As spring and better weather approach, running will be on many people’s minds. And I can tell you that Japan is a great place to run a marathon — not that I have any way to compare it with anywhere else, mind you.
Prior to arriving in Japan, I had run precisely one competitive race — a 10K held in northeast England that I finished in 1:04:11. And I’ll be honest: It nearly killed me.
I’m not a natural athlete, having been firmly last to be picked for most things when I was a youngster. I started jogging as a way to keep fit and kill time when I worked in local radio in a small town in the Channel Islands. From getting out of breath running down the street, I worked my way up to a comfortable 5K and kept doing that distance for a number of years wherever I lived, usually running toward a supermarket or some edible goal.
In Japan, though, something moved me to take my jogging to the next level. I couldn’t tell you what it was — maybe needing a little me-time after becoming a father for the second time — but before I knew it, I had signed up for the 42-kilometer Yokohama Marathon. That’s when I knew I had to put in some serious training.
I found that the best thing was to run, where possible, along my local subway line. As I gradually built up my stamina, I could go one station farther each time and jump on the train back. In doing this, I built up to a half-marathon in 2016.
Marathon day itself was great. Running by the Landmark Tower, the Cosmo Clock and along the docks was superb, but the challenge came in the second half, when much of the run was along a closed and empty highway.
The despondency felt as a man inside a giant pencil costume overtook me couldn’t even be tamed by a glimpse of TV celebrity Sakana-kun, replete with pufferfish hat, cheering people on. In fact, the last few kilometers were evidently so rough that one well-wisher at the side of the road in the city took it upon himself to shout “Sonna tsurai kao wa dame!” (“Don't look so pained!”) at me in a bid to cheer me along as I passed.
But at the end came the goodies, which I’m sure not only I was excited by. Proof of marathon greatness! Or at least, proof of marathon participation — I was not fast. A weighty medal in the shape of an anchor (it was Yokohama, so of course), a towel and a T-shirt, along with some energy drinks and other smaller gifts.
Which brings me to my main point, which is that although Japan is a great place to run a marathon, I do wonder if the events here are a special breed, both in terms of how they promote themselves and what they offer to the people who take part.
A case in point: For my second marathon in 2017, I opted to go rural. I joined the Kurobe Meisui Marathon in Toyama Prefecture. Meisui refers to the pure water that the area is proud of, which comes fresh from the Tateyama mountains. All along the race route, there was plenty of that pure, pure water on offer for the runners. The water was good, the weather was good and the scenery was beyond good, with stages of the course passing mountains, villages, rivers and the ocean. Enough of a draw, surely.
But it was then on to the finish line and the goodie bag: towel, T-shirt, nibbles and a medal. And my goodness, what a medal. Any description will barely do it justice, but I’ll try — a sparkly gold disc with the embossed face of former U.S. President Jimmy Carter. I gathered later that Carter had a link with the city, having paid a visit in 1984 and attended the start of the first marathon there.
But in terms of memories, that marathon had it all. And that’s what marathons the length and breadth of the country also now seem to have cottoned on to. Making it special, making it stand out and offering runners an experience they can’t get elsewhere.
A few years ago, a friend of mine ran the (now defunct) Sanma Marathon, a half marathon in Choshi, Chiba Prefecture. The prize for finishing? A plate of freshly grilled sanma (saury). It's different, I’ll give it that, but as someone who has taken part in three marathons, a plate of fish after a long-distance run doesn’t sound so appealing.
Neither does the reward for completing the Tsumagoi Kogen Cabbage Marathon in Gunma Prefecture. I assume you’re already ahead of me when I tell you that the prize for this half-marathon is indeed a cabbage.
If you fancy trying the Nagoya Women’s Marathon, and don’t mind paying a higher than average entrance fee (about ¥20,000, as opposed to ¥16,500 for the Tokyo Marathon), your reward for finishing will be a gleaming Tiffany & Co. pendant handed to you by a gentleman in a tuxedo.
And then there’s the Tohoku Food Marathon in Tome, Miyagi Prefecture, which offers local delicacies and drinks periodically along the course.
A word of warning on that last one, though: I accepted a tomato from an enthusiastic refreshments table midway through my third — and last — marathon, the Tohoku-Miyagi Revive Marathon. I dipped my hand into the box as I ran past and grabbed the first shape I felt, much like a children’s party game. I got the fattest tomato I think I’ve ever seen and felt obliged to eat the entire thing as I ran. It did not sit well. But then that might be partly down to the paper cup filled with local seafood I had “enjoyed” minutes earlier.
Some marathons haven’t resorted to these gimmicks and still sell themselves on their views alone. The Ishigaki Island Marathon looks stunning, with its ocean and island scenery, and the Mount Fuji Marathon is said to offer unrivaled views of Japan’s most famous landmark.
The good thing is that there’s probably a race for everyone, and there’s no shortage of variation for regular runners. But for those putting on races, eyes will always be on the location, the selling point and what’s inside those coveted goody bags. The challenge is how to rise above the rest.
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