Runners In Japan

In America, runners come in many varieties. You have the wanna-be marathoners, the thrift store clad hipsters, the ironic runners, the fun runners, the carry weights around as you go runners, the spandex crowd, the giant headphone wearers, etc. In Japan, you have only one kind of runner. The stoic runner. These fit but silent types wear the latest running fashion, all the way down to the seasonally sanctioned tights. There is no fun in their run. You can see them running with backpacks around the imperial palace, or running in well color coordinated packs around Yoyogi Park. They signal their turns and shout serious warnings when they come up behind you. I wish the types of runners in Japan were as diverse as some of the other sub-cultures. But for now, these stoic warriors rule the city, with dreams of Ekiden glory in their heads all the year round.

“Jogging”

There is no such thing as casual running in Tokyo.

The parks and sidewalks of Tokyo are basically a paved fashion runway for obsessive, maniacal souls who seek out every possible accessory that happens to remotely relate to running. Every runner in Tokyo is an entire catalogue of possibility. Tights are required. There are fanny packs involved. Backpacks. Packs for their iPods. Another pack for their wallet. Still another one for vending machine change. They wear watches, they wear Nike plus. They wear the dry fit shirt from the 5K ‘fun run’ last summer. They wear a head band that matches their tights. Their iPods match their fanny packs. They run with proper form and stoic expressions and check their pulse regularly. Tokyo runners constantly look like they are on the verge of a PR. They make running look unattainable. And they make this foreign jogger who runs in basketball shorts look like a complete slob. Running in Tokyo lives at the intersection of sports and high fashion. Live in only one of those realms and risk being ostracized by the community.

On the Ekiden and the existence of finish lines.

The runner collapsed on national TV. 

He gave his all for all to see. Before he collapsed he gave his teammate a huge heave with all the power he had left. As soon as the power left the spring of his right arm, he collapsed to the asphalt. Spent. 

The cameras tracked the next runner, full of spirit and collegiate pride. Well aware that this would be the high point of his life’s fame. After college he would take a conservative position at a conservative company and fade into an honorable domesticated obscurity that oils the cogs of this mechanized nation. Authorities are not to be questioned. Commands are not up for debate. 

This race will be the most defiant thing these young men ever do. 

It is the pinnacle of free and restless spirits. Defying the physical laws of gravity and stamina to keep moving one foot ahead of the other in the name of the team. It is a triumph of human determination, put on display for all to see. It’s the best kind of television in other words. TV with real food value for your soul. The Ekiden, like any live sporting event, gives you inspiration to take with you. If you are paying attention, there are lessons to be learned.

Fans on the sides of the street are drawn to the extremity of this race. A team relay of marathons. The most intense distance race in the world. Supporters are drawn to catch a glimpse of the human spirit reaching it’s breaking point and saying ‘not today.’ To see these hero runners, with grit and defiance etched into every wrinkle of their grimaces. Battling both each other and themselves. This is meta-competition at it’s finest. Later in life these will grimace about milder more prolonged pains. About mental inconveniences. But today, their trials are immediate. Their suffering is firmly grounded in the present tense. They are running today to create a memory that will define them for the rest of their lives.

‘Didn’t you run the Ekiden in 2012?’ they will be asked countless times in the years to follow. They will never be able to outrun this shining triumph. Having their efforts nationally televised. A nation put on pause for the holidays, glued to their sets, witnessing the triumph along side the agony. Often simultaneously. Their efforts symbolizing the strength of a nation particularly in need of extra strength. The triumph is vicarious. The runners defiance will become a nation’s defiance.

The inspiration started on the asphalt and was transmitted and broadcast through cameras and into passive living rooms, igniting sparks of formerly defiant souls who will be encouraged to show strength in their own way. To move forward into 2012 with more grit than they showed in the previous year.

Life is an Ekiden. You run, as far and as hard as you can, and then you collapse, punch the clock, get a meal, get wrapped in a blanket, and then an alarm goes off and it’s your turn to sprint again. Life is a sprinted marathon. Like this Ekiden.

Life will never be more outwardly exciting for these runners. They have reached a peak of Fuji-esque proportions. To hear many of them speak, they have no dramatic vision of their futures beyond this finish line. They will run this race and then they will submit. They will display world class athleticism and then they will lower the bar. Or allow the bar to be lowered by society’s eveness. 

How can none of this strength and unusual ambition carry over beyond this two day race?

It is of course up to them to decide.

Do they cross the finish line on January 2nd, or do they keep running?

Running Yoyogi Park at Midnight

All is dark and the autumn winds are playing the branches of trees. Amplifying the gusts. This park is electric at night. The clouds speed past overhead. In the direction of Shibuya, there is a neon glow projecting onto the low hanging clouds.

In the park, at this hour, all is still, save an elite eccentric few characters.

There are the shadowy couples parked on distant benches. Statuesque in their secrecy.

There is the dreadlocked dude playing an African drum by the fountain. All of his mates have abandoned him. He plays to the trees and crows now.

There is the music man by the small pond, imitating Dylan. Singing in Japanese something that might be The Times They Are A Changin’. He’s got the one-man-band style harmonica holder, and he lets loose a carnival sounding solo as I run by. My footsteps tapping out the percussion.

There are the three other runners I pass on each loop. Each in marathon training mode. Running like the T-1000 from Terminator 2. It’s dark, but it feels like they are still wearing their trendy running sunglasses. Marathoners are not creatures to break from routine. They are clad in their spandex and sprint with easy gaits, whipping up the leaves in their trail.

There is the crazy man on the boardwalk. Dancing a whirling dervish of a dance. It’s part tap dance, part performance art and 100% fantasy. He laughs to himself. He bows to an invisible audience. He is a dancing army of one. His toe taps and arm flairs move to the rhythm of all the park has to offer. His moves are inspired by the marathoners, Dylan, the crows, my plodding footsteps, the branches and the leaves. And by possibly things that even no one else can hear.

I run past it all. On loop. I check my time. I improve my stride. I think about life and work. I admire the bright yellow leaves swirling in the wind as I run through them. I need no music. Running in the wind sounds great.

I feel way faster at night. I imagine I am a running machine, or inside of some vehicle, cruising past nature, slaloming past the crazies. Kicking up leaves.

At other moments it feels like I am running in place. Caught up on an epic sized treadmill, going nowhere fast. Surrounded by the elements and characters. A record spinning, and I am the immovable, steady needle.

And then I decide the record is over and I head down the slope that leads to the back gate. I pass a giant, ghost like dog, walking his owner. I see the blur of headlights. Reality calls me back.

I leave the harmonica solo and boardwalk tap dances behind. They will disappear at first light. But I will see them the next time that I go on a midnight run. They are all hardwired into the fantasy of the Yoyogi Park after hours running scene.