Race Recap: The 45th Tateyama Wakashio Marathon

The 45th Tateyama Wakashio Marathon

The 45th Tateyama Wakashio Marathon was held in the beautiful coastal city of Tateyama, located at the southern tip of the Boso Peninsula in Chiba Prefecture. I participated in the race and achieved another sub-4 marathon. Here’s how the race unfolded for me.

Race Start: A Cautious Beginning
The starting gun went off at 10:00 AM sharp. The temperature was a crisp 8.9°C, accompanied by strong northerly winds at 7 meters per second. The first 4 kilometers allowed runners to settle into a rhythm, aided by favorable tailwinds. However, the race had only just begun, and I knew there was a long way to go. Pacing cautiously was crucial. 

Thanks to my strong record in a previous race, I had the privilege of starting in Corral A. Still, within the first 10 kilometers, I was overtaken by many runners, including some from slower corrals. I didn’t let it bother me—I stuck to my target pace, guided by my training and understanding of my own capabilities.

First 10K: Settling In

At the 10K mark, I checked my split: 51 minutes and some seconds. It surprised me; I thought I had been running slightly slower. Deciding to err on the side of caution, I slowed my pace for the next 10 kilometers, knowing that this section of the course was strategically the most important.

10–20K: Staying Conservative

This stretch presented three key challenges. First, the increased undulations subtly wore down the legs. Second, the temperature rose as the course moved to the peninsula's southern side, where the hills blocked the cooling northern winds and reflected sunlight. Finally, the long, straight downhills tempted runners to speed up, risking burnout later.

Aware of these pitfalls, I maintained a conservative pace and took a couple of short bathroom breaks to relax and prepare for the demanding 20–30K section.

20–30K: Battling Hills and Winds
The 20–30K portion was even hillier than the previous segment. To make matters worse, the northern winds hit hard between the 22K and 25K marks, delivering both physical and mental challenges. I focused on running economically, especially on the uphill sections, to conserve energy.

The course’s highlight—and its toughest test—came at the 30K mark: the infamous Heartbreak Hill. This steep, 500-meter climb forced some runners to walk while others gritted their teeth and pushed on. Spectators lining the hill cheered enthusiastically, many of them clearly runners themselves, understanding the encouragement we needed.

30–40K: The Final Push
After conquering the hill, I returned to the coastal road with about 9 kilometers to go. The terrain leveled out somewhat, and more spectators gathered along the route. Some even recognized me from earlier and shouted, “Welcome back, Caveman!” Their support gave me a much-needed boost.

Initially, I had planned to pick up my pace in this final stretch. However, a twinge in my left hamstring signaled the onset of a cramp. Likely compensating for my injured right calf, my left leg was bearing extra strain. I abandoned the idea of speeding up and focused on maintaining an even rhythm.

While my pace wasn’t faster, I steadily overtook other runners who were struggling, having spent too much energy earlier in the race. This is where smart pacing made all the difference.

The Final Kilometer: A Battle to the Finish
As I neared the finish line, I saw the landmark resort condominium in the distance. Beyond it lay the end of the race. The sign reading “1K to go” brought memories of my training sessions to mind. “Just one more kilometer,” I told myself. “You’ve got this.”

Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my right calf, as if stabbed by a knife. “Not now!” I screamed internally. Slowing down to cope, I mustered every ounce of positive energy to keep moving. Smiling at spectators, I hoped their cheers would spark some magical burst of adrenaline to see me through.

The final stretch began with a pebbled section. Running on it in my yoga socks was agony. The pain in my soles almost made me forget about my cramping calf. Once the pebbles gave way to soft grass, I tried to kick for the last 30 meters. But my right calf seized completely, locking up and throwing me off balance. I limped across the finish line, determined not to give up.

Post-Race Reflection
The race was over. I had done it. Relief, joy, and disbelief washed over me. Despite the setbacks—my calf issue and less-than-ideal tapering—I had completed the marathon. Gratitude filled me for the experience and the lessons it brought.

The Aftermath

The next day, I was barely able to walk without a stick, and I’ll likely remain this way for a while. But I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything.