Run 8: Imperial Palace 10km

Saturday, 17th October 2015 (1:30pm)

For my second run in Japan, I was very excited. There were two reasons for this; first, I knew exactly where I would be going and the route I'd be running. Second, it was only 10km. Whenever I say that last part to people, they laugh and think I'm being arrogant. The me last year would have punched the me saying that now. 10km is a lot but after a half-marathon, it's a welcome respite. It also gives me the chance to really throw myself in to the running and push myself, where half-marathons' goals become just finishing the race.

The Emperor of Japan is in there somewhere...

The Imperial Palace run was perhaps the smallest race I have done so far (a close tie with the Wimbledon Common run) and made to seem even smaller by the fact that out of the small hundreds of participants, we were separated by four different runs; 5km, 10km, 15km and 20km.

The Imperial Palace is surrounded by gardens, walls, archaic-looking gates and a path that measures around 5km long. As such, each race's route merely differed by the number of laps the runner needed to do. I needed to do 2.

As an English teacher from a rather small English-speaking country (Wales), I feel a certain pride in displaying a big Welsh flag in my classroom. For this run, I thought it'd be a great idea to step up the costume from the diabetes wig by using the flag as a cape. Dressing up in bizarre costumes is usually common-place for Japanese cosplayers, but less so on the running scene. I attracted a lot of awestruck gazing and one Spanish fellow shouted "Scotland, Scotland!" at me. Though I didn't catch whether he was actually from Catalonia, he did introduce himself and talk at length (get it?) about ultra-marathons. He was incredibly athletic and wore a one-piece running vest that reminded me of that Simpsons clip.

Who's that strange Welsh guy in the wig?

After a group photo, we got ready for the four different waves; 20km went first, followed by 15km and then at 1:30 I got ready for my 10km.

I started well, overtaking most of the people who were there just for a little jog around the palace. One guy at the front was absolutely blitzing it so I decided not to bother trying to match his pace. Another guy in a blue shirt passed me quite early on and I decided he would be my target for the race.


I had been unable to do much training for this race but I felt good. Pushing myself to follow the guy in blue meant that I kept up a decent pace.

The Imperial Palace is a very popular walking and running spot for tourists and Japanese people alike. As a result of this and the four simultaneous races taking place around the grounds, there were a large number of runners. Everyone I passed, I checked out what colour bib they had so that I could determine how far in front I was.

Quite confident that it was just blitz-runner and blue-runner ahead of me, I convinced myself I was in third. More than likely though there was someone else ahead and being behind blue-runner, I was actually in fourth. There were prizes for the top 3, so I would have to come within that zone. There weren't many people in the 10k so it was certainly possible. I just had to beat blue-runner.

Conquering my first lap

Shortly after the first lap, blue-runner went off to the side to wave to his wife. I took this lull in his concentration to overtake him. I smiled encouragingly as I overtook him. From there he kept good pace with me but at the 7km mark I decided enough was enough and with 3rd place firmly in mind I pushed myself to run faster so that I could secure myself a prize.

At around 8km, Spanish Ned Flanders lapped me shouting words of encouragement. I grunted back at him.

As there were no timing chips, I kept a close eye on my phone timer towards the final kilometre. I was on a pretty good time, on track to do just under 47 minutes.

I finished at 46:20 and discovered to my horror that were many people already finished from the 10km. My dreams of 3rd place had been in vain. On the plus side though, two very good Australian friends, who were in Tokyo for a wedding, were waiting at the finish line to congratulate me and receive my incredibly sweaty embrace.




After the race I became something of a small celebrity as a group of Japanese lads, fervently practising their English before-hand, asked if they could have a photo with me (and my crazy wig and patriotic flag-cape). Shortly after this, I was approached by some Indian tourists who were in Tokyo for a naval exhibition.

Proudly showing off the colours of Wales with a random Indian Naval officer

Sadly no extra donations came but I did get to talk to people about why I was running; to raise awareness of diabetes and to help show people that pushing yourself to do a little extra can make a big difference.

Run 7: Arakawa Half Marathon

Sunday, 4th October 2015 (10:30am)

As this was my first run in the land of the Rising Sun and my first outside Europe, I came prepared to the run with a plethora of screenshots on my phone detailing exactly where I had to go, the route, my race number and everything that would be required of me to get the run off without a problem.

The site of many a sport

The race venue was just over an hour from where I was staying and three different metro lines away. Tokyo's railway system can be confusing as different lines are owned by different companies but when you get used to it, navigating isn't too scary. Fortunately, today was a good day as I arrived at my designated station with no problems at all.

Peace and quiet in the foreground, busy Tokyo in the background.

It is very typical of Japanese people to sleep on the train during their morning commute (and their commute home). I almost never do this (mainly because I never get a seat!) On my first leg of the train route I snoozed in and out. Not a very promising start!

The station in question was Higashi-Ojima, and it was a very short walk from here to an incredibly peaceful sports fields/riverside community area. The sun was shining and my walk through the park was incredibly. Old men were grouped together on one field, shooting paper aeroplanes in to the air and watching them glide around. Families were setting up barbecues and picnic areas. Joggers were gearing up for the run, and adorable akitas and other breeds of puppies were being walked.

Short and sweet. Japanese efficiency in action.

With my screenshots and very basic Japanese in hand, I nervously approached the race-pack collection tent. Western names in Japan are translated in to katakana, while Japanese names are written in kanji. The race staff had a list of names and as soon as they saw me and I said my name, they knew to look at one of the very very few katakana names on their list.

So, race number pinned to my top, shoe laces tied and checked, stretches done, I donned my Diabetes wig and got ready for the start of the race. Very few people seemed to look or care about my strange gaijin get-up. Perhaps, being Japanese, they'd seen people wearing stranger things or perhaps they were politely trying not to stare.

Blissfully unaware that a blue-wigged gaijin was waiting behind them.

I have very little to say about the race. It was baking hot (somewhere close to 28°) so I was sweating even before I started running. Given the heat I wasn't prepared to run to beat any Personal Best I have so went in with the mentality that I would just finish the race and do so under 2 hours. The course was a series of 4 laps along a promenade where kids and adults played baseball (Japan's favourite sport) and bicycles whizzed past. Every stretch of a lap was 2.5km and each side had a water station. I stopped and re-hydrated at every water stop - I did not want to be that ignorant Westerner who died of heat stroke during a run he wasn't prepared for.

All types of people were on the run, from all ages and shapes and sizes. It seemed a very inclusive run and had a very good spirit about it. For most of the run I was in my own little headspace, just wanting to finish and though I picked up my pace towards the end, it was an average of 5:30 per km. Lacking a big, bright finish line, two Japanese ladies held a strip of ribbon between them and runners were encouraged to run through it with their arms stretched upwards in salute of their victory.

Celebrating with my instantly printed certificate!

In true Japanese style of efficiency, immediately after completing the race I was presented with my certificate that congratulated me on my finish time, a cool 1:55:02

Invisible Illness Awareness Week

Today marks the end of Invisible Illness Week.

I have shared a lot about my running experiences but very little about my experience with diabetes. I do not have diabetes. Hopefully, I will never get it, but some members of my family do. They live normal, happy lives and are very rarely hindered by the disease (or so I am led to believe). Even being so close to the disease, I cannot fathom how it feels for them to have to live with the disease. What seems, from the outside, an easy ritual of injecting insulin daily is something I would never wish to endure, and something I would never wish on anyone. Yet, both my brother and my mother go through this every day. This is something I see as a close relative but something not many others see. From all outside viewpoints, they both live normal lives.

I cannot remember when I knew that my mother had diabetes. I cannot remember if I was ever "told". Certainly I don't remember being sat down and told about the disease. Just as she learnt to live with it, I never questioned it.

Hypoglycemic attacks can be very common for those suffering from diabetes. They occur as a result of low blood sugar. Throughout my life, there have been a number of times when my mother or my brother have suffered an attack due to very low blood sugar and myself or another family member have had to help restore the blood sugar to a normal level. This can be a very scary experience as the attack results in a kind of delirious state that makes it hard to communicate with the person and also difficult to cooperate with in order to restore the blood sugar to a normal level. At times, I feel frustrated with my brother when he has a hypoglycemic attack. I often blame him for not being careful with his diet and eating, but sometimes it is easy to forget that he has an invisible illness that was not brought on by anything in particular. It just happened, and he has had to deal with it, and I can imagine if I had had Type-1 diabetes, it would not be easy for me to deal with.

The first memory I have of witnessing a hypoglycemic attack was when I was 11. I was acting in a musical play, Oliver, at a stage show group somewhere I can barely remember. I made some new friends there and I was very excited to be part of the production. My mother, very patiently, drove me 30 minutes to the rehearsal every night. She was very encouraging. One night, as we were leaving, she asked me if I could pop to the bar (I guess we were rehearsing in a social club type place) and get some chocolate peanuts. I thought the request very strange indeed. They did not have any. I thought no more of it.

Shortly after, on the drive home, my mum started to act "weird". She was swerving while she was driving and acting, well...drunk. For a boy with no experience of drink driving or hypoglycemia, I was terrified. I had no idea what was going on. It continued for a while down some small streets before the busier roads. She would drive a bit, and stop. One time when she did stop, I ran out of the car and knocked on the door of one of the houses of the street. The old woman reluctantly let me use her phone (remember this was before mobile phones!) to call the police - why I called the police I do not know, I think perhaps my dad had taken my brothers to play football and I had no idea who else to call.

To cut a short story even shorter, the police arrived, kindly took us home, and were very understanding. The old woman irritably asked why of all doors I had knocked on hers and I politely informed her it was because she had been peeking through the curtains (presumably to see why a car had been stopping and starting outside) so I knew there was someone in. Though eternally grateful for her help, perhaps it taught her to be less nosy in the future.

From then on, I had a much better understanding of diabetes the disease, and my mum, the diabetes sufferer.

The point of this is that diabetes is an invisible illness. Nobody can see what the sufferers go through behind closed doors. There are no obvious symptoms from the every day observer. If you suffer from diabetes, talk about it. There is no stigma associated to having a disease. It is not your fault. If you have another illness, do not be afraid to share what it is you must endure.

Diabetes is not the only "invisible illness". For a much more eloquent take on what it means to be the sufferer of a disease that does not physically manifest itself, check out this incredible blog post: 

WHAT DO A THEORETICAL PHYSICIST, AN OLYMPIC ATHLETE AND AN ACTOR ALL HAVE IN COMMON?