Mt. Fuji

In Japan, there is a saying that says that anybody would be a fool not to climb Mount Fuji once -- but a fool to do so twice. Not willing to risk being officially designated as "fools", on Friday night, my two British friends Dave and Rob, my Vietnamese American friend Phuong , and I set forth on the Chuo line west towards Mt. Fuji. After a circuitous four-hour trip that included several (potentially ill advised) train transfers, we were relieved to see that the last bus of the night to the Kawaguchiko Yoshida 5th station was still waiting at Fujiyoshida when we arrived there shortly before 10 pm.

After an ear-popping bus ride up to 7,562 ft, we met up with the last member of our party, an Irishman by the name of Gareth. Rain was descending so we took shelter in one of the two shops that remained open. Having not eaten since lunch and having neglected to pack, I was famished -- an inauspicious start to the climb. After searching desperately for something that looked like a hearty meal, I finally settled on the only warm thing they served: steamed pork buns. I bought and quickly devoured two of them, and I also managed to procure a rain suit and a traditional wooden hiking stick.

We began our ascent a little before 11 pm, and the rain quickly subsided. Though the temperature was cool, I changed into shorts and t-shirt, which I the vast majority of the hike. Our plan was to reach the summit (12,389 ft) in time for sunrise, of "go rei kou" (spiritual light), which is the most popular way for Japanese to climb Fuji. From Station 5, there were five more stations, with Station 10 being at the summit. The journey normally takes between 5-7 h, so we knew at the beginning that we would need to maintain a steady pace to arrive there in time for sunrise (around 5 am). As we began hiking, I felt a profound sense of adventure. Here I was halfway around the world from home climbing a mountain in the middle of the night!

It was clear that the other guys in our group were ready to maintain a relatively brisk pace. I had already developed a painful headache, presumably due to altitude sickness and dehydration, so I was happy to stay back with Phuong. She was visibly struggling in the early stages, so we traded backpacks (since mine was lighter).

Gareth, Rob, and Dave were far better prepared than Phuong and I and had brought headlamps along with them. Dave was generous enough to lend us his back up flashlights, one battery-powered and one crank-powered. The battery powered one quickly died, and so Phuong and I were left climbing in the dark with one dim crank-powered light between up. At this point, some of the mystery and romance of hiking worn off, and we progressed slowly but steadily.

Along the way, we passed aid stations, where we could pay 200 or 300 yen to have our walking staffs stamped/branded. The climb went smoothly through Station 8, about which time we reconvened with the other guys from our group, who had elected to take a long rest. The temperature had dropped significantly, so I put on my coat and pants -- happy to have packed something useful. As we progressed up the mountain, the the path narrowed and human traffic because thicker. The stretch until Station 9 was especially long, and I became dismayed as I looked up searching the mountain for it. We came across two aid stations (both not official "Stations), and then anther big station along the way, cruelly named "Station 8.5." During that period, I became totally exhausted, virtually asleep on my feet, and devoid of energy. As we took a break a small break outside one of the shelters, I power napped for a few minutes. I woke and took a few breaths of compressed O2 from a canister that Phuong had purchased. For one reason or another, my spirits were immediately buoyed, and my energy level returned to normal. We trekked on through the night, often stopping at a standstill at rocky parts of the trail. During the stationary moments, I had time to admire the winding string of flashlights and headlamps from the tightly compacted line of people ascending the mountain. I was reminded of the line of headlights snaking through the desert on nighttime drives to Las Vegas. Below we could also make out the distant lights of metro Tokyo like a incandescent computer chip. As we walked, we noticed the horizon starting to lighten. We reached Station 9, which turned out to be nothing but a marker in the ground and a wooden gateway. As the sun neared the horizon, we quicken our pace hoping to reach the summit, which was now within view. When it became clear that we wouldn't make it, we found a comfortable spot, and waited. Heavy clouds surrounded us, and it looked grim for a few minutes because. Miraculously, right before the sun came up, we had a 10-minute window of clear skies.

For risk of sounding cliche, I won't describe the sunrise in depth. All I will say is that it was miraculous. With so much beauty in the world, I found myself thinking, how can we justify the level of distress that we inflict upon one another.

The others, it turned out, had made it to the summit just in time for sunrise -- Dave said he was literally running to the top to catch it. After then sun came up, we hiked another 15 minutes (read: stood in line for 15 minutes) until we joined the others at the summit. At the summit, there were several shops, and Phuong treated me a piping-hot hot chocolate, and we settled in for a warm restaurant, where I had a splendid plate of curry. We all celebrated with a half-cup of Japanese whiskey while enjoying the view. Myself and Gareth were suffering from fairly bad altitude sickness, so we made our way back down after getting our staffs stamped, getting some souvenirs, and having a look at the crater in the middle of the mountain.

The walk down was brutal. The sun was up, and it got hot quickly. We took a different path back from the one that we took up, and it mostly consisted monotonous zig-zagging down a trail of of loose red gravel, which made for unsteady footing the whole way down. Everyone's quadriceps were shot by the end. Too exhausted to keep up conversation, everyone was walking at different speeds for most of the three-hour trip down. We would occasionally wait along the path to avoid losing one another. Then at the end, we finally rendezvoused. Miraculously, we didn't lose anyone, and we managed to immediately catch a direct bus back to Shinjuku station. Everyone fell asleep promptly on the 2.5 hour ride. Upon arriving at Shinjuku, we parted ways. Phuong and I live in the same complex, so we took the Metro back, managing not to fall asleep.

I was ravenous, so we stopped at FamilyMart, and I bought a bento box and some sushi, along with a giant Coke. When I entered my apartment, I saw that it was nearly 3:00 PM. I showered, ate, and managed to use the internet for a bit before dozing off.

When I awoke, the sun had set. It was 8:00 PM, and all I had energy for was another meal before bed.

Exploring Tokyo by Foot

Earlier this week, I moved from Hayama, where I was staying for a one-week Japanese language course to Tokyo, where I will be working for the next few weeks through the NSF EAPSI program (http://www.nsfsi.org/). I live in an apartment at the Oiwake International Lodge, which is a short ten-minute walk from my the University of Tokyo.

With the SD Rock 'n' Roll Marathon in my rear view mirror, and with all of the logistical complication associated with moving to another country, running fell to the bottom of my priority list. Nonetheless, at the end of this week, I managed to get back on track, with two short runs in the morning. What I quickly realized -- beyond how hot and humid it is in Tokyo (even at 6 am) -- is that I've never really run in an urban environment before. The constant weaving through pedestrian traffic, coupled with the requisite stop and go of busy intersections gives urban running a very distinct rhythm.

This weekend with temperatures dipping down to tolerable levels, I decided to explore the city on foot on Saturday and Sunday morning by taking long runs to target spots in and around Bunkyo-ku. On Saturday, I trekked to nearby Ueno Park, which is small green space with two pond areas, with a total circumference of roughly 1-2 miles. I was surprised to see many runners out early on a Saturday in addition to the many homeless people who apparently frequent the park (which is odd, because Tokyo has very few homeless people for a city of its size). I took one loop around the small bond, which has a paddle boat station for youngsters, and decided to call it quits early due to the heat. On Sunday I woke up late after a late night at a Nozaki group party (a welcome/goodbye party). Thankfully the heat had subsided drastically, so it was safe to go for a run in the afternoon. My targets were the Tokyo Dome, where the Tokyo Giants play, and then on to the running mecca of Tokyo, the Imerperial Palace. I took care to study a map before I left, and I began winding my way through the city. The Dome and the Imperial Palace, I figured were practically too big to miss. I was running along a busy main street dodging pedestrian traffic and was quite shocked to see the giant white puff of the Dome in front of me. I tried to steer clear of the swarms of people, and continued southeast towards the Imperial Palace. I traversed a river and passed under a few highways, before I saw it: a splash of green in a grey urban jungle. As I made my way towards it, I noticed was the massive moat around the palace, such that the palace grounds themselves appeared almost like an island. I hurried towards the sidewalk and began making my way around its three mile circumference. A handful of briskly moving Japanese locals passed me as I plodded forward, fully enjoying the serenity of the moment.

As I finally finished my loop, and snapped back into reality I realized to my dismay that I had no idea how to get back! Uncertain where to go, I reasoned that I could get back to the Tokyo Dome, so I set that as my first goal. From there, maybe I would recognize the way. After navigating through a different set of streets than the ones I had come on, I stumbled upon a crowd of thousands of people. I gave up hopes of running, and fell in line. We crossed over a bridge and under a sign that read "Tokyo Dome City". At least I had found it! I power-walked my way around the slow moving shoppers in search of some familiar territory, but I found none. I ran around the dome and started running in one direction. Then I changed my mind and back-tracked. I did this a few times before I noticed how long I had been running (nearly 1 hour and 45 minutes). I could tell that I was dehydrated because I was no longer sweating. This was getting bad. As I made my way back to the dome, I saw a ray of hope in the form of a big city map just outside the Dome City. After quite a lot of confusion. I set my eyes on two main roads that would get me close to the University. By this point, running was slow and I looked longingly towards the endless series of vending machines that I passed, but I was determined to make it. After losing my way a few more times, I finally found a familiar looking street. "North or south?" I asked myself. Reluctantly, my feet started moving south. I passed a Dominos Pizza that looked familiar, and then just as I was picking up my pace. I noticed that I was passing by a very familiar looking building: home!

After slurping down two glasses of water, I went immediately to Familymart for some "Pine Cola" and soba (noodles), which I consumed with ferocity. Overall, a fun adventure that could have gone a lot worse. I hope this portends well for the remainder of my stay.

2011 San Diego Rock 'n' Roll Marathon

Finished in 03:42:16.

Though this was my second SD Rock 'n' Roll Marathon, I nonetheless experienced several "firsts" in this race.

For one, it was the first time that I ever arrived late for a marathon. My plan was to carpool with two friends from Scripps, Tyson and Vicki, along with Vicki's boyfriend Zach and friend Kevin. We left my apartment around 4:15 AM and arrived at Vicki's by 4:40 AM. We packed in Vicki's CRV and headed downtown via the 805. When we exited at the 8, we noticed closed lanes everywhere, and when we then tried to merge onto the 5, we found ourselves stuck in a sea of impatient runners. Minutes ticked by rapidly as we nervously eyed the clock to no avail. After fending off countless renegades who refused to wait in line, we finally merged onto the 5, and then crawled our ways towards Balboa park.



When we ultimately arrived within a mile of the start, we left the car, and took a short detour to a Subway to relieve ourselves -- I was thankful to avoid the port-o-potties near the start line. After wending our way through traffic we got the start around 6:45 AM, 30 minutes after the first wave of people had left. This year's SD Rock 'n' Roll Marathon (and half marathon) had over 30,000 participants, most of whom still hadn't started, so by no means were we out of place starting so late. However, starting that far back meant that I was amidst a much slower crowd than usual.



I pressed hard at first in an effort to catch up to a better pace group. After just a few miles in, I had reached the 4:30 pace group, and I continued near a 8:00/mile pace until I was 6 miles in. My legs started causing me some discomfort, so I slowed my pace and kept in a comfortable rhythm, weaving in an out of the pack.

This year was the first SD Rock 'n' Roll Marathon where I really paid close attention to our route, and it was exhilarating to make my way through a city that I've come to think of as my second home. After looping around Balboa Park, we cut across the highway into the heart of downtown. We passed right by Petco Park, where I had watched the Padres take on the Astros the previous night, and then made our way through the Gaslamp District before heading north on the 163. After a long stretch on the highway, I was thrilled to spot a University of Michigan tent, and see a long string of volunteers in maize and blue. As we exchanged shouts of "Go Blue" I sprinted forward, my spirits sailing high as we charged east through Fashion Valley. Hunger pangs had been with me for a few miles, thus I was relieved to see a Gu station, and load up with three Vanilla packets.

As we turned north for an out-and-back on Morena Boulevard, the sun's intensity started getting more bothersome. I knew that the final 10 miles of the course would be essentially shadeless so I gritted my teeth and scolded myself for not remembering to put on sunscreen.

We wound our way through a neighborhood where one house was handing out beer -- which was a first for me to see. On the bridge to Mission Bay, our pack was noticeably losing steam. There was another long out-and-back in the sunlight, where I passed a girl, her back on the grass, who was wailing out in pain from cramps. My legs were actually feeling fairly fresh, and psychologically I was in good shape -- a pleasant byproduct of starting in the back and passing people for most of the race.

The toughest part of marathons for me is normally thttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifhe 18-22 mile stretch, but in this race, I found myself at mile 23 before I even realized. The final stretch was a loop around sandy embankments, where the heat and light were overpowering. I found another runner who was still keeping up a quick tempo and drafted behind him as we headed towards the finish.

With less than a mile left, I kicked hard, only to realize that what I had thought was the finish line was nothing but another turn, and it took all of my willpower to keep a strong pace at the finish after that. The runner who I had been shadowing and since passed during my kick was fast upon me at the finish line (though I'm fairly sure I edged him out at the end).



As I cooled down and rehydrated, hobbling around the finisher zone, I felt the deep satisfaction of completing a hard task. I boarded a bus to Old Town to meet up with Jae, who would take me home. I had left all of my belongings in Vicki's car since we were so late -- I hadn't checked anything. Literally all I had was Jae's phone number (the emergency number on my bib), my iPod, and a rapidly maturing sunburn -- another marathon first.

I later learned that Vicki, Kevin, and Tyson all finished. For Vicki and Kevin, it was their first marathon, and for Tyson, it was his second.

The Last Push

Today I finished the last run of a challenging four-day push in preparation for the San Diego Rock 'n' Roll Marathon on Sunday, June 5th. Getting myself ready for this race has presented unique challenges -- if for no other reason than because I let myself get sorely out of shape in the winter. Thus, reaching the final stages of my training for this marathon is a satisfying moment in its own right.

After being back in Michigan from Friday to Tuesday this week, I returned to San Diego ready to put in a few solid days on the road. I completed 10-mile tempo runs on Thursday and Friday, then followed that up with 15- and 20-mile runs through the Torrey Pines Reserve on Saturday and Sunday, the latter of which took me all the way up to Del Mar. Last summer, I ran up to Del Mar nearly every weekend, but summoning the tenacity to venture that far north had presented something of an insurmountable mental hurdle until today. Plodding along on a cool, cloudy morning was a invigorating, if exhausting way, to end this training period.

Suffice it to say, getting back into form feels good. Waking up before dawn and feeling the pavement roll away beneath my feet imparts me with focus and energy that I don't find elsewhere. Feeling light on the streets and fast on the trails is my reward for hard morning training, and it's a deeply fulfilling one.

Recommitting

From October to March, my running has suffered. I've been lackadaisical and apathetic. I haven't been able to get myself out of bed on those dark, chilly mornings for runs before work. There are a lot of factors that underlie this motivational deterioration. I've bitten off more than I can chew with respect to research and extracurricular involvement. I haven't had races on my schedule to keep me focused. I've been disappointed about not qualifying for Boston last year and about my unwillingness to attempt a 100-mile race.

But, I've started to turn the corner. Two weeks ago, I registered for the SD Rock 'n' Roll Marathon, and running has again become a cornerstone of my week. I've readjusted my daily schedule to rise early and run before work, and I've started steadily accruing miles. It's tough -- both psychologically and physically. One year ago, I was in the best shape of my life; I could run 20 miles on the beach in the morning, then finish a 12 mile tempo run in the afternoon. Not only was I more fit than I had ever been, every day I was getting fitter. There was such a thrill in that pursuit of daily excellence, that when I began to decrease mileage in April, I couldn't keep that drive alive, and I spiraled downward. Registering for another race has forced me to schedule, plan, and execute at a high level again, not only in terms of running, but also in other facets of my life. I'm eating healthier food, I'm more productive at work, and I'm more focused in pursuing other goals. I may not be in the best shape of my life come race day June 5th, but I'll surely feel better and better every week leading up to it. And with any luck, I'll be able to use that excitement to fuel another fantastic summer of running.

2010 Long Beach Marathon

Finished in 03:23:52 (PR).

Any more importantly my good friend and steadfast colleague, Tiansheng (Tyson) finished his first ever marathon!

That's the good news.

To contextualize the bad news, we should rewind the tape to Thursday, Oct. 14th, when shortly after noon, I departed for Las Vegas, where 10 friends and I were set to converge from all over the world to celebrate one friend's recent engagement. My mindset on this trip centered on having fun, and when stray thoughts about the upcoming race would drift into my mind, I would hastily shake them out of my consciousness. Thus, after residing in a crowded hotel room in the Bellagio for two days and subsisting almost solely on Chipotle and Panda Express, I finally admitted to myself that trouble could lie on the horizon.

I spent a few hours on Saturday afternoon (now the day before the race) with two members of our group filing police reports for stolen purses and frantically drinking bottles of Gatorade to rehydrate. Then, I departed back to San Diego, repeating to myself on the long trip home that my goal of qualifying for the Boston Marathon (3:10:59) was still realistic. After all, I had been training all summer on the beach with a 3:05 marathoner. However, had I been more honest with myself, I would have recognized that my regimen of sporadic long runs amidst a busy summer of traveling (friends visiting, conferences, etc.) was perhaps not as rigorous as I imagined it to be.

I arrived at my apartment around 10 pm, scarfed down a California burrito and went immediately to sleep, before rising at 3 am. I met up with Tyson who was driving at 3:30 am and thought of my friends who were still out partying in Las Vegas. (In fact, even a few hours later, while warming up, I received encouraging text messages from some of them, which evidenced that they were still awake.)



While standing in the crowded start line chute, I didn't feel quite the same level of anxiety or excitement as I had in other races. I don't know if this was experience finally starting to sink in, or if I was just too fatigued to process what was going on. When the gun sounded, I took off at a brisk if uneven pace, and struggled for about five miles to find a comfortable rhythm. By Mile 2, I had vomited in my mouth, which I knew foreshadowed troubles ahead.




At the start, I had had trouble locating the 3:10 pace group, but I knew by Mile 12, that 3:10 was going to be a stretch. At the half-way point, there was an out-and-back loop in the course, and I saw that I was well ahead of the 3:20 pace group, a position that I maintained through Mile 15. At that point, however, the outlook suddenly became bleak. I felt my body slowing down, and I my pace dropped dramatically (from 7:20 pace, to a 8:00 pace, all the way to a 9:00 pace, before improving back to a 8:30 pace). It was demoralizing to have the 3:20 pace group overtake me and hear the pacer shout to his group, "Don't feel bad for passing them. You ran a smart race. You're fresh and they're not." At Mile 16, I spotted Tyson, who was about six miles behind me, at an overlapping part of the course, which energized both us -- for 50 strides at least. Over the course of the next six miles, an all-consuming full-body fatigue overtook me, and the only urgency that I felt was in going to sleep as soon as possible. With the finish mile approaching mile by mile, I felt small burst of energy (mini-second winds), but not enough to sustain a big kick, and trudged painfully onward until I crossed the final timing mat. I made my way through the chute, cooled off, and then walked about a tenth of a mile back up the course to wait for Tyson and cheer on other runners. I was cold and tired, but when I finally saw Tyson still valiantly plugging along, my heart left. I raced over to his side, grabbed his empty water bottles and returned to the sidewalk to run along with him to the finish.



I munched BBQ Kettle chips while watching a total melee at the Jet Blue bag drop. The workers weren't locating bags fast enough, so some runners undid a tie at the side of the tent, entered themselves, and started dumping out all of the bins in search of their bags. (This latter maneuver, incidentally, totally obliterated the numerical organizational system.) Luckily, Tyson and I both located our bags; we then limped back to his car, and enjoyed a quiet drive back home. After showering and napping, I met up again with Tyson for his son's birthday celebration -- quite a day for him! -- and avariciously gorged myself on succulent Chinese food.

This race certainly had it's high points and low points for me. I am proud to have finished, and I am proud that I kept pushing myself even when my goal of qualifying for Boston was out of sight. Even more than that, I am proud of Tyson. I helped spark his interest in distance running, and it was immensely satisfying to help him through the training process and to be there for him at the end. And though I was again humbled by the immutable fact that "you can't do everything at once," I was happy to have gone to Las Vegas to see all of my friends. I also learned some valuable lessons to take forward with me. I learned that even with a busy schedule it's important to have a comprehensive, organized training plan and to stick with it (particularly when running for time). I was reminded to run with humility. The brashness that caused me to burst out of the gate at the start compounded my misery in the middle of the race. And my unwillingness to rest in the few days before the race led to misery at every step. I saw also at the end of the race, that it's vital to keep running fun. I grudgingly coasted through heavy mileage during the summer. I wasn't happy doing it, and I didn't benefit as much as I could have from it. In future races, I hope that I'll be both more responsible and more joyful.

Walking on Clouds

Michigan is not mountainous. And as a consequence, until this weekend, I've had practically no experience running at high elevation. A graduate student retreat brought me to the UCLA Conference Center at Lake Arrowhead, CA, from where I am presently writing.

Navigating my Toyota along the tortuous roads to an elevation of 5,200 ft. was enough to leave me feeling light-headed and dizzy, but today's morning run felt like a sternly humbling punch in stomach. I rose early and got out the door shortly before sunrise. Progressing at an easy pace, I was reminded of Thanksgiving weekend runs in Cedarville, MI -- the same coniferous crispness in the air. Passing by pine cones the size of my calf muscles, I felt the rhythmic ascending/descending pattern of running along a mountain face. While my legs pistoned compliantly, my lungs and heart raced to process the thin air. Certainly a combination of physiology and psychology were at play, but I never expected to notice such a pronounced difference. Thankfully for my body's well-being, I was pushing the limits of my schedule, so I had to turn back after only a few miles (running maybe 6 miles in total).



Throughout the morning and afternoon, as we sat inside for lectures and poster sessions, clouds continuously enveloped the resort -- making me feel like I was surrounded by giant humidifiers. During our free period, three friends and I decided to take a hike along nearby trails. Clouds continued to roll over and around us, as we meandered through fallen trees, overgrown shrubs, and dried-up creeks. I stumbled along awkwardly in Crocs -- characteristically poor planning on my part. As my feet pressed onward up and down hills, I felt the same shortness of breath and general light-headedness that I've come to associate with any physical exertion a mile above sea level -- and I had a momentary flashback of the utter exhaustion that came with snowboarding (read: falling) down the Austrian Alps in 2008 during a Reetz lab ski trip.




The mist steadily transformed into rain, and we managed to find our way back to our car before we became too drenched to appreciate the fresh taste of the mountain air and the cool touch of the clouds.