would ever go to the trouble of taking part in sports like the triathlon or the marathon, which demand
such an investment of time and energy? It’s precisely because of the pain, precisely because we want
to overcome that pain, that we can get the feeling, through this process, of really being alive—or at
least a partial sense of it. Your quality of experience is based not on standards such as time or ranking,
but on finally awakening to an awareness of the fluidity within action itself. If things go well, that is.
On the way back to Tokyo from Niigata I saw quite a few cars with bicycles strapped to their roofs
on their way back from the race. The people inside were all tanned and strong looking—the typical
triathlon physique. After our unpretentious race on a fall Sunday, we were all on our way back to our
own homes, back to our own mundane lives. And with the next race in mind, each of us, in our place,
will most likely silently go about our usual training. Even if, seen from the outside, or from some
higher vantage point, this sort of life looks pointless or futile, or even extremely inefficient, it doesn’t
bother me. Maybe it’s some pointless act like, as I’ve said before, pouring water into an old pan that
has a hole in the bottom, but at least the effort you put into it remains. Whether it’s good for anything
or not, cool or totally uncool, in the final analysis what’s most important is what you can’t see but can
feel in your heart. To be able to grasp something of value, sometimes you have to perform seemingly
inefficient acts. But even activities that appear fruitless don’t necessarily end up so. That’s the feeling
I have, as someone who’s felt this, who’s experienced it.
I have no idea whether I can actually keep this cycle of inefficient activities going forever. But I’ve
done it so persistently over such a long time, and without getting terribly sick of it, that I think I’ll try
to keep going as long as I can. Long-distance running (more or less, for better or worse) has molded
me into the person I am today, and I’m hoping it will remain a part of my life for as long as possible.
I’ll be happy if running and I can grow old together. There may not seem to be much logic to it, but
it’s the life I’ve chosen for myself. Not that, at this late date, I have other options.
These thoughts went through my head as I drove along after the triathlon, headed for home.I expect that this winter I’ll run another marathon somewhere in the world. And I’m sure come next
summer I’ll be out in another triathlon somewhere, giving it my best shot. Thus the seasons come and
go, and the years pass by. I’ll age one more year, and probably finish another novel. One by one, I’ll
face the tasks before me and complete them as best I can. Focusing on each stride forward, but at the
same time taking a long-range view, scanning the scenery as far ahead as I can. I am, after all, a long-
distance runner.
My time, the rank I attain, my outward appearance—all of these are secondary. For a runner like
me, what’s really important is reaching the goal I set myself, under my own power. I give it
everything I have, endure what needs enduring, and am able, in my own way, to be satisfied. From out
of the failures and joys I always try to come away having grasped a concrete lesson. (It’s got to be
concrete, no matter how small it is.) And I hope that, over time, as one race follows another, in the end
I’ll reach a place I’m content with. Or maybe just catch a glimpse of it. (Yes, that’s a more
appropriate way of putting it.)