Kagawa Marathon Experience: Part 2 - A 42.195km run with more spring than udon

— Race Day, the Solitude at the 39km Mark

The sunlight, piercing through the scattered thin clouds, was no longer a cheer but a physical burden pressing down on my entire body.

The clock read "5 minutes 57 seconds/km." My goal of a sub-4 hour marathon (finishing under 4 hours) was slipping through my fingers like sand. Contrary to the passionate cheers from the roadside, all I could hear was the rough sound of my own breath echoing deep within my lungs. "Running," which I had loved so dearly just a few hours ago, had now transformed into a mere grueling chore, each step a struggle...

— The Day Before, a Quiet Sense of Solidarity

Looking back, the exhilaration of the previous day was exceptional.
In the evening, I completed my entry, bought energy gels, and headed to a gyudon restaurant in town. There, I saw men with similar expressions. No conversation. But each time our eyes met briefly, we exchanged a silent understanding, as if to say, "Let's both give it our best tomorrow," before quickly heading home, leaving behind empty bowls.

The raw emotions of "grit and willpower" and the cold, hard numbers of "lap times per kilometer." To experience these extremes in an ultimate state—that is the charm of a marathon. Whispering this to myself, I fell asleep dreaming of achieving my sub-4 goal, "the citizen runner's badge of honor."

— The Festive Cannon and the Sudden Change in Wind

On race day, simultaneously with the starting gun, a ferry bound for Shodoshima departed from the port, sounding a horn that seemed to shake the very ground. Passengers leaned over the deck, waving and shouting, "Ganbare—!" The runners responded with cheers. It was the warmth unique to Kagawa, where the entire town seemed to conspire to enliven the race.

Past the 20km mark, I cheered, "Ganbare~!" to the top runners as they turned back, feeling myself become a part of that intense energy.

However, at the 26km mark, the scenery changed dramatically the moment I entered the riverside.
Relentless strong winds blew in from the river mouth, eroding my spirit and draining my energy. The energy gel I hastily consumed only left a sticky sweetness in my mouth. Just as my resolve was about to break, a savior appeared.

It was the "udon broth" at the aid station. And it was cold.

The moment I took a sip, the rich umami and saltiness of the broth instantly washed away the cloying sweetness. The taste, which permeated every fiber of my being, gave me the courage to push forward again.

— The End, and the March of the Zombies

Towards the end, I prioritized my time, passing the leading runners lined up at the udon aid station, and kept moving my legs, biting back a salty taste that I couldn't tell was tears or sweat.

Just past 40km, the slope I had cheerfully run down at the start now stood as a hateful, "murderous" wall. When I finally crossed the indoor finish line, what surged up in me was not a sense of accomplishment, but rather the relief of "It's finally over..."

My time was 4 hours and 6 minutes.
I missed my sub-4 goal by 6 minutes. I realized the immense thickness of this "6-minute" wall and suffered a refreshingly complete defeat.

On the way home, my legs heavy, swaying as I walked down the slope, I was surrounded by other runners who had also turned into "zombies."

"How cruel, and yet how wonderful it is to challenge something new."

After the race, as I descended the most challenging part of the return journey, the slope, I was already beginning to think about how to take my next step.