13.1 Miles of...

I have a little blue notebook. Within the pages of that little notebook I have detailed my many training runs throughout the thirteen weeks I took to train for my first race ever: the Amakusa Half Marathon.

Here’s the thing about training for that first race. I wasn't part of a team, I wasn’t required to do it, no one was pushing me to finish. I was on my own. Sure I signed up with friends and we encouraged each other and ran the race together, but there was no one there at five in the morning to kick my butt out of bed and go run. It was just me. Through every mile, on my own. Or was I?

One of the things I began to realize during training was how aware I was of the world around me during my runs. That feeling only increased when I ditched my headphones completely two weeks in. As I reread that little blue notebook I noticed how full it was of random encounters that I had with people or things I had viewed during my runs. They brought back beautiful memories of tiny moments in time when my soul was touched.

“I ran hills around the castle today with Sam and Karmen. It was hard but really fun! There was a super moon last night and we caught a beautiful view of the moon over the night lighting of the castle. Fall is coming! I can feel it in the air!”

“Passed a little girl eating ice cream while she walked down the street. She called out “Ohaiyogozaimasu!” to me as I ran by and later I passed three young runners my age and we cheered each other on.”

“I encountered a foreign man and his Japanese wife also out running. The man called out ‘Yoshi!’ and gave me a high five as he ran by and so did his wife! People are awesome.”

“Caught a beautiful sunrise this morning. Maybe I’ll begin to love morning runs…”

“Ran into the Kyushu Gakuin rugby team on my 14^th kilometer today. They biked around me and I got several high fives and lots of ‘Caroline-sensei gambate! Fighto!’ Thank God for my KyuGaku boys!”

The thing that often pulled me through any demanding run was giving my run up to someone. As I ran, I often chanted a prayer in time with the pounding of my feet. It was a prayer of gratitude, and a prayer for strength, for myself and others. It established a far more better beat for me than my music ever did.

One of my first training runs was in Sapporo when I was on vacation. It was a short run, only 3 miles, and I didn’t set out to break any records. I was running around a street that was roughly a mile long and I would have to circle it three times to reach my goal. Near the end of my first lap I passed an elderly care center. There were four or five elderly gentlemen on the front stoop watching the world go by as they enjoyed their morning coffee. I hadn’t decided who I would run for yet for that day and as I ran past I decided I would run for them. I prayed for them and wondered at their lives. Who were they? What stories did they have to tell? I wondered if they thought the same about me, the strange foreign girl running past their place in a bright pink visor so early in the morning.

After about a lap and a half I noticed that I was moving pretty fast by my standards. Shortly thereafter I passed the gentlemen on the step again and I smiled and nodded. I came around on my final lap and I was so excited. I was moving at just over five minutes per kilometer (my usual is about six minutes per) and I felt great. The weather was cool with a bright morning sun, strange for August to a girl from Kumamoto. As I passed them for a third and final time, I bowed low mid stride and called out a morning greeting and they cheered and clapped for me. With their cheers in my ears I picked up speed and fairly flew back to the house where we were staying. I finished that last kilometer in just under five minutes, and the whole run in 27:09 minutes, my personal best.

I never saw those gentlemen again. I never found out their stories, never told them how much they encouraged me that day, never shared a hot cup of coffee while watching the world go by. Despite this, they became a part of my story, my adventure, and I thought of them often during my training.

I was reminded of them once again during the race. The marathon was held on November 16th in Amakusa City, a small fishing town on the island of Amakusa, just off the coast of Kumamoto. I went with two girlfriends, Sam and Karmen. Sam and I ran together, two drops in the bucket of the four thousand other runners that were there that day.

Karmen, Sam, and I
(Note: I am wearing my cute skirt capris that I bought in Tokyo when I first arrived in Japan. It seemed only fitting!)

We had way too much ENERGY!!

The starting point... I was standing so far away from this when the gun went off that I couldn't even see it.

 As we waited in our spot near the back of the pack I looked at the strangers around me and wondered where they had come from, why they were running, and what their stories were. We were total strangers, and yet in that moment in time we were together, a team of people, surging ahead in this running thing that we do. It was called a race, but really it was only a race to those front runners who were, perhaps, professionals. The rest of us were all in it together, running for so many reasons, but each with a desire to finish, and finish well by our varying standards. With few or no words we were many things for each other: cheerleaders, pace setters, inspiration givers, and strength sharers.

Marathon family!

These shoes were made for running...

The residents of Amakusa were spread thin along the race track, but they cheered with all their might and kept us fed and watered. They kept a smile on my face and encouraged me to run with all my strength. I ran that race for my sister Claire, and for Elora June still in Claire's belly, and for all those middle and back of the packers, my kind of runners, and it was beautiful.

The surge over the bridge at the beginning. Four thousand strong!

Nearing the end of the race, as I crossed the last bridge, with only half a kilometer to go, I noticed two small children standing with their hands outstretched waiting for high fives. At that point most were too exhausted to even notice, but I wanted that high five. I worked my way over to where they stood and gave each of them a high five and a smile (that may have been more of a grimace). Their mother thanked me and the children smiled, and those little warm hands and those little beaming faces so full of excitement gave me more strength than I knew I had and I picked up my feet and powered through the end.

I came into the stadium just behind the men’s full marathon winner, and as I was entering the second place men’s full marathon runner passed me, and the crowd was cheering and clapping and going crazy for them, but it felt like it was for me. I ran strong over the finish line and they called out “Caroline Keenan sensei!” over the loud speakers and it was finished.

There are many times in this world when we feel alone. But that is a lie. We are never alone, and it is not a trite saying about God to say so. Of course, He is always there. But it is when we look into the eyes of our brothers and sisters and see them as beloved children of God, it is then that we realize that it is not just God at our side, it is the multitudes of other people, all of us running the same race.  

Finished at 2:32, beating my goal by eight minutes! Next year... full marathon? I think so!