plant twice, so the view was little to be desired and the smell was unpleasant at times. I still found humor in it all, saying to myself, “The last three years felt like I was dipped and dragged through a sewage plant and this time I am circling the shit that made me who I am today…and that’s one glorious dump!”

The race took me just under two hours, which is an average pace. I didn’t push myself for speed, I allowed myself to stay in a hypnotic zone and reflect on everything that has happened in my life from three years ago to that very moment. As I crossed the finish line, it felt a bit anti-climatic, but it didn’t discourage me. Despite the fact there was no beautiful rainbows or a small fan club of friends at the finish, I smiled to myself knowing this finish was different from the last one. The first time I crossed the finish line, I was overwhelmed with the mourning that comes with the loss of a loved one. This time, the finish line felt like I was stepping into the beginning of a new life, one with many guarantees of growth and enrichment.