Mount Fuji as seen from Lake Kawaguchi. Credit: my husband

It was still dark outside when jet lag woke me up from a too-short slumber. It was hard to believe the previous day had been real and not just some manic dream about a transpacific flight and multiple train rides, but the evidence before me was rock solid and irrefutable. Through our hotel window, the moonlight reflected off the snow-covered peak of Mount Fuji. I was finally in Kawaguchiko, Japan for the 6th running of the Fujisan Marathon. If the jet lag hadn’t woken me up then the excitement would have.

Kawaguchiko is located two hours southwest of Tokyo in Japan’s Five Lakes region. The area is dotted with geothermal hot springs, craggy volcanic rocks and soaring hills. The area’s natural beauty is a stark contrast to the urban wonderland that is Tokyo and it’s a popular retreat for city dwellers. Kawaguchiko is often used as a starting point for climbing Mount Fuji during the summer but on race day, in late November, the summit was covered with snow and the climbing trails were just barely visible in the distance.

This would be my eighth marathon and the fifth race in my quest to run a marathon on every continent. It’s a good excuse to travel to beautiful, exotic locations which I might not visit otherwise. Purists will argue that I’ll never be a true Seven Continents Club member because some of my marathons have taken place on islands instead of on the mainland continent. I ran the Antarctica Marathon on King George Island. My European marathon was the 261 Women’s Marathon on the island of Majorca in Spain. For me, it’s all about the experience. Purists be damned.

As the sun crept over the horizon, I started to see other runners warming up around the lake and I felt the familiar pre-race jitters. I donned the tights, tech tee and windproof jacket which I had carefully laid out the night before. Outside, a light frost coated the cars parked along the waterfront and a breezed whipped the lake into whitecaps, but the sky was free of clouds. The race started at 9 a.m. and the temperature would climb into the low fifties by the time it was over. Overall, the conditions were great for racing.

I ate an energy bar and headed out to join the procession of runners making their way to the start. The starting area bustled with 7,000 participants and the nervous energy was palpable. People warmed up on the edges of the corrals while others stretched or made last minute decisions about what to wear. We packed ourselves in to listen to the opening ceremony (in both Japanese and English) and I bounced up and down to stay warm. After months of planning and training — booking flights and hotels, figuring out the Japanese rail system, crafting a training plan and dealing with injuries — the day was finally here. In a lot of ways, the hard work was already behind me. Now, all I had to do was run a marathon.

With the crack of the starting gun and the boom of fireworks exploding overhead, we ran over the timing mats and were on our way. The first six miles of the course took us through the town of Kawaguchiko. The pack was dense and runners jostled for the best positions along the insides of the turns. Spectators lined the streets and cheered us on. I don’t speak much Japanese and I couldn’t understand what they were saying but it didn’t really matter. A cheer is a cheer no matter what the language. The sun warmed us and gave us strength as we crossed the bridge to the far side of Lake Kawaguchi. I spotted my husband waiting for me on the bridge among a sea of strangers. We slapped hands as I passed and I tossed him my jacket and gloves. The crowd of runners had thinned out and I found my pace.

Runner’s crossing the Kawaguchi Bridge

On the far side of the lake, Mount Fuji came into full view again. At times it disappeared behind the flaming red Japanese maple or golden yellow ginkgo trees. Then it reappeared again and I marveled at it each time. I understood why Fuji has inspired artists and poets for centuries and why it was declared a World Heritage site in 2013. We ran through the town of Oishi, past rice paddies and racks of persimmons drying in the sun, then back into the surrounding forest and along the lake again. Boatmen waited on the shore alongside the rowboats they rented out to the tourists. It was too windy for boating, though. Instead, the boatmen watched the runners passing in silent determination.

The quiet was interrupted by the raucous aid stations. They offered the typical water and electrolyte drink, plus a variety of food. They had chocolate, bananas, miso soup and little balls of what I assumed to be rice. I was excited to try the food in Japan but not until after the race. I didn’t want to upset my stomach with any unfamiliar foods. Instead, I choked down a gel and chased it with some water. I promised myself all the udon noodles I could eat after I finished. The region is famous for its hoto which are a type of udon noodle served with miso and vegetables — an ideal dish to replenish salts after a race.

I kept checking my watch in anticipation of reaching the halfway point. It wasn’t just a mental hurdle in this race. Shortly after the half, the “hellish uphill” awaited us where the course veered away from Lake Kawaguchi toward Lake Saiko. The upper lake was desolate by comparison but the local high school band was there to lift our spirits. They rocked. The uphill wasn’t as bad as I expected — a couple of switchbacks in the road and 250 feet of climb. The rest of the course was mostly flat. It was even windier up top, though, and the temperature dropped where the hills and pine trees shaded the road. I longed to have my jacket back. The only thing to do was gut it out and make it around Lake Saiko as fast as possible.

I started feeling tired around mile sixteen. It was too soon to be tired and I knew I was in trouble. I don’t know if it was the wind or the jet lag or going out too fast at the start, but I heard that little voice in my head. It told me it was okay to walk a little bit, or even stop. You could always start running again. Except I knew that I wouldn’t. If I had stopped running, that would have been it. I would have been done. So I kept going.

I rounded Lake Saiko and watched the rest of the runners on the other shore. It was an enormous relief to head back toward Kawaguchiko. I visualized myself crossing the finish line and seeing my husband again. I focused on that rather than my burning, aching legs. My hips felt like they were going to fall apart at the sockets and the pavement stabbed the soles of my feet with every footfall.

The course doubled back on itself where it approached the hellish uphill (which was now the heavenly downhill). After that, I recognized familiar landmarks which we had passed on the way out: Hachioji Shrine, Oike Park and finally the Kawaguchi Bridge, although I wouldn’t know their names until later. Banners along the course announced the last few kilometers which seemed to stretch on endlessly. My pacing all but forgotten at this point, my only goal was to keep moving and not stop. The 3:30 pacer passed me and I watched him recede into the distance with bemused indifference. I wasn’t trying for any particular finishing time but a 3:30 marathon should have been easy for me based on my training. That’s the interesting thing about a marathon. You can train all you want but there’s always that element of chance, the race-day mojo that is either there or it isn’t.

Running down the finisher’s chute

Then, at last, I reached the chute and saw the finish line in front of me. I spotted my husband on the sidelines and waved. He cheered me on toward the finish. I needed the encouragement. I crossed the final timing mat and barely glanced at the clock which registered 3:31:59. It wasn’t my best marathon but it wasn’t my worst. I shuffled over to receive my finisher’s medal with a grateful bow. I forgot my agony and just savored the feeling of accomplishment, the exhausted joy that only a marathon can bring.

I met up with my husband and we milled about the finishing area for a while. The race offered sweet bread and pork soup which smelled tempting but my stomach would only permit me to have a couple of bananas just then. It would take a few more hours for my body to forgive me for what I’d just put it through enough to let me eat. More runners finished and crowded the food stalls and vendor tents. They flopped down on the pavement and nursed sore muscles. The runners came from all over Japan, America, China and other countries — all united by a common cause. I was proud to be a part of this fraternity of runners.

Me in front of the Kawaguchi Bridge

It was time to tend to my own sore muscles so we went back to the hotel. I donned a cotton robe called a yukata and headed to the hotel’s onsen, a traditional Japanese communal bath. The ritual cleansing before the bath prepared me for complete relaxation. There were no distractions here. Cell phones are not allowed in the bathing area which let me appreciate the peaceful moment and enjoy the quiet. I eased into the hot water while I watched Mount Fuji through curls of rising steam. It was the perfect end to my race day and start to our travels in Japan. The next morning we headed to Kyoto for a few days before taking the bullet train to Hiroshima and then on to Tokyo to finish our trip. After that…maybe South America.