The Climb Through Heat and Humidity

Daily miles: 35.46 | Total miles: 9,523.11

My alarm rang at 5:30 a.m. — coffee first, then packing, and getting my mindset ready for the day ahead. But the moment I stood up, I knew it would be difficult: my legs were sore, heavy, tired. The change in terrain these past days has definitely affected my muscles, and maybe I haven’t been fueling quite enough either. The morning humidity was already palpable, wrapping around everything.

I had to wait a long time in front of the elevator until it wasn’t packed with teenagers — then finally made it down to breakfast. Since it was included and I’d never had breakfast in a Japanese hotel so far, I was curious to see what they served and what people chose. Everyone was so polite, carefully queuing and quietly selecting food — placing every item on their plates with precision. There were noodles, vegetables, fish, tuna omelet, salad… a variety of things beautifully arranged. I couldn’t eat most of it, but I managed some brown rice, two small croissants, and a piece of pumpkin cake. My legs already hurt just walking, and I wondered how they’d feel running 35 miles.

Once I left the hotel, I found my direction and started slowly. Transitioning from walking into running when I’m in pain is hard. But just as I began, a man with a disability smiled and waved at me. His encouragement felt like a good omen. Every step hurts, Andrea — just keep moving. It might get better. Relax with every step.

Pushing the buggy on uneven sidewalks, absorbing every jolt, takes a special balance — between my own movement and the buggy’s rhythm. It drizzled briefly, but the expected rain never really came. The first part of the day led me through Shizuoka, quiet and peaceful on a Sunday morning. Then I followed the main Route 1, crossing bridges, passing stores and factories, cyclists rushing by. Around me, dark green hills shimmered with fog — mysterious and beautiful.

Soon, I had to take off my jacket — the air was thick and heavy. Later I learned this area has a humid subtropical climate. Yes, I could feel it in every pore. The moisture, the pressure, even a slight headache — something I almost never get.

At one point, I passed a small ceremony but didn’t want to interrupt to ask what it was about. Around mile 25, in Shimada, I crossed a bridge and looked down to see a marathon along the Ōi River — hundreds of colorful runners moving in both directions. That sight gave me a real lift. Many were walking, some clearly in pain, and it reminded me: a sorrow shared is a sorrow halved. We were all pushing through our limits, together in spirit.

Then came the hill I had seen on the elevation map. When the bicycle path ended and the road started to rise sharply, I knew it was coming. Google Maps showed an alternative, but from experience, I could tell the climb ahead would be steep — maybe too steep. Still, I started cautiously uphill, pushing the buggy step by step, keeping a firm grip. Once you’re committed to a slope like that, there’s no turning back. The weight, the angle, the slick ground — every movement demands total focus.

And then, of course — stairs. Long enough that both the front and back wheels had to lift together. It’s hard to describe what that feels like unless you’ve done it: heart pounding, breath fast, sweat dripping, adrenaline high, fear and focus mixed into one. I had two close calls where I almost lost control, but somehow managed. When I finally reached a section I couldn’t clear safely, I called out — no answer. After a few more attempts, I secured the buggy and climbed some side steps to a nearby house. I knocked, and a man opened the door. I asked if he could help me for a few minutes. Together, we did it.

Once on top, I felt shaky, nervous, and so deeply relieved. For a moment, my leg pain disappeared — replaced by gratitude and the rush of having made it. I continued along a narrow, winding road, humid and lush, cars passing close. Eight miles to go. You can do this, Andrea.

The views from the top were beautiful — dense, dark green hills glistening with moisture. About three miles before the hotel, I met a man spraying insects outside his house. His name was Seiji — a Kendo fighter. With only a few words of English between us, we managed a warm conversation. He gave me a can of coffee and called out his wife, who didn’t speak English at all. It was my only real encounter today, and it felt special.

That was around mile 32. Stopping at that point makes it hard to start again, but I told myself, you can do it. One mile before the hotel, I stopped at a supermarket — another short pause, another challenge to restart. But I did.

Tonight, I’m on the 12th floor with a view over Kakegawa — the city lights stretching far below. I had salad, pasta, soup, two persimmons, milk, a protein shake, two pieces of toast, and soon a yogurt with nuts. I’m tired. My legs ache. But I’m proud.

Another tough, humid, unforgettable day on the road.

It’s one to remember — another day of learning what endurance really means.

Thanks for checking in, Andrea