actually run the course do you realize how ridiculously huge Lake Saroma is. Yuubetsu, a town on the
west side of the lake, is the starting point, and the finish line is at Tokoro-cho (now renamed Kitami
City), on the east side. The last part of the race winds through Wakka Natural Flower Garden, an
extensive, long, and narrow natural arboretum that faces the sea. As courses go—assuming you can
afford to take in the view—it’s gorgeous. They don’t control the traffic along the course, but since
there aren’t many cars and people to begin with, there really isn’t a need to. Beside the road cows are
lazily chewing grass. They show zero interest in the runners. They’re too busy eating grass to care
about all these whimsical people and their nonsensical activities. And for their part, the runners don’t
have the leisure to pay attention to what the cows are up to, either. After twenty-six miles there’s a
checkpoint about every six miles, and if you exceed the time limit when you pass, you’re
automatically disqualified. They’re very strict about it, and every year a lot of runners are
disqualified. After traveling all the way to the northernmost reaches of Japan to run here, I certainly
don’t want to get disqualified halfway through. No matter what, I’m determined to beat the posted
maximum times.
This race is one of the pioneering ultramarathons in Japan, and the whole event is smoothly and
efficiently run by people who live in the area. It’s a pleasant event to be in.
I don’t have much to say about the first part of the race, to the rest station at the thirty-fourth mile. I
just ran on and on, silently. It didn’t feel much different from a long Sunday-morning run. I calculated
that if I could keep up a jogging pace of nine and a half minutes per mile, I’d be able to finish in ten
hours. Adding in time to rest and eat, I expected to finish in under eleven hours. (Later I found out
how overly optimistic I was.)
At 26.2 miles there’s a sign that says, “This is the distance of a marathon.” There’s a white line
painted on the concrete indicating the exact spot. I exaggerate only a bit when I say that the moment I
straddled that line a slight shiver went through me, for this was the first time I’d ever run more than a
marathon. For me this was the Strait of Gibraltar, beyond which lay an unknown sea. What lay in wait
beyond this, what unknown creatures were living there, I didn’t have a clue. In my own small way I
felt the same fear that sailors of old must have felt.
After I passed that point, and as I was coming up on thirty-one miles, I felt a slight change
physically, as if the muscles of my legs were starting to tighten up. I was hungry and thirsty, too. I’d
made a mental note to remember to drink some water at every station, whether or not I felt thirsty, but
even so, like an unfortunate destiny, like the dark-hearted queen of the night, thirst kept pursuing me. I
felt slightly uneasy. I’d only finished half the race, and if I felt like this now, would I really be able to
complete sixty-two miles?
At the rest stop at thirty-four miles I changed into fresh clothes and ate the snack my wife had
prepared. Now that the sun was getting higher the temperature had risen, so I took off my half tights
and changed into a clean shirt and shorts. I changed my New Balance ultramarathon shoes (there
really are such things in the world) from a size eight to an eight and a half. My feet had started to
swell up, so I needed to wear shoes a half size larger. It was cloudy the whole time, with no sun