Takashi Yagisawa's Tales

What It Is Like To Be A Legghead

1999, February 7: Las Vegas Half Marathon, Las Vegas, NV
1999, April 11: San Joaquin Valley Marathon, Fresno, CA
1999, June 5: Palos Verdes Marathon, Rolling Hills Estates, CA
1999, July 11: San Francisco Marathon, San Francisco, CA
1999, October 10: Lake Tahoe Marathon, Lake Tahoe, CA
1999, November 14: Long Beach Marathon, Long Beach, CA
1999, December 12: Western Hemisphere Marathon, Culver City, CA
2000, January 16: San Diego Marathon, Carlsbad, CA
2000, March 5: Los Angeles Marathon, Los Angeles, CA
2000, June 3: Palos Verdes Marathon, Rolling Hills Estates, CA
2001, April 15: Nagano Marathon, Nagano, Japan
2001, Septmber 8: Bulldog 30K Run, Malibu Creek State Park, Calabasas, CA
2002, February 17: Senshu Marathon, Osaka-Fu, Japan
2007, March 17: Catalina Marathon, St. Catalina Island, CA
2007, October 14: Long Beach Marathon, Long Beach, CA

1999, February 7: Las Vegas Half Marathon, Las Vegas, NV

I had a nasty cold with a high fever. I was still with my cold when we arrived in Las Vegas. I felt weak and light-headed. I was pre-registered for the marathon, but urged by my wife, I switched to the Half Marathon at the race expo on the day before the race. Since our return from a skiing trip to Canada a few days ago, I had not been my usual athletic self and had been rather doubtful of my ability to finish the marathon in reasonable comfort. Now that I had opted out of it, I felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted off my thighs. I was confident of my ability to finish the half marathon comfortably. On the race morning, I got up at 4:00 and took a shuttle bus at 4:40 for the starting line. The marathon start was in Jean, whereas the half marathon start was in Sloan, the half-way point of the marathon course. Both races were point to point, almost in a straight line in the middle of nowhere; extremely boring. The half marathon started at 6:45. The course was very gently but consistently downhill from start to finish. My first mile split was exactly 6 minutes, and I felt comfortable. I picked a female runner with a nice fluid running form, tucked myself behind her, made myself comfortable, and followed her for several miles. The seventh mile split was 42:35, and I was content to maintain the pace, which felt brisk but still comfortable. My leader then slowed suddenly at a water stop and I was immediately in front of her all by myself. Shortly thereafter I found another female runner with a good leg turnover. It took me a mile or so to catch her but once with her, I decided to run by her side, as I feared her quickly turning legs might cause me to trip her from behind. She did not go behind me and save her effort. I tried to get in front of her but she resisted being passed by me. We ran hard side by side for two miles. I expended much energy because of her. I imagined that I was fighting for the first place. I'm sure she was doing the same. But finally and inevitably, she started to lag behind me when I threw in a subtle surge. I was clear of her all of a sudden and did not look back. I ran virtually alone for about two miles ... until I heard heavy breathing coming from behind in the final half mile. The breathing became heavier and louder with every step. I accelerated a little with 200m to go and appeared to have left the heavy breather behind for good. Then, with 100m to go, the heavy breather, none other than that female runner who wouldn't yield to me a couple of miles ago, sprinted by me to finish in front of me by less than a second. My reaction? I was happy for her. She was probably in her late 20s or early 30s, obviously a solid runner but not national class. I felt as if I had helped her run as fast as she could. What did she think? I wanted to talk to her, but she was obviously suffering and was immediately taken to the medical tent. My finishing time was 1:20:22. Not slow but not fast. It was like a solid training run. But because of my unpreparedness, my legs hurt exactly as if after a full marathon and continued to hurt for two days. I am glad not to have attempted the marathon.

1999, April 11: San Joaquin Valley Marathon, Fresno, CA

On the night before the race I could not sleep well and had only about 5 hours sleep. I got up at 4:15 to catch a shuttle bus to the starting line. The morning was chilly (50's Fahrenheit) with an overcast sky. The starting area was at a large high school. I did a cursory warm-up jog before the race started on time at 7:00. I felt stiff from the cold morning air. Some runners were still wearing large plastic garbage bags for warmth. I tried to relax and conserve energy. Many runners started to pass me and I was a little surprised but not overly concerned. It was still early, I thought. Then came the first mile marker and the first mile split, which was "7:32." I was astonished. It was a 3:16 marathon pace! I thought I was going at a relaxed pace but surely faster than 7:30 per mile. Evidently my legs were stiffer than I thought. I instantly changed my plan of maintaining the same pace for the first 20 miles. I immediately increased my leg turnover, not so much that it would jeopardize my endurance but just enough to make a difference. It seemed to work, as I started to hear mile splits in the 6:50-ish range from mile 2. Since I increased my tempo earlier than I had planned, I was apprehensive of hitting a wall after mile 20. So I adopted a shuffling scooting style, with the minimum knee lift and arm swing, running with the ankles. I sometimes run like that when I do 20-plus-mile long trail runs but had never done it in a race. Fortunately it worked and I easily maintained the pace for 19 miles. In the process, I passed many runners in those 19 miles and was passed by only one. At the 20th mile I was still fresh (relatively speaking), so I decided to start running, not just shuffling. I covered the last 10 km in exactly 40 minutes. It is not fast but it is not slow either, especially at the end of a marathon. I passed many more runners. I finished in 2:56:10 in relative comfort. No wall was hit, no blister, no muscular tightness of any note. My place was 24th overall and 3rd in my age group (male 45-49), among several hundred, maybe a thousand, runners. I was pleased with my time, considering that I had done no speed work. One thing I didn't like, however, was the fact that I couldn't find any runner I could run with. The other runners were either too fast and gone before the first mile or too slow and passed by me easily. As a result, I felt like running a time trial all on my own, with runners scattered around me as landmarks to aim for, one after another. The course was flat and reminded me of Orange County (with new housing developments bounded by open fields) and South Pasadena (with large, expensive houses with tall trees). A few minutes after I finished, rain came down hard. I felt lucky as I was clad only in a singlet and shorts. My goal for the year is to break 2:50 in the fall. I now know for sure what I have to do to achieve that: maintain my good endurance base, while developing leg speed. So, I will continue to do the kind of training I have followed since Las Vegas but add track sessions gradually.

1999, June 5: Palos Verdes Marathon, Rolling Hills Estates, CA

I arrived at the race around 6:25 and found a parking space a few blocks away from the start and finish area. There were about 800 runners for the half marathon and a smaller number of marathoners, with a few running the 5km. The full and half marathon races started together on time at 7:00. The sky was thinly covered with clouds at the beginning but would soon be sunny and continue that way for the rest of the day. Remembering my pace in the last year's race, I tried to move a little faster, to go under 7 minutes for the opening mile. I was relaxed and hit the first mile in 6:45, just the right pace. I was wearing a small fanny pack, which contained energy gel and electrolyte tablets. It felt nice and snug. I was not bothered by it at all. I was soon joined by four tall muscular 20-something dudes, one of whom was wearing a T-shirt saying "Surfcity Life Guard." They were running at a pace that felt right to me, not too fast and not too slow, so I went with them for a few miles. The course was incessantly rolling but there was an especially nasty, albeit mercifully short (400m), uphill at mile 2 and a long downhill (2-3 miles) from mile 4. The hulks maintained a nice pace until the long downhill, where I passed them without trying, even though they were running the half marathon. (I am a better downhill runner than many.) I then was with an even more muscular young black man. I followed him for a few miles, maintaining a very even pace. My 8th-mile split was 54 minutes. By the 10th mile, we were running side by side. He then turned to me and said something with a heavy African accent (I dare say Kenyan). I said I couldn't understand him, and he repeated himself twice more. I still didn't understand him but guessed that two of the words he said were "13 mile." So I said that the turnaround would be in a residential area to the left of Palos Verdes Drive, the main road we were on. He seemed satisfied and we carried on. Once in the residential area, I lost him rather abruptly on a very short very steep downhill. I was running alone around mile 12, where I saw a skinny tall blond guy 100m in front of me. Our separation remained constant for the next two miles. At the half-way point, my split was 1:28:30, a 2:57-finish pace. I was encouraged, as it was so much under my target pace. I was still running relaxed. At the turnaround at mile 14, I was amazed to see that I was in the fourth position overall. I thought I could very well finish in the third place. That thought thrilled me and I began to gain on the blond guy. The second-place runner stopped in front of him and started to walk. Then within half a mile, I was with the blond guy, who was now in the second place, and then in front of him in no time. I expected some resistance but he offered none. That meant that I was in the second place by myself. Wow, I thought, this was getting very interesting. I couldn't see the leader because of the rolling hills. By then I was back on Palos Verdes Dr., returning toward the finish line. I had started to take energy gel at mile 12. I took 6 tablets each hour. I took water at every aid station, that is, every two miles or so. The sun was out but I did not feel uncomfortably hot. Slow marathoners and even slower half marathoners started to cheer for me, some of them shouting that I may be able to catch the leader. At mile 16 or so, I saw the leader and realized that I was definitely gaining on him with every step. At mile 17.5 I passed him with ease. He made no attempt to stay with me. I was VERY excited. Now my only companion was the lead police motorcycle. Running behind it and sometimes by its side was unexpectedly helpful for maintaining a good rhythm, as I was going up the long hill (2-3 miles). Judging from the mile markers, I apparently maintained a pace close to 6:30 during that segment, which impresses me enormously as I write this. (I am a better uphill runner than many.) I was feeling increasingly strong, as I finished the last serving of the gel. The policeman on the lead bike was kind enough to let me know repeatedly that he couldn't see anyone behind me, in the final miles. I ran the last 10km in 39:30. (In comparison, I ran 40:00 in the last 10km of the flat Fresno Marathon in April.) I finished in 2:54:37, sprinting to the finish, with both fists high in the air. I hit no bad patch during the race, and ran negative splits (ran the second half faster than the first) by 2 minutes, which is not bad at all for this hilly course. The second-place finisher (a 33-year-old man) was 5 minutes behind me, and we were the only runners who broke 3 hours. The experiment with the fanny pack was a resounding success.

1999, July 11: San Francisco Marathon, San Francisco, CA

I finished in the 16th place among about 3,000 runners and won the male 45-49 age group. My time, however, was some 3 minutes slower than at Palos Verdes Marathon a month ago. The race started in Golden Gate Park and the first 4 miles were through the Presidio, a rather hilly terrain. My legs took a beating there, even though I wouldn't feel the consequences until past the 20th mile. We ran through the Marina district to the North Shore, then through Chinatown, around the industrial underbelly of the city, then to Haight St. The hills on Haight were moderate at first but then an extremely steep hill came. I was running with a runner with tight-fitting red shorts and a Russian accent. He said "Is zis ze moost steep hill?" I said "I don't think so." We struggled to the crest, looking forward to an inevitable downhill. The downhill was there, but after two blocks the street went straight up again. From the crest of the first hill, the second hill loomed above our heads, looking quite vertical. We didn't exchange words this time. We simply gritted out teeth, pumped our arms, and went up this humongous hill. We then went through the park to the Ocean. After a couple of miles up and down the Ocean front, we came back to the park to a moderately uphill finish. By then I had lost contact with the red-shorted guy, who ended up finishing 2 minutes faster than I. I was struggling through the last 2 miles. Two relay-team runners past me and I passed a runner, who turned out to be in my age group and finish 18 seconds behind me. It was warm from the start, at 7:00am. There was no fog at all. If I hadn't taken energy gel and electrolyte-replacement tablets, I would probably have hit a wall severely. My second half was 5 minutes slower than the first half. Even considering the hills, it was too slow. The winner was from the Bay area and was 43 years old. His time was 2:24, which was 16 minutes faster than the time of the second man, who was 25.

1999, October 10: Lake Tahoe Marathon, Lake Tahoe, CA

My foremost concern was the high altitude. Lake Tahoe is at 6,220 feet and the race course hugs the lake on its west side. My ultra-marathoner friend had warned me about altitude, telling me that in a half-marathon at Flagstaff, AZ, he hit a wall after three miles. The Tahoe course is also known for its hills in the second half. Therefore, I was determined to pace myself conservatively. The morning was clear and chilly. The sun had just risen, starting to warm us up gradually. The sky was cloudless, the air was crisp, and the humidity was very low. A thousand or so marathoners lined up on the main street in Tahoe City. The starter's gun was not a pistol but a rifle, which amused a small contingent of runners from Germany, one of whom was inexplicably wearing a T-shirt with a map of Australia on the back. The rifle sounded, and we were off. I was wearing an old sweatshirt over my singlet. I was a little stiff, which was expected, as I didn't warm up beforehand. This was what I had learned from Frank Shorter, who never warmed up before a marathon (so the legend goes). I passed the first mile marker in 7:17, a reasonably cautious pace, I thought. My target marathon time this year is 2:50, which is just under 6:30 per mile. My legs started to move a little more smoothly. As I passed mile 2 feeling warmed up, I shed my sweatshirt, abandoning it on the roadside along with another shirt someone in the lead pack had left. My arm movement suddenly felt smoother. With the 8:30am start, the sun was beginning to assert itself noticeably but the low humidity was keeping the felt temperature rather low, making it a perfect running condition. I maintained a pace of a notch below 7 minutes per mile between mile 2 and mile 15 and felt totally under control. There was no discernible effect from the altitude. No one was passing me since just after the start and I was passing one runner after another, slowly but surely. Then came the hills. At mile 15, we started to climb. From the elevation map I had seen, I was expecting a huge hill to start at about mile 18. So, I thought this was a preliminary hill. It felt like it at the beginning, going up not too steeply. But as I passed mile 16, still climbing, I was beginning to wonder when the hill would end. I was now using my arms, pumping them consciously to keep my rhythm. I was passing people more rapidly. Some were beginning to walk. At mile 17, I finally crested the hill. I was not tired yet but welcomed the relief. After a mile or so of undulation, a plunge came. I flew past many runners for a mile. Many were leaning back, braking themselves and jarring their knees and pelvis. I was leaning forward, as if skiing down a black-diamond slope, maintaining my body perpendicular to the ground, and shortening my stride at the same time. This caused the legs to move faster. But I was prepared for that. After one mile of this, there came the steepest hill on the course, starting at mile 19. It was comparable to the steepest part of Haight St. in San Francisco. It continued for exactly a mile. Most were walking. I was visibly laboring by then but I never walked. A short but steep downhill followed. The last 6 miles were undulating. There I passed a lot of runners participating in the 10km and Half Marathon, using the respective portions of the marathon course with the same finish line. I was far from any other marathoner in the front or in the back at that point, as it turned out. I finished in 3:06:55. The 3-4 minutes I lost over the hills were the margin over the 7-minute pace. I was under control throughout the race. I felt the hills but not the altitude, thanks to my reasonable pace, finishing 8th overall and 1st in my age group. I walked a mile to return to our hotel room to shower, then a mile to get back to the finish area for my awards, then again a mile to return to the hotel. This 3-mile walk made a huge difference to my recovery. I had no pain or even tightness of any kind whatsoever afterward. This has never happened to me after a marathon before. I am going to walk at least 3 miles after every marathon from now on. I consider this race a resounding success. My only small regret is that since the women started 30 minutes before the men, I didn't have the opportunity to race with the top women. I passed most of the women but the winner finished in 3:20, and the second woman may have finished before me as well.

1999, November 14: Long Beach Marathon, Long Beach, CA

Here is another chapter in the memoirs of the most talented marathoner of all time among analytic philosophy professors in Southern California who is versed in Star Trek and fluent in Japanese. In downtown Long Beach on Sunday morning it was not as warm as I had feared, or foggy as I had hoped, but overcast; an OK condition for marathoning. I got to the start area with 5 minutes to spare. I hurried to apply shampoo to my feet for blister prevention (which has worked 100% every time), went under a tape separating the spectators from the runners, positioned myself 5 meters behind the front row. The gun sounded and we were off. After a mile of establishing positions, everyone seemed to be settling down. As usual, I found myself running with female runners (I think they gravitate toward me by the laws of nature). I tucked behind two 20-something ladies. They were moving at a 6:37-per mile pace. That happened to be my target pace for the first several miles. My strategy was to remain in the low end of discomfort for a while, move up to the middle area of discomfort until the 20th mile, and then run like hell for the last 10km. However, I was already feeling the mid-level discomfort in the early miles, having occasional trouble keeping up with the two ladies. Toward the end of Ocean Blvd, at about the 4th mile, the smaller of the two started to leave her friend behind. I passed the slower one but could not keep up with the faster one. I was still moving at a 6:37-ish pace but my legs felt heavy. A little before the 5th mile at the turnaround at Ocean and 72nd Place, I saw another female (30-something) runner in front of me. She was 10 yards away and I could not catch up to her but she was not getting away either. We then went inland, Naples, 2nd St., and Appian Way. I was still feeling heavy despite the moderate pace, and beginning to worry that I might hit a wall before the half-way point. I passed the woman but was passed by another (30-something) woman whom I had passed a few miles earlier. Despite her somewhat plump physique, she was moving smoothly, with a short efficient stride. I found myself over-striding a bit by comparison, so I shortened my stride and quickened the turnover. My 10th-mile split was 66 minutes even . Around the 11th mile I caught her and passed her. I was beginning to feel a little better and starting to pass runners. I reached the half-way point in 87 minutes or so. If I were to maintain that pace, I would finish in 2:54, which was 4 minutes over the target. Since I was feeling better, I decided to start accelerating earlier than planned. I quickened my leg turnover even further and started to pass more runners with relative ease. At two points where one could see the leaders coming back, I saw one short and lean woman gliding smoothly at about a 6-minute pace. She looked so good that she reminded me of myself eleven years ago, when I ran my PR at that very pace. Spectators along the course were cheering loudly. I passed yet another 30-something female runner at the 17th mile. My 20th-mile split was 2:11:40. My mental calculation, which was becoming increasingly difficult, showed that I needed to run the last 10km in less than 39 minutes to break 2:50. I quickened my pace even further, and now I was racing for good. By then I was far from any other marathoner but had to dodge many slow half-marathoners still on the course. At the 22nd mile my right hamstring tightened ever so slightly. I shortened my stride for a while but kept the turnover rate. The tightness went away in half a mile -- a potential disaster was successfully averted. I passed three more marathoners before the finish but never saw the faster of the two 20-something ladies I started out with, who ended up being the second woman finisher (from Berkeley, CA), in 2:49:36. The smooth-striding lady (from Mill Valley, CA) I saw among the male leaders twice on the course was the first woman, in 2:37:06, 9 seconds faster than my PR. I finished in 2:51:42. I ran "negative splits" by two and a half minutes (the second half being that much faster than the first half). I also ran the last 10km in 40 minutes, which is a 6:27 pace. These facts please me. My finish time is the fastest since May of 1993. All in all, despite my failure to break 2:50, I am satisfied with my performance. And importantly, I finished third overall --- in the women's division.

1999, December 12: Western Hemisphere Marathon, Culver City, CA

Since June this year I have run five marathons, the last of which was a small local race with a majestic name. It was my 40th marathon and I had prepared for it by running a life-time highest weekly mileage of 111 two weeks before. The race morning was almost perfect: clear, dry, and chilly but not cold. The marathoners started with the 2,000+ half marathoners, most of whom were in the "Students Run L.A. (Marathon)" program. I was with them for 12.5 miles. Then I was suddenly alone. No one was in sight in front of me for miles and no one caught up with me from behind. I passed one runner at the 19th mile after a short but particularly hilly section. As I came back on the hill after a turnaround, I heard a middle-aged man coming up from the opposite direction talking to himself, "This is cruel. This is just cruel." I wasn't as fast in the last 10km as I was in Long Beach, and finished in 2:57:39. I was surprised to place 5th overall and first in 40-49. The winner was Swedish and his time was a pedestrian 2:46. Twelve years ago in the same race, I ran 2:38 and finished fourth. This is yet more evidence of the fact that the quality of road runners in the U.S. has been declining. This makes me more competitive and happy, rather than depressed. I plan to run San Diego Marathon in Carlsbad (that's the name and that's the place) a month from now and L.A. Marathon in March.

2000, January 16: San Diego Marathon, Carlsbad, CA

The race started at 7:30, so I stayed in a nearby motel the night before. We had a lightly drizzling condition all morning on the race day, which was great for the runners. The course was gently rolling and a half of it was along the ocean; rather like Long Beach Marathon except the rolling. At the 2-mile point from the start there is a railway crossing in the middle of downtown Carlsbad. After the first few runners, a train came and the rest of the field, including yours truly, had to stop! I lost about 30 seconds and was worried I might have to stop again on my way back. One slender elite-runner-looking woman was so upset about being stopped that she was in tears. She took off after the train passed and I lost sight of her immediately, only to catch up 20 miles later and pass her decisively. I ran comfortably with the splits of 34 (5 miles), 1:08 (10 m), and 2:15 (20m). As you can see, my pace was fairly even and I didn't have to stop at the railway crossing on my way back. I covered the last 10 Km in 42:20 to finish in 2:57:20. My place was 30th among the 1187 male finishers, and 4th among the 820 female finishers. Both winners were from Belarus. (The race announcer pronounced the name of the country in such a way that it rhymed with "Polaris.") I was second in my age group. This was a fairly competitive race. Nothing of note happened during the race, except the following unusual "accident." Warning: If you are eating, don't read any further until you are done. After 13 miles or so, I was starting to pass more runners. As I approached one compactly-build female runner, probably in her late 20s or early 30s, I noticed even from a distance that the back of her black running shorts had something brownish smeared on it. It looked just like mud, and I thought that the poor woman must have slipped and fallen. Then I remembered that no part of the course was dirt or close to dirt. Then I recalled a story I had heard from a running mate several years ago about a female distance runner who, while trying to qualify for the Olympic trials, had a gastrointestinal "accident" during a track race. Rather than quitting to go to the bathroom, she pressed on while losing control of her bowel movement. The result unfortunately was predictable. Everyone could see what was happening and she didn't qualify for the trials. So I was ready for the worst as I approached the woman. Before I could see the streaking confirmations of my fear on the inside of her legs, my nose knew first. As I passed her, I stole a glance at her face, wondering if I should say some words of encouragement. She glanced back, looking remarkably composed, with her strides unbroken and smooth. I said nothing and left her behind. I don't know how she finished, or even whether she finished. While I'm at it, I'll tell you about a slightly different "accident." A few years ago at none other than Boston Marathon, a German woman won. Her name was Uta Pippig. She came from behind and won in a dramatic fashion. But she also had an "accident." Her bowels were fine but she started her menstrual period during the race. Fortunately she had red shorts on but she had to splash water on the inside of her legs at every aid station. She was rather nonchalant about it afterward. I'm sure winning helped but I was impressed. This incident surprised me in more ways than one, as many elite female runners have the condition known as amenorrhea. They train so much that they stop menstruating. This is a reversible condition but not terribly good for you. Pippig, who routinely trained more than 100 miles a week, was remarkable in this regard. So you see, distance running is not for the sissies. It can be unforgiving and brutal. Now you can go back to your eating.

2000, March 5: Los Angeles Marathon, Los Angeles, CA

My wife didn't want me to run this marathon, knowing that it would be wet, windy, and cold. She wanted me to be a boy. Of course, I didn't listen. "I am a man," I said to myself, "I am a man-rathoner." As expected, the race morning was wet, windy, and cold. I drove downtown, parked on Figueroa near Temple, and sat inside the car for half an hour, listening to the Weekend Edition with Lian Hanson. Other cars arrived one by one on the deserted street. Runners emerged from them, all clad in rain gear, and disappeared in the direction of the starting line half a mile to the south. I decided to stay warm and dry as long as possible. The race starting time was 8:45. Thinking that the weather would deter the runners from lining up early to be close to the front, I started shedding my warm-up suit only at 8:05. I put shampoo on and around my toes, my routine blister-prevention secret. I put on five plastic bags of assorted sizes and colors. I wore a large garbage bag for the upper body, another one as a skirt to protect the legs, a small grocery bag on the head, and two thick medium-sized shopping bags to envelop the shoes up to the ankles. Underneath all this chemical outfit, I wore a hat, two layers of long-sleeve polypropylene shirts, gloves, running tights, and a running-shorts shell over them. Fully clad, I proceeded to the start. The rain was coming down hard and the street and side walks were full of water. People were stepping gingerly to avoid puddles. I walked briskly past them, stepping into water all over while being calm in my mind that the bags would protect my shoes from getting wet. I arrived at the starting area at 8:20. As I had expected, the runners were only beginning to line up. I went toward the front as much as I could before the crowd became too thick to go any further. I could see the start banner 50 feet in front of me. Many runners were wearing garbage bags but I saw no one who was wearing bags on the shoes. Amazingly, many were wearing nothing but a regular nylon tanktop and running shorts. Some were even bare-chested. I thought, "They will be shivering from hypothermia in no time. They are immature and inexperienced. In a word, boys." The announcer said, "Three minutes to start." I shed all my plastic pieces. The temperature was 48 degrees Fahrenheit and the rain was steady. Then the gun sounded. We started to shuffle, then trot. It took me 55 seconds to cross the starting line. It would take the runners in the back 11 minutes to cross the starting line. The spectators were screaming their lungs out. The music was blaring. After half a mile or so, I had enough room to assume my regular running gait. I reached the first mile in a tad above 8 minutes. Considering everything, it wasn't bad. I felt relaxed and concentrated on my form to stay relaxed. I reached the 5th mile in 34:34. I was still passing people, not finding anyone to run with at my pace. Then a woman in her 20s past me. I thought of going with her but decided not to. I then found two men, in their 30s, wearing garbage bags, who were running at the right pace. I decided to run with them. Some runners would pass us and we would pass others. I was completely soaked by then but still trying to avoid stepping into large puddles. Winds were also a problem at times. I reached the 10th mile in 68:15. I felt relaxed. The usually plentiful spectators were few and sporadic this year. My 15-mile split was 1:42:43. I was slowing down a little. It was only half a mile away from home. I remembered telling my wife that if I wasn't feeling well at this point I would stop and come home. I was hitting a slow patch but wasn't feeling bad. I didn't seriously consider stopping. An almost imperceptible but long ascent to Hollywood started at Melrose and Vine. I started to pick up the pace a little and pass some runners. The woman who passed me earlier was struggling, and I easily passed her back. The 20th mile was on Hollywood Blvd. I hit it in 2:17:52. By then I was feeling it in my legs. My stride had shortened and the legs turned over more slowly. I fell behind the garbage-bag guys. A moderately downhill portion on Sunset helped me a little but after that I was visibly slowing down. My tights were completely soaked and looked like shiny tar. The last two miles included a couple of short but steep hills and I had too little left to run well on them. I reached the 25th mile in 2:54:26. On the last hill, my stride length shortened to a foot. My quads refused to lift my legs. A few runners passed me. I managed to look decent on a down-hill-then-uphill finish. My finish time was 3:04:00. (My net time was 3:03:05, as measured by an electronic chip, which every runner had to wear.) Strangely, after the finish I didn't feel like having hit a wall. I was a little stiff but didn't feel like collapsing. I had no blister. For the first time, however, I noticed that my upper arms and both sides of the back under the arms were rather stiff. I had never experienced stiffness in those precise areas. The rain and wind, which continued throughout the race, heavily at times, must have tightened them. After collecting a finisher's medal and some drinks, I walked back to my car. The moment I reached the car, the rain started to lift. I changed and drove home. Before I reached home, the sun was shining and I could see some blue sky. It stayed sunny and dry until evening. I had to grin. This was the worst weather condition under which I ran a marathon ... except in Alaska a few years ago, but that's another story. According to one TV commentator, it was "muscle-seizing arthritic kind of weather." Kenyans are known to run poorly in rain. I think I ran like a Kenyan. Speaking of Kenyans, the top 10 male marathoners in the world have the average height of 5' 7" and the average weight of 119 pounds. Being 5' 7" and 133, I am certainly not too tall. If only I could lose a few pounds, but my wife thinks I am too thin already. Of course, I am not at all too thin for a marathoner. Since last October, I have run five marathons. Perhaps the lesson of this race is that that is too much. I will not run a marathon until June, to defend my title at Palos Verdes Marathon. At home after the race, my wife had everything ready for me; the heat in the house, food, cream for sore muscles, comedy videos. With her loving help, I recovered well. I walked in the house for two hours, wandering from room to room in order to flush out the lactic acid from my legs. I ate and watched the taped coverage of the race while walking. I only stopped a few times for stretching my legs for a minute or two. I had a sound night's sleep and feel no soreness today (the day after). Now I'm going to watch more comedy videos. (I liked "Mr. Hulot's Holiday," an old back-and-white French movie. It is slow at times but worth it.)

2000, June 3: Palos Verdes Marathon, Rolling Hills Estates, CA

On the morning of the race, I got up at 5:00a.m. and drove to San Pedro, the staging area for the Palos Verdes Marathon. At the pre-registration pick-up table, the volunteer had trouble finding my bib. He asked for my name three times and acted quite incompetently. I literally took matters into my own hands and found the bib in no time. A bad omen for my 43rd marathon? I shook off negative thoughts and tried to think of myself as the defending champion. The condition was good, with a good cloud cover. Several hundred runners started right on time, at 7:00. More than half of them were running the half marathon. It took me 6:40 to cover the first mile, which was only a tad faster than what I wanted. I took a cup of water at the first aid station and felt relaxed. Then the hills started, at around mile two. I took the hills by shortening my stride and maintaining the rhythm. I was running with a small group of half-marathoners, including a woman. She looked good but I passed her on a long downhill. I caught up with another woman, who was working hard. I told her that there was a female runner 50 yards behind her. She said, "Oh, no. I am the first woman. I don't want to lose my place." I assured her she was fine. A mile later, I was still running with her. I told her that the other woman was farther away. She said, "Good. You made my race." After the half-marathon turn-around, reached with her in 44 minutes, I was alone. My pace was very close to the pace last year, which was encouraging. By around mile 8, however, I was feeling a little heavy, not moving as smoothly as I hoped. I was not dehydrated, as I was taking water and occasional sip of sports drink at every aid station. Then I started to gain on a distant runner imperceptibly. I imagined myself as Naoko Takahashi and started to feel better. I caught him at mile 10. I then sneaked up on a younger man and ran with him for half a mile. He was fading, however, and I was alone again by mile 12. From the spectators, I knew I was in the fourth place now. It was time to catch up to the leaders. But they were nowhere to be found at the turn-around, near mile 14. They were already too far ahead. Then a man, whom I had passed in the early miles, caught up with me. We chatted a bit, about the weather and the guys in front of us, that sort of thing. He was about 6 feet tall and had an ungainly gait but was obviously cruising. I, on the other hand, started to feel heavy. I struggled a bit to keep up with him. At mile 18 the first of the two nasty climbs started. I suddenly lost contact with the guy. By mile 20, where the second and longer (2-mile+) climb started, I had hit the wall. There was no mistaking it. I ate my energy gel to no avail. I thought I would be lucky to break 3 hours. In the middle of the hill, one man and then another passed me. They were moving rather pathetically themselves but I offered no resistance. Soon I could not see them. I was now in the survival shuffle mode. I did not look back but I was prepared to be pounced upon by another predator at any moment. At mile 23, my left leg seized up a little, which forced me to stop. I walked for 100 yards, then started to shuffle again. I was barely passing the half-marathon walkers, who were chatting merrily amongst themselves. On this course there was a steep 400-yard down hill at mile 24. By that point I was having a nasty side stitch. (I very rarely have a stitch.) It was so bad that I could not run down the hill. I walked down and it still hurt. At the bottom I start to shuffle again. By mile 25 I was barely getting well enough not to think about walking. I finished in 3:07:48 and was amazed that no one else passed me. I guess I was not the only one having a piano handed over. (That's a marathon lingo for hitting a wall.) Here are the two lessons I learned from this race: (1) Don't drink too much on a coolish day. Even though I was not hyponatremic (as I took electrolyte tablets with water), I drank too much water. I think it slowed me down and was also the cause of the side stitch. (2) Pace yourself not by the watch but by the way you feel. I went out too fast. I felt tired for two weeks prior to the race and ran a very slow 10km race 6 days before. I should have adjusted my expectations and slowed down in the first 20 miles. In retrospect I was over-trained. (Sounds familiar?) My mileage was not as high as last year but I was doing more long fast runs without reducing mileage sufficiently for adequate recovery. For years I have kept a meticulous training log, recording everything (the distance, the place, the shoes, how I felt). It is very easy to over-train when you keep a log. The temptation to hike up the mileage and the quality of training is too high. So here is my big decision: I have decided that now is the time to stop keeping the log. I may or may not re-start it sometime in the future but I am getting rid of it for now. I did not start the current log-keeping until I moved to California. It is time to go back to my old way. I scored my first marathon victory in North Carolina while log-free. Henceforth I shall run freely as I feel. I will still be doing hard workout but when tired I will not hesitate to take it easy as long as necessary, without a fear of writing big zeroes in the log. I feel better already.

2001, April 15: Nagano Marathon, Nagano, Japan

My home town of Nagano hosted the winter Olympic games in 1998. A year later the people of Nagano inaugurated the first annual Nagano Olympic Commemorative Marathon. (Actually, they rerouted and renamed the already-existing race, Shinmai Marathon, named after the local newspaper Shinano Mainichi Shinbun.) My parents, who still live in Nagano, had been urging me to run the race. I finally decided to go this year. My preparations were next to non-existent due to a hamstring strain at a track meet in mid January 2001 and a subsequent tear during a half marathon race a week later. The tear healed in a month but tightness did not disappear prior to the marathon. I had no choice but to rely on many years of training behind me. I flew to Japan with my wife about a week before the race day to acclimatize. On the race morning just minutes before the alarm clock had a chance to ring, I woke up, at 5:15a.m,. I got up, walked around the house, and ate 100kcal of Japanese energy food with the consistency of gruel and a refreshing semisweet citrus taste. I stepped outside to feel the air, which was surprisingly mild. It was going to be warm by the 9:05 start time. The day before, when it was significantly colder, I had decided to start the race in a long-sleeve T-shirt but now I was having a second thought. My father drove me to the Nagano station, where I hopped onto a shuttle bus at 6:45. It was no rickety school bus American race organizers tend to use, but a regular tour bus with comfortable seats. (In fact, I have never seen a school bus in Japan.) I was bundled up in layers of thick warmup suits and felt warm but not hot. I had a pleasant conversation with a real-estate appraiser from Kumamoto, Kyushu. His goal was to break 5 hours, which happened to be the cutoff time for finishing the race. Not only was there a time limit for the finish but there also was a cutoff time for just about every 5 km. Anyone not making the cutoff time at any of these points on the course would be forced to abandon the race. Our bus reached the start area in half an hour. The start area was on a highway in the middle of a small town surrounded by low mountains and known for hot springs. As we walked 100 m to the start line from the bus, I could clearly see the sloping down of the highway. The Nagano course is point-to-point (that is, not out-and-back or a loop) and famous for its downhill start. The first 5 km go down significantly and the next 5 km go down a little more mildly. It is pretty flat all the way after that. The staging area was abuzz with the familiar kind of pre-race activities. Runners clad in colorful warmup suits were walking around, sitting down, stretching, sipping liquid, eating a banana, eating a ball of rice, chatting with friends, applying sun screen, or just staring blankly. I found a spot on a crowded Seven-Eleven parking lot and sat down. For about 40 minutes I sat there, watching people around me and trying to relax. My legs felt fine. My hamstring was not tight. My goal was to finish the race without hurting the hamstring. The finish time was unimportant. I would be happy to finish in 3:30, which I was confident to be able to accomplish. That would be my slowest marathon time. The race announcers were constantly telling the runners to hurry to deposit their bags to be transported to the finish. They mentioned the names of the invited runners repeatedly. Moments before 7:57, a female announcer started the watch-synchronization process. Electronic clicks were broadcast. A mechanical voice said, �It will be three minutes to eight,� and in three seconds we heard a beep, followed by more clicks. A minute later, the voice said, �It will be two minutes to eight,� followed by a beep. A minute after that, �It will be a minute to eight,� then a beep. Finally seconds before 8:00a.m., �It will be eight,� then precisely at 8:00a.m. a beep. I had never experienced anything like this in any of my previous races, including the Stockholm Marathon a few years ago. When Japanese race organizers say, �Start at 9:05,� they mean 9:05:00, not 9:05:10 or 9:05:30 or, heaven forbid, 9:06. I began my usual pre-race procedure at 8:10. I took off my warmups and applied SPF30 sun screen, which took about 15 minutes. I then applied shampoo to my toes before lacing up my shoes. I put on my sunglasses and my bandana as a headband. I chose not to wear the long-sleeve shirt. It was warm and getting warmer. The sun was up in the cloudless sky. It was a gorgeous day. I deposited my bag and walked around. I saw a number of men entering the adjacent apple orchard to urinate. I also saw at least one woman do the same, except that she went behind a shed instead of using a tree. I naturally joined them to lighten myself. At Stockholm, men used sides of buildings, which did not need fertilization. At 8:40 the organizers stopped accepting the runners� bags. At 8:50 they stopped allowing the runners to enter the starting corral. All who had not lined up by then were forced to start at the end of the pack. At 9:00 they introduced the invited runners for the last time, by presenting them on a pedestal one by one. The race started at 9:05, as expected. The temperature at the start was 16 degrees Celsius. Wonderful for the spectators but a little too warm for the runners. 4523 runners started the race and I was in the middle of the pack. It took me about a minute to walk across the start line and another minute to begin jogging. In the midst of the crowd I barely noticed the downhill. Still, I tried to lean forward comfortably from the ankles to lessen the impact on the legs. I was running as easily as I could. My legs felt fine. The first 5 km went by quickly. My split was 23:02 (including the walking time at the start). It felt like an easy training jog. I was running totally relaxed. We were off the highway and now running through small towns. The course was lined with a lot of spectators, all the way to the very end. I, and others in the race, appreciated their moral support. I caught a trail-runner friend from Orange County, chatted with her for a minute, and left her behind. She would finish in 3:50. I hit the 10-km mark in 45:06 and was feeling completely in control. I was thoroughly enjoying the warm sunny spring day. Though I was perspiring minimally, I made sure to drink water at every aid station. I had started the race with three electrolyte pills and three sports gel packs in three small pockets on the outside of my shorts. Shortly after the start I lost one pill, so I transferred the other two pills to the inside pocket on the front. I consumed the gel every hour and a pill every hour and a half, with plenty of water. My split for 15 km was 68:24. I was pleased with the pace. We were now on the banks of the River Chikuma. This 12-km segment of the course is notorious for strong headwinds. Fortunately this year, only an imperceptible tailwind greeted us. I passed the half-way point (21.0925 km) in 96 minutes. I had been passing runners constantly since the start and wasn�t tired at all. I didn�t even have to open my mouth to breathe. My cardiovascular fitness was excellent. I was now feeling a little impatient. I wanted to lengthen my stride and increase my leg turnover. I tried a little bit of both, and soon my left calf and hamstring (the bad ham) started to tighten ever so slightly. I backed off immediately, and the tightness disappeared. We got off the river banks to circle the building called the M Wave, used in the Olympics, before getting back to the banks. Now I was ahead of Frank Shorter of last year, who dropped out at M Wave. I was feeling good and passing more runners. I reached the 25-km mark in 114:40, maintaining the same pace. I decided to wait for another 10 km and then increase my speed. I patiently bode my time, while passing more runners without trying. I maintained the steady pace, and my split for 35 km was 160:26. I started to increase my leg turnover but not my stride length. Immediately I began to pass runners more rapidly. My left leg felt fine but surprisingly my right quadriceps began to tighten slightly. I pressed on, all the same. I passed more runners as if they were standing still. The last 100 m were inside the Olympic Stadium, which was now used mainly for baseball. I sprinted past four more staggering runners. My finish time was 3:11:57. I ran even splits, that is, 1:36 for the first half and 1:36 for the second half. I covered the last 7.195 km in 31:31, which was 21:52 for 5 km, my fastest pace in the entire race. I was not depleted. I had to breathe hard (two-in two-out, as opposed to three-in two-out) only in the last few kilometers. My left hamstring finally tightened a little at the very end but it was nothing major. It wasn�t my slowest marathon after all. I was reunited with my wife and my parents at the Olympic cauldron outside the stadium. I was completely satisfied. Strong winds began to blow, suddenly making it more difficult for the runners still on the course. I later learned that paper cups were blown all over the river banks. 3751 runners finished. That means 772 dropped out or were forced out. A Kenyan man won in a pedestrian 2:12:20. A 21-year-old Japanese woman won in 2:31:20, her P.R. but again pedestrian among the elite. I was 444th among men, and 467th overall. I don�t know my place in my age group (40-49). The winner of the age group finished in 2:42:19, and the 8th fastest time in the group was 2:47:01. I believe someone my age (47) placed 6th in the group. I ate the ball of rice handed to me at the finish and walked around for twenty minutes to prevent sore legs later. I ate another ball of rice my mother had brought, before we drove to a nearby public bathhouse. My wife, who is American, was reluctant to go in but we persuaded her to wrap a towel around her and use the sauna room. We each paid 500 yen ($4) to enter a large public bathing room (separated by sex). Two dozen naked men were there. I joined them and soaked in pleasantly hot water with massaging jet bubbles. It was basically a huge communal Jacuzzi. Many bathers were obviously marathon finishers, some of whom were stretching in the hot water. After 10 minutes I decided I was sufficiently hot and supple. I got out and walked across to the cold-water (18 degrees Celsius) bath. I stepped in gingerly. The water level was at my waist. I simply walked around in it to cool off my leg muscles. After 3 minutes I was too cold to continue. I could have returned to the hot bath and repeated the process but decided against it. I got back to the locker room, put on clothes, and went to a large �rest� area, which was basically an airy cafeteria. I had a can of sports drink and another ball of rice. We then drove home. That evening we went to a neighborhood soba restaurant, where soba was made from scratch. It was definitely al dente and rich in flavor. A fitting dinner after a successful marathon.

2001, Septmber 8: Bulldog 30K Run, Malibu Creek State Park, Calabasas, CA

In the middle of my marathon training, I entered this trail race as a substitute for a weekend long run. When I run on trails, I usually start around 6:30-7:00 a.m. and go for at least 20 miles and carry a water bottle in a fanny pack, along with energy gel and electrolyte pills. But this was only 18.6 miles and the start was earlier, hence cooler, than my Sunday runs. Also, this was a race, so I wanted to be as light as possible. Thus, I almost decided not to take any water with me. But I did end up taking the water, the gel, and the pills after all. The race started on the parking lot near the entrance to the park at 6:15. One, maybe two, hundred runners were there. As I was trying to relax during the first mile, two young female runners sped past me. One of them was saying to the other, �We�ve got to break 3 hours.� I thought they were going too fast. I estimated my finish time to be between 2:30 and 2:40. I almost told the women �Relax � save yourselves for the hills� but didn�t. The first 3 miles were flat, but rocky and treacherous at places. I was running easily in the 10th place or so. Then the hills came. I started passing runners. The two young women were my immediate casualties. The first aid station, at 3.75 miles, was a welcome relief, as I was getting thirsty and wanted to take my first pill but save my bottle as long as possible. After a steep but short descent, the dreaded 3.5-mile climb to the 2,528-foot peak on Bulldog Mountain. This was a relentless series of one switch back after another. I passed a few more people and tucked behind a runner who was ascending the hill without apparent effort. I�ll call him �Moses Tanui� (not his real name). On particularly steep portions, I would be forced to walk and fall behind Moses, as he kept running, but I would always catch up sooner or later. Together, Moses and I passed a couple more runners. This continued until the second aid station, at 6 miles. I consumed some gel with the water from the station, still not touching my bottle. At this point, I was averaging about 10 minutes per mile. Before long Moses and I crested the mountain and started a steep descent. I immediately left Moses behind and passed another runner in front of us. The downhill quickly became an uneven single-track trail with occasional rocks here and there. It was difficult to make the sharp turns while maintaining the speed. I started to hear footsteps approaching from behind. Someone was gaining on me. He was right behind me in no time. Due to the narrowness of the trail, however, he could not pass me unless I yielded. I was tempted to do so, for I was beginning to hurt. But I never did. I didn�t even look back. Eventually, the footsteps faded and I knew I escaped the pursuit. I was now behind another runner, a tall slender efficient hill climber. I�ll call him �Paul Tergat� (not his real name). The terrain was now rolling. I could barely keep pace with Paul going uphill but managed to catch up and sometimes even pass him going down. Paul and I went through the third aid station at 11.25 miles together. To our surprise, a volunteer told us we were leading the race. I took my second pill there. Paul and I ran more or less together for 3 more miles or so. The course continued to be relentless, including a steep downhill on a sheer rock face. I drank from my bottle and consumed more gel. Then a long steep downhill on a relatively wide fire road started. I discarded most of my remaining water to lighten myself. Being a better downhill runner, I went to the front and kept up the pressure. Paul was trying to keep up but his footsteps started to fade. I smelled blood. I increased my already high leg turnover by chopping my already short stride even further and leaning forward. The downhill continued and I was beginning to worry that my thighs might not last long. The long descent finally ended at Tapia Park, about 2 miles from the finish. I had to be alert in following the slivers of yellow tape tied to tree branches marking the sharply turning trail in a heavily overgrown area. Suddenly, I came to a river � Malibu Creek. It was only 10 feet wide but I saw no bridge, not even stepping stones. I stopped and hesitated. I was certain Paul would catch me at any moment. Then I saw yellow tape on the other side of the creek. We were supposed to run across the river! Nobody had told me that. I jumped into the thigh-deep water and ran through it. I passed the fourth and last aid station at 17.25 miles without taking water. I looked back and saw Paul 50 yards behind me. I was terrified. I ran as fast as I could. Then another small mountain loomed. The climb on a narrow trail through thick vegetation was difficult and my legs felt extremely weak. I was certain Paul would catch me before the next switchback. In fear, I kept moving forward; it wasn�t running anymore but brisk hiking. Finally the course opened up to a clearing and a familiar flat dirt road in front of the park museum. I instantly regained my running form and leg strength. I was now running smoothly and comfortably. My endurance-oriented training in the past two months and a half was paying off. I couldn�t see Paul. I left him for good. I ran the half-mile final flat segment feeling certain of my victory. I finished in 2:36:09. Paul came in some 35 seconds later. The third-place runner, who happened to be Moses, was 6 minutes behind him. Only one female runner was under 3 hours (2:58). The fourth-place finisher later said that my knees must be made of titanium alloy. I don�t think it was so much my knees as my technique that made me a good downhill runner, but I gladly took the compliment. Interestingly, the arms ached more than the legs after the race. I pumped the arms as I ascended, and extended them for balance as I descended. The course was not only extremely hilly but sometimes treacherously uneven, which makes this the most grueling course I have ever raced on. Mercifully, the sky remained overcast. This is not for young runners. I don�t plan to run this race in the near future. Incredibly, an even longer 50km race was being held concurrently on an overlapping course. I don�t plan to run that race in any future.

2002, February 17: Senshu Marathon, Osaka-Fu, Japan

As a good-will ambassador from Culver City, I was invited by the city of Kaizuka to run Senshu Marathon. On the day before the race, two Kaizuka officials picked me up at the hotel for a complete tour of the marathon course. We drove to the starting area, which was being set up in the middle of a sizable park. We walked the first 500m of the course, a nice wide path within the park. Then we drove the entire course, which was flat except the last 10K, which included two long bridges � twice, due to a turnaround after the second bridge. At 5:00p.m. I went to a pre-race meeting for the invited runners at the hotel. There were twenty runners and five officials in a small conference room. The runners were mostly like us, �citizen� runners from sister cities from U.S. and Australia. (Senshu Marathon runs through 9 cities and 4 towns.) Detailed instructions were presented by the officials. They were so meticulous that when the translator said that the race officials along the course would be wearing a �blue� jacket, one official corrected him by saying that the jacket would be �dark blue.� (Japanese has two different words for �blue� and �dark blue.�) At dinner time, there was a pre-race gala reception in a large ball room. On the stage, two dozen dignitaries, mostly politicians, were seated in front of a long golden folding screen. The first speech was delivered by the director of the Gold Coast Marathon in Australia, who had just signed a runners exchange agreement with Senshu Marathon. It was a very formal, very un-Aussie, solemn speech. Given the paragraph-by-paragraph translation into Japanese, it was also very long. There were five more speeches by Japanese dignitaries but mercifully, none of them was translated into English. After what felt like an eternity, it was time to eat. I was worried not to have enough food the night before the race. Fortunately, there was more than enough food for the few hundred people gathered there. Next on the program was the introduction of the runners. Six Japanese elite runners were introduced on the stage. One of them ran in Sydney Olympic games. Another, female runner doesn�t win races anymore but is a running celebrity, something like Katie Curic of the Japanese Marathoning world. Also with them on the stage was a 74-year-old man, who has run every Senshu Marathon since its inception. More famously, he won Boston Marathon in 1953 and has been a regular participant in Boston to this day. Another runner on the stage was a folk singer who had a huge hit song in the 1960s, called �Exam Taker�s Blues,� about the notorious examination hell. He has since taken up marathoning, ultra-marathoning, and triathlon. I believe he has even done Double Ironman, in which you do an entire Ironman on each of two consecutive days. After the elites, it was our turn. All sister-city runners were put on display on the stage and introduced while cameras flashed. I felt like Mike Tyson. Now that they knew what I looked like, the Kaizuka politicians and city officials, including the mayor himself, came to me to say hello as I was stuffing my face. There was a lot of bowing -- even the Aussies were bowing. The folk singer entertained the crowd with a couple of songs about running. After enough socializing, I retired to my room and went to bed early, knowing that I would wake up at 3:00a.m. I did wake up at 3:00a.m. but managed to snooze until 6:30. At 7:00a.m., four hours before the start time, I consumed a Cliff Bar, two packages of the Japanese sport gel I had bought the day before, two glasses of water, and a small cup of hot green tea. I was picked up at 9:00 and we were at the start area in half an hour. I was escorted to a room in a rest house, reserved for the invited runners. I was put in a small room with the male elite runners instead of the adjacent room for the sister-city runners. I noticed the mistake immediately but said nothing and stayed with the elite. The Sydney Olympian was warming up outside. The two young runners were chatting with each other, seemingly relaxed. The 74-year-old Boston winner was sitting quietly in a chair at a table. Then the folk singer entered the room. He immediately started talking to the Boston winner, joking and laughing with him. When he left, the room was quite. The outside air was cool but not cold. The sky was overcast and rain had been forecast in the afternoon. I decided to wear a long-sleeve polypro running shirt under a thin singlet and cotton gloves. I was wearing running tights but was indecisive about starting the race that way. Tights would restrict leg movement more than shorts. At the same time, if it rained, the tights would provide more protection and comfort. With somewhat vulnerable hamstring, I needed protection. I finally decided to wear the tights. As I was applying shampoo to my toes, the Boston winner shed his training pants and applied some sort of cream to his legs. I was surprised to discover that he was going to run the race in shorts. He was also wearing thin-soled racing shoes. Twenty minutes before the race, I was escorted to the front of the starting corral. I happened to be put next to the folk singer, who was saying to another runner that he had too much to drink the night before. I said to him, �So that�s how you carbo-load.� He gave out a hearty laugh. With five minutes to the start, I found myself side by side with the Sydney Olympian. I told him I hope he would win. He said he would try. Then Katie Curic came and lined up between me and the Olympian. I chatted a bit with her. Then we were off. I started relaxed and was mildly surprised to see my first kilometer split, which was 3:48. This was significantly faster than I had planned. I wanted to cover the first few kilometers no faster than at a 4:05 pace. So I tried to ease off. But then a smooth-striding female Aussie runner passed me. Her singlet identified her as the winner of Gold Coast Marathon. She looked so fluid that I had to emulate her. I was so eager to follow her that I missed the first aid station at 5K. Before 10K, however, I lost contact with her and was kind of relieved, as her pace was a little too fast for me. At 10K, I took water and the Japanese sports drink called �Energen,� which tasted better than Gatoraide. I would take water and Energen at every aid station (at every 5K). My 10K split was 39:48, still too fast at that early stage. The course was continuously lined with people on both sides, cheering for the runners. I was beginning to feel a little warm and started to regret my decision to wear tights instead of shorts. Shedding the long-sleeve shirt crossed my mind momentarily. Around 20K, which I reached in 1:20:17 � a reasonable pace by then � I was beginning to tire ever so slightly. By 25K, reached in 1:41:03, I was clearly slowing down unintentionally. My legs felt tight and heavy, and I even felt slightly light-headed. Fortunately, when I consumed one of the gel packs I was carrying, I immediately felt much better. My stride regained fluidity and my head was clear. At that point, I was running through Kaizuka and the loud cheering squad from the city hall helped. Soon thereafter, I passed an Aussie, who had obviously hit a wall and was walking. I said to him, �Start running, mate!� with as much Aussie accent I could muster at 30K in a marathon. He said nothing, a very un-Aussie attitude. He must have been suffering greatly. After a couple of kilometers, another Aussie was visibly slowing down. As I passed him, I said, �Pick it up, mate!� Again no response. The Aussies were dropping like flies. By then light rain had started and the temperature was noticeably falling. I was glad to be wearing what I was wearing. Then the bridges came. Though I was feeling rugged by then, I was passing runners on the first bridge. This made me feel better and I passed some more on the immediately following second bridge. I saw Katie Curic running in the opposite direction after the turnaround. She looked serious and her form was impeccable. As I turned around, with 5K to go, a female Japanese runner passed me. She looked strong. I decided to stick to her as long as possible. But before the last climb over the bridge, she sped away to finish 15 seconds faster than I. I managed to pass all but one runner between her and me. I ran the last 12K, which included the four climbs over the two bridges, at a 7-minute-per-mile pace and finished in 2:55:30. I was 74th among 3,000 or so male runners, and 5th in the women�s race. The male winner was one of the young elite duo. He finished in 2:16:50, followed by the other young elite 5 seconds later. The Sydney Olympian finished third in 2:17:59, a jog for him. The female winner�s time was 2:48:47. Katie Curic was a close second, in 2:48:58, followed by the Gold Coat runner I let go early, in 2:52:45. I didn�t hit a wall and my hamstring, or any other muscle for that matter, didn�t tighten, and I finished in good form. So, I am well satisfied with my performance. After crossing the finish, every runner was offered a free bowl of pork stew, which was delicious. I was again escorted to the elite runners� changing room. As I finished changing, the Olympian in his training outfit came in and started talking about the race on his cell phone. Overhearing his end of the conversation, I could tell that he was talking to another well-known Japanese marathoner. Back in my hotel room I lay on the bed for an hour or two without falling asleep but managed to get much needed rest. That evening, twenty or so members of the Kaizuka International Exchange Program threw a dinner party for me and another runner from the U.S. They were not city officials but ordinary citizens interested in cultural exchange with the people of other countries. They were informal, accommodating, and cheerful. It was an enjoyable dinner. Next morning, the other U.S. runner and I bumped into the Boston winner at breakfast. Surprisingly, he had bacon on his plate among other food items. His whole breakfast, however, was not large in quantity. He showed us a neatly folded piece of paper on which his 5K splits from the race were meticulously recorded in pencil. He astounded us when he said he had run 10 miles the day before the marathon and 15K that morning before breakfast. I didn�t run a step for a week.

2007, March 17: Catalina Marathon, St. Catalina Island, CA

For three years in a row I tried but failed to finish a marathon in March for the same reason � calf strain. I felt cursed by the Ides of March and thought I might be forced to change my name to Julius. But this year my calves were doing somewhat better and I was determined to finish a marathon in March. Being extra-cautious, I hardly ran for a month before the marathon; I fast-walked for half-an-hour or so every day. Two days before the race my right calf tightened while I was fast-walking on an incline. This made me mad as a March hare. My wife suggested that I not start the marathon. I considered her suggestion seriously and decided not to follow it. On the day before the race, I limped through the small town of Avalon, where we were staying and where the race would finish. This appeared to loosen the leg a tad. When I woke up at 3:40 next morning, my leg was not noticeably tight. At 5:10 a.m. I left with hundreds of other runners on a boat for Two Harbors, where the race would start at 7:10 a.m. I saw a lone buffalo on a grassy slope two hundred meters from the starting line. I would see no other non-human animal during the race. We set out on a moderate uphill in heavy fog. It took me 10 minutes to cover the first mile. I was moving with great care and felt no tightness in my legs. My breathing was easy, and my form relaxed. I had a sip from the water bottle I was carrying in my fanny pack. I usually don�t carry a bottle in a race but I was not competitive in this one. Around mile 4 my right calf tightened subtly and suddenly. I immediately shortened my already short stride and the tightness was kept under control. I took an electrolyte drink at an aid station. Soon the tightness was gone and I was lengthening my stride back gingerly. I had a sip of water again. Then on a moderate downhill the same leg tightened in exactly the same way. My stride shortened again and I took more electrolyte drink. The leg felt loose again. I was negotiating the leg tightness more than the famously hilly terrain. I was rarely out of breath, as my cardiopulmonary fitness outstripped my muscle-tendon fitness. For ten or so more miles, the same pattern persisted: a drink of water, more tightness, a drink of electrolyte fluid, less tightness. Eventually it occurred to me that there might be a correlation between ingestion of water and onset of tightness and another correlation between ingestion of electrolyte fluid and relief from tightness. So I stopped drinking water and took electrolyte fluid at every aid station. This seemed to help, and I had no further tightening as long as I kept my stride short and cadence quick. The last mile of the course felt very easy and my form was as smooth as a baby�s cheek. After a comfortable finish, I tentatively concluded that my continued difficulty with calf tightness in late winter months might have been partially due to a mineral imbalance. In winter I tend to consume citrus fruits, rich in potassium, in large quantities. Combined with a low-sodium diet, this raises the ratio of potassium to sodium in my body, resulting in mild hyperkaliumohyponatrimea (a word I just coined for an abnormally elevated level of potassium accompanied by an abnormally reduced level of sodium). This makes muscle spasms more likely. Based on this assumption, I am about to increase my sodium intake slightly while reducing my potassium intake slightly. My finish time was 3:56, which was my longest continuous running time ever, race or training.

2007, October 14: Long Beach Marathon, Long Beach, CA

Update in 2007: My first marathon in Vibram FiveFingers shoes. The best way to cure my chronic calf problem is barefoot running, and I would run barefoot if I didn�t worry about stepping on a dangerous object. FiveFingers allow me to simulate barefoot running without the risk of cutting or piercing my foot. I purchase the classic style and modify them to suit my feet. I have run in them occasionally and casually for a year but trained in them exclusively and seriously only for the past four months. The main goal of this race was to see how sore the soles of my feet would get. The longest training run in FiveFingers had been 21 miles, and I was unsure that I could run more than 26 miles in them without stopping. Finishing the race in reasonable shape would be satisfactory. Breaking 3 hours would be a bonus. The race morning was slightly warmer than I expected. 15 minutes after I left home, I was driving on a freeway toward Long Beach and suddenly realized that I forgot Injinji Tetratsok (five-toed socks). I always run wearing socks. I took the next exit, returned home, got my socks, and set out again. I wasted so much time that I lined up at the start only 5 minutes to spare. I covered the first mile in 7 minutes and felt comfortable. I was following a young female runner, who would be my rabbit (pace maker) for a few more miles, but she started to slow down around 10K. I then tucked behind three young male runners wearing a singlet with a local running club logo (�Snail�s Pace�). They maintained what felt like the perfect pace for me. Our lap times ranged from 6:35 to 6:52 per mile. These figures indicated that the mile markers were inaccurate, as the four of us were running at a fairly even pace. The course was relatively flat but the sun was out and it was getting warmer, though not hot. Before the halfway point, two of my companions dropped back and I was left with just one �Snail.� He led most of the time, with me surging ahead on downhill portions, of which there weren�t many. My halfway split was just about 1:30, which meant that I was probably not going to break 3 hours. At mile 19 I lost contact with my �Snail,� as I began to tire. I was not �hitting a wall� but was struggling to maintain my form in what felt like increasingly thickening molasses. I managed to keep the distance of about 20 meters behind him until mile 24. Then I was passed by the eventual runner-up in the female open division. When she caught my �Snail,� he went with her. That was admirable. It is very difficult to accelerate in the last stage of a marathon. I slowed further to an over-8-minute-per-mile pace in the last two miles and finished in 3:04:45. My calf and hamstring muscles felt tight, but the soles were only a little sore and I was not depleted. This was a satisfying result. I did not get the bonus, but faster times will come as I get used to running faster in FiveFingers. All I need is more time to train in them.

Update in 2014: I now believe that my nagging calf problem was largely due to dehydration. I now drink at least half a gallon of water every morning, and then some in the afternoon. I still run in Vibram FiveFingers and enjoy doing so; "See Ya" and "Bikila" are my current favorite models.

Update in 2020: I no longer participate in races but enjoy running in the neighborhood almost everyday. I continue to consume a large quantity of water daily and have been free of running problems. Vibram FiveFingers are still my favorite running gear.