Client: "We're having an offline meetup soon, would you like to join?"
Me: "I'd love to!"
At that moment, my brain was filled with visions of chatting happily at an izakaya.
Fried chicken, beer, edamame, and a bit of self-introduction.
In my mind, the word "offline meetup" contained no elements other than "sitting," "drinking," and "getting fat."
However, the next moment, the client said with a smile:
Client: "Great! Then we'll see you at the Full Marathon Meetup!"
Me: "..."
Full marathon?
Even though it's a meetup?
What exactly is "off" about this?
I thought I misheard.
Maybe it was a "Full Marathon-style Meetup."
Meaning, a party where we drink while talking about marathons.
Or an "Offline Meetup to Honor Those Who Ran a Full Marathon."
I would be on the honoring side. The applauding side. The side ordering the fried chicken.
...But reality was cruel.
Apparently, we were actually going to run.
42.195km.
From a human perspective, that's a distance where one should stop and ask, "Isn't this a distance for horses?"
And then came the day.
Arriving at the venue, I immediately noticed something strange.
There wasn't a single fat person there.
I mean, couldn't there be at least one?
Shouldn't marathon events have some diversity?
Couldn't there be a comrade like me, carrying dreams and fat in their belly, saying "I'm aiming to finish!"?
But as far as I could see, everyone looked fast.
Their legs were thin.
Their gear looked good on them.
Their shoes were serious.
Their faces looked like people who "efficiently use oxygen on a daily basis."
Meanwhile, I weighed 100kg.
I was less of a runner and more of a pig.
I was already out of breath before the start.
I hadn't even run yet.
Just by existing, my heart and lungs were protesting.
I thought to myself:
This is not a meetup...
However, I made a firm vow.
"If I'm doing this, I'm definitely going to finish."
Then, the strategy meeting in my head began.
The strategy was simple.
・Utilize the full 11-hour time limit.
・If my knees break, it's over. Don't run. Walk.
・Only hydrate at rest points. If I sit down, there's a chance I'll never be able to stand up again.
It was perfect.
The time limit was 11 hours.
*Apparently, normal marathons are 6 or 7 hours, but since this was for beginners, it was 11 hours.
With 11 hours, I could reach the goal at 4km/h.
4km/h is essentially just a long walk.
Well then. This is easy.
I decided to view this full marathon not as a "42.195km race," but as a "game where you win if you reach the destination within 11 hours."
I didn't have to run.
I just had to walk.
Even if I had to drag my legs, I just had to move forward.
In other words, this wasn't a game of talent.
It was a game of grit.
I weigh 100kg.
I have plenty of fat.
And I probably have grit, too.
I had to do it.
And so, it started.
The first 5km mark.
It was easy.
In fact, I was just taking a stroll.
The scenery was nice.
The breeze felt good.
Others were running, but I was walking.
To begin with, almost no one else was walking from the start.
Out of 1,000 people, I was 5th from the back.
It was already a different sport.
They were doing a marathon.
I felt like I was heading to a far-off convenience store.
Still, I was moving forward.
No problem.
10km mark.
Still easy.
I even had the leeway to post on X.
"This is surprisingly doable."
Looking back, this was a total death flag.
In horror movie terms, it was "I'll go check out the basement."
Moreover, even though 4km/h was enough, I was actually walking at a 5km/h pace.
At this rate, I'd finish in a bit over 8 hours instead of 11.
I thought:
"Wait, is a full marathon this easy?"
I was the worst.
In human history, even nations have perished the moment they let their guard down.
And the 15km mark.
Still easy.
I was so relaxed that I helped myself to the shaved ice provided at the rest point.
...This was the beginning of the end.
It was an incredibly hot day.
The sun was giving its all.
My body was also giving its all in producing sweat.
The water in my body was leaving one after another.
In that heat, the shaved ice...
Was delicious.
Unbelievably delicious.
Cold.
Sweet.
It brought me back to life.
I had the melon flavor.
Delicious.
I had the mango flavor.
Delicious.
I had the strawberry flavor.
Too delicious.
I had the Blue Hawaii flavor.
It was good, but I'll never know what flavor it actually is.
Before I knew it, I had finished every single flavor available.
A 100kg man doing a shaved ice taste-test during a full marathon.
I was no longer a runner.
I was a mobile summer festival.
But at that time, I didn't know.
Shaved ice was not my ally.
Shaved ice was an assassin with a cool face.
20km mark.
My stomach started to hurt a little.
But I was still okay.
"It's just a little chilled."
"I just drank too much water."
"My gut isn't that weak."
That's what I thought.
I was naive.
It wasn't just the syrup that was sweet.
My outlook was as sweet as Blue Hawaii.
25km mark.
It was full-blown diarrhea.
I cursed the shaved ice.
What I thought was the food of the gods just moments ago suddenly looked like a demon.
My stomach hurt.
This was bad.
Moreover, the toilets were crowded.
A 100kg man waiting for the toilet while clutching his stomach at the 25km mark of a full marathon.
There are things in life you're better off not experiencing.
I waited in front of the toilet for 10 minutes.
Those 10 minutes were long.
The 10 minutes before the start felt like an instant.
The 10 minutes eating shaved ice felt like an instant.
But 10 minutes waiting for a toilet with a stomach ache felt like the entire span from the Meiji era to the Reiwa era.
I finally got into the toilet and agonized for another 10 minutes.
A total loss of 20 minutes.
But it couldn't be helped.
It was a matter of life and death.
Or rather, a matter of human dignity.
I came out feeling refreshed.
And then I realized.
...My legs were stiff.
They wouldn't move.
They were completely frozen.
In my entire life, I had never walked 25km straight to begin with.
And here I was, having rested for 20 minutes after walking 25km.
Of course they froze.
My muscles had completely closed for business.
They were giving off a "Today's business has concluded" vibe.
My left thigh was rock hard.
Less like flesh, more like construction material.
It felt like my thigh could be sold at a hardware store.
Still, I had to move forward.
I dragged my legs toward the 30km mark.
Around here, my legs started cramping.
Twitch.
Stop.
Walk again.
Twitch.
Stop.
I was a completely glitched robot.
Me, wanting to move forward.
My legs, refusing.
And my stomach, complaining the whole time.
Every department of my body was on strike simultaneously.
I wasn't even doing 2km/h.
This was bad.
I wouldn't be able to finish at this rate.
So, I went into a nearby convenience store.
I bought a massive amount of ice.
This was no longer the purchase of a marathon runner.
It was an old man returning from a fishing trip.
Then I went into a nearby cafe.
And it was a very stylish cafe.
Wood-grain tables.
Calm lighting.
Customers quietly drinking coffee.
And then, a giant, sweat-drenched man appears.
100kg.
With a race bib.
Pale as a ghost.
Carrying a massive amount of ice.
It was a total scene.
The staff gave me an incredible look.
I get it.
I'd look too.
I'd think, "What on earth is this person planning to cool down?"
I'm sorry.
But I had no choice but to rest here.
I cooled my legs in the cafe.
A man cooling his own thighs instead of an iced coffee in a stylish space.
Everyone around me must have thought:
"Did this shop start that kind of service?"
I cooled my legs for about 30 minutes.
I don't know if this was the right decision.
But it was better than dragging myself along at 2km/h; I had to reset once.
That's what I told myself.
And then, the restart.
10km left.
From here, it was true hell.
When healthy people hear "10km left," they might think "almost there."
But for me at that time, 10km was the distance from the Earth to the Moon.
My legs were at their limit.
My stomach was uneasy.
My sweat wouldn't stop.
My phone battery was looking suspicious.
Only my mental state was somehow stubbornly alive.
About 3 hours left.
If I moved at 4km/h, I could still make it.
But my legs were about to cramp.
When they felt like cramping, I stopped.
When it subsided, I walked.
They'd feel like cramping again.
Stop.
Walk.
Stop.
Walk.
At this point, I was no longer human.
While I was walking like a zombie, someone approached from behind.
I looked back, and it was a runner who looked over 90 years old with a bent back.
She was using a cane.
However, her cane-work was extraordinarily skillful.
Tap, glide.
Tap, glide.
There was a rhythm.
The form was beautiful.
And the elderly lady briskly overtook me.
I am 29.
The other person was likely over 90.
An age gap of about 60 years.
Yet, I lost.
It was frustrating.
Frustrating, but I couldn't chase her.
My legs were no longer the kind that moved on spirit alone.
They were the type that would say "I don't care" even if I showed them spirit.
Moreover, the other members were finishing one after another.
Notifications came to my phone.
"I finished!"
"Completed!"
"Good job everyone!"
Everyone was posting photos with smiles.
Meanwhile, I was clutching my legs by the side of the road.
It didn't feel like we were participating in the same event.
They were in a world of accomplishment.
I was still in the borderland between this world and the next.
And then, 3km left.
At this point, the company's online closing meeting began.
I was still running.
No, I wasn't running.
I wasn't walking either.
To be precise, I was twitching forward.
Through the meeting screen, the staff saw me looking like I was about to die.
They were laughing.
Well, I'd laugh too.
I was laughing at myself.
The person on the screen wasn't a CEO.
It was a piece of chashu pork that had reached its limit.
"Are you okay?" they asked.
Of course I wasn't okay.
But I couldn't say "It's impossible" here.
2km left.
If I quit after coming this far, I'd just end up as "the guy who ate every flavor of shaved ice and ruined his stomach."
I wanted to avoid that at all costs.
I was seen off.
While being laughed at by the staff.
I didn't know if I was being encouraged or observed.
And then, the final uphill climb.
Why is there an uphill climb at the very end?
I want to call the marathon designer.
I don't understand the meaning of making someone who has walked 40km climb a hill at the end.
Couldn't the end be a downhill slope?
Heck, a moving walkway would be fine.
But reality was an uphill climb.
I dragged my legs.
One step.
Another step.
My thighs were rock hard.
My calves were twitching.
My stomach was still slightly ominous.
Only my heart was saying "Go."
And finally.
I saw the goal.
It was long.
It was so long.
42.195km.
On the way, I was betrayed by shaved ice.
I lost 20 minutes in a toilet.
I cooled my thighs in a cafe.
I was overtaken by an elderly lady.
I was laughed at by my staff.
Still, I saw the goal.
Squeezing out my last bit of strength, I put my legs forward.
I wasn't running.
I wasn't walking.
By now, this was the transport of sheer stubbornness.
And I crossed the finish line.
10 hours, 29 minutes, 41 seconds.
It was close.
But I finished.
I did it.
The moment I finished, there was a strange sense of accomplishment.
Even at 100kg, I was able to finish a full marathon.
Of course, I wasn't fast.
I wasn't beautiful.
I didn't look like a runner.
From the middle onwards, I was moving like a broken refrigerator.
And the beer we drank together after everyone finished was exceptional.
↑ After-party with participants from the Client's Life Ascension Salon.
Out of 100 people, 17 participated in this marathon. Insane.
I will never forget the taste of that beer.
Somehow, it was the best.
Finally, let me share a small, serious lesson.
"If you don't quit, you can reach the goal."
This might be one of those pretty words people often say.
But as someone who took 10 hours, 29 minutes, and 41 seconds to transport a 100kg body 42.195km, I can assert this much:
Even if you have no talent, even if you aren't fast, even if you aren't beautiful, even if you aren't suited for it...
"You can always choose to move forward."
During the race, I lost to shaved ice.
I ruined my stomach.
My legs cramped.
I was overtaken by a 90-year-old lady.
To be honest, many times I thought, "I can't do this anymore."
But each time, I kept chanting in my heart, "Just one more step."
Another step.
Another step.
Just by accumulating those, I crossed the finish line.
This is probably the same for life, business, and social media.
People don't lose because they lack talent.
They don't lose because they lack sense.
Most people just stop walking on their own before they can see the goal.
Because they aren't growing,
Because they aren't getting results,
Because it's embarrassing,
Because it's hard.
In content creation or business,
Because no one is watching,
Because it feels meaningless.
That's where they stop.
But only those who don't stop get to see the view at the end.
I wasn't fast, and I wasn't cool.
In fact, I was quite pathetic.
But I was able to reach the goal.
Even a 100kg fat guy can finish a full marathon.
The point is, as long as you don't give up, you can do most things.
Winning in business.
Growing on social media.
Changing your life.
In the end, the one who wins isn't the one who was strong from the start.
I believe it's the person who can take just one more step after thinking, "I can't do this anymore."
And "people who are always winning" don't necessarily have talent either.
They just have a higher count of moving forward on days they felt like breaking.
They just have a higher count of keeping promises to themselves when no one was watching.
They just have a higher count of finishing until the end, even if it was uncool, slow, or messy.
It's okay if you aren't getting results now.
It's okay if you're being overtaken by those around you now.
It's okay if you're looking incredibly uncool right now.
If you cross the finish line in the end, you win.
All those uncool episodes will become great stories and encourage someone else.
