course. But as long as you take your time and do it in stages, they won’t complain—aside from the
occasional long face—and they’ll very patiently and obediently grow stronger. Through repetition you
input into your muscles the message that this is how much work they have to perform. Our muscles
are very conscientious. As long as we observe the correct procedure, they won’t complain.
If, however, the load halts for a few days, the muscles automatically assume they don’t have to
work that hard anymore, and they lower their limits. Muscles really are like animals, and they want to
take it as easy as possible; if pressure isn’t applied to them, they relax and cancel out the memory of
all that work. Input this canceled memory once again, and you have to repeat the whole journey from the
very beginning. Naturally it’s important to take a break sometimes, but in a critical time like this, when
I’m training for a race, I have to show my muscles who’s boss. I have to make it clear to them what’s
expected. I have to maintain a certain tension by being unsparing, but not to the point where I burn out.
These are tactics that all experienced runners learn over time.
While I’ve been in Japan a new short-story collection of mine, Strange Tales from Tokyo, has come
out, and I have to do several interviews about the book. I also have to check the galleys for a book of
music criticism that’s coming out in November and meet with people to discuss the cover. Then I have to
go over my old translations of Raymond Carver’s complete works. With new paperback editions of these
coming out, I want to revise all the translations, which is time consuming. On top of this, I have to
write a long introduction to the short-story collection Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman, which will be
published next year in the U.S. Plus I’m steadily working on these essays on running, though nobody in
particular has asked me to. Just like a silent village blacksmith, tinkering away.
There are also a few business details I have to take care of. While we were living in the States, the
woman who works in our Tokyo office as our assistant all of a sudden announced that she’s getting
married at the beginning of next year and wants to quit, so we have to look for a replacement. Can’t
have the office shut down over the summer. And soon after I return to Cambridge I have to give a few
lectures at the university, so I’ve got to prepare for them as well.
So I try, in the short amount of time I have, to take care of all these things as best I can. And I have
to keep up my running to prepare for the NYC Marathon. Even if there were two of me, I still couldn’t
do all that has to be done. No matter what, though, I keep up my running. Running every day is a kind
of lifeline for me, so I’m not going to lay off or quit just because I’m busy. If I used being busy as an
excuse not to run, I’d never run again. I have only a few reasons to keep on running, and a truckload of
them to quit. All I can do is keep those few reasons nicely polished.
Usually when I’m in Tokyo I run around the Jingu Gaien, the outer gardens of the Meiji Shrine, a
course that passes Jingu Stadium. It doesn’t compare with Central Park in New York City, but it’s one
of the few places in Tokyo with any greenery. I’ve run this course for years and have a clear sense of
the distance. I’ve memorized all the holes and bumps along the way, so it’s the perfect place to
practice and get a sense of how fast I’m going. Unfortunately there’s a lot of traffic in the area, not to
mention pedestrians, and depending on the time of day the air isn’t so clean—but it’s in the middle of
Tokyo, so that’s to be expected. It’s the best I can ask for. I consider myself fortunate to have a place