you have. That’s one of the few good points of growing older.
It’s been a while since I’ve run the streets of Tokyo, which in September is still sweltering. The
lingering heat of the summer in the city is something else. I silently run, my whole body sweaty. I can
feel even my cap steadily getting soaked. The sweat is part of my clear shadow as it drips onto the
ground. The drops of sweat hit the pavement and immediately evaporate.
No matter where you go, the expressions on the faces of long-distance runners are all the same.
They all look like they’re thinking about something as they run. They might not be thinking about
anything at all, but they look like they’re intently thinking. It’s amazing that they’re all running in
heat like this. But, come to think of it, so am I.
As I run the Jingu Gaien course a woman I pass calls out to me. One of my readers, it turns out. This
doesn’t happen very often, but sometimes it does. I stop and we talk for a minute. “I’ve been reading
your novels for over twenty years,” she tells me. She began in her late teens and is now in her late
thirties. “Thank you,” I tell her. We both smile, shake hands, and say good-bye. I’m afraid my hand
must have been pretty sweaty. I continue running, and she walks off to her destination, wherever that
is. And I continue running toward my destination. And where is that? New York, of course.