Going up a mountain, coming down slowly

"I have come a few miles. I have blisters on my slippered feet, as I rise, as I rise."
All idealists should climb a mountain. Anyone foolhardy enough to believe in the good of all men, the beauty in all things, that right that exists in all wrong, should strap on some boots and scale a mountain. A tall one preferribly, in the middle of a cold, quiet Japanese night only to arrive at the summit at sunrise. It was something so much more than beautiful. It was an epic score.

I did it! Or rather, we did it. Scaled Mt Fuji. CELEBRATE!!!!

I took the 6:40 shinkansen to Tokyo to run around and do Tokyo type things with friends Tara and Matt. This weekend was touted a big reunion as 6 of our 7 initial Amity trainees we're meeting to climb the biggest mountain in Japan. Some new editions entered the fold, Kevin and David, and I was able to eat a mexican (?!- in Japan!?) dinner for proper nourishment pre-climb. This seemed sensible because everyone knows how nutrient dense chips and salsa are.

What followed dinner was chaos and confusion. We couldn't find the bus that would take us to the mountain. Our backpacks were locked away somewhere in Tokyo station (and anyone with any knowledge of/or an imagination realizes that this game of find and seek can potentially take all the days of their lives), and Owen (another friend traveling from Fukui) was running late, late and later and feared missing hte bus. Apparently Fuji was on our side as, at the last minute we found our bus, bought our tickets, extracted our baggage and boarded the bus. Something so sad, or perhaps tragic: Owen arrived just in time to watch our bus pull away. I did see him the next day at the base of the mountain and I've no worry that he had a lovely climb.

Arrival. Hooray. Celebrate! We gear up and begin our ascent. The path is nearly deserted and unlike anything I've ever traveled. For sometime we feel completely enclosed in our small bubble of friends and worry that we're descending or taking the road less taken. The first hour or so saw solely our headlamps and singing and shouting.

The mountain is peppered with another 5 stations where we could purchase provisions, if needed, and stop and rest. The distance between each station was enough to warrant a rest whenever we approached one. Initially, with all the excitement and low level terrain I moved quickly and found the climb manageable. After the sixth station, however, I began to feel the burn. We were nearly vertically climbing. Holding onto big rocks, haphazardly placed atop one another like a Lincoln Log set. Most of my group had previous climbing experience, but I merely run the roads and found the ascent increasingly difficult. I kept my pace. I didn't outdo it, and marched along with the leaders of our group. Looking like an Addidas astronaut, I wore my silver running tights to wick off sweat and maintain heat. This was all good and great, and my gear was appropriate, but my pisspoor athletic ability was tested to the limits. After an hour of vertical climbing and acclimating my body to elevations of some 3000 meters, I began to familiarize myself with akward climbing technique. I enjoyed jumping from rock to rock and even humored myself a badass adventurist. I convinced myself I was made to rock climb. I started calling Mt. Fuji my darling lover. I couldn't stop smiling.

2/3rds into the climb, climbers began appearing in droves. We're they materialized from, I know not. Many climbers hike during the day, spend the night in the few huts scattered at each station, and ascend in the early hours of the a.m. to see the sunrise. Regardless, we were engulfed by them and what followed was an eerie procession of hushed voices and lowlit lamps that moved in accordance with one another, pursuing a common goal. I was happy to walk in step with them. We regulated eachother's breaths. We felt one another's sore heels. We moved in one unit. In rhythm and time.

And then, the summit.

Whoa.

I've never seen anything like it. Sky for days, no mountains to surround. I felt as though I were on top of the world, and while there were hundreds of people surrounding me, speaking loudly of their adventure and hopes and dreams, the moment was muted and there was nothing but clarity and control and hope and happiness.

We watched the sunrise. Silly, I've never seen a sunrise. I usually rush about my everyday doings. I have to move, move, move that I never allowed myself the simple pleasure of this everyday event. And now I'm hooked, although I fear nothing will compare with this particular sun. It moved in stages, like a controlled ballet and turned the sky a milieu of colors. It was stunning. Everyone at the peak huddled around the makeshift wall and watched with simliar amazement. Cameras flashed, keitais clicked and we each captured a moment our minds will never forget.

Then, the descent. Oh doctor. Now I'm regretting this fool decision.

There is nothing romantic about the descent. It is not scenic. It is not exciting and it most certainly is not easy. Despite its downhill draw, the descent is murder on the knees. You escape the summit in steep terrain, on a sandlike surface that requires you balance yourself with every step to keep from falling forward. I cursed Fuji in my descent. I fell four times. I cried and ran screaming for the final base station. But then, some 2.5 hours in, it's all over. I browse the gift shop, buy, buy, buy for students and school and am filled with pride and accomplishment. I climbed Fuji! Me! And I smile and smile.

Fear not the finicky eater

How I know I'm going to be okay...

A product of my own making.

This may be my proudest moment.

Oh how I love this place, it's sweet and bitter taste, has left me wretched, wretching on all fours- Hiroshima, I'm yours...

Big plans in the making. The training crew (in near full) is meeting up in Tokyo this coming weekend to board a bus to the fifth station of Mt. Fuji. That's right. We hope to scale the tallest mountain in Japan. It's an overnight climb, and if we all make it to the top we'll huddle near one another and watch the sunrise. I think that promises to be something so lovely.

Now I am more than pleased with my extravagant camera purchase.

I've been trying to save money as best I can because spending is the name of the game here. Weekends out are pricey. That darling and far too complicated shirt in every store window is necessary. And because Japan basically mandates that you walk around with a concerning amount of yen in your pocket because credit cards are nearly non-existent, it's easy to fall prey to anything and everything pricey.

Working hard on establishing a running regimine so the International Marathon goal may be realized. Richard and I hope to run the Tokyo marathon, and fingers crossed that we get accepted despite lottery, and I hope he's all in. I tire of running alone. I can slow down with the promise of another. I can't imagine what it is to cross with added energy. I bet it's the best feeling in the world.

Green tea is delicious. I think I'll take up yoga. Japanese, as a language, is tricky.

Oh, and I have no idea what I'll do with the rest of my life. I have nine months left of careful contemplation. But I'm always contemplating. I'm always thinking and planning and proving. I was hoping to escape introspection. Maybe in my old age.

The weather is fine, and I'm sure, at least for today, that it will hold.

My nemesis is dead. Now what?

"Have you ever seen an idealist with grey hairs on his head? Or successful men who keep in touch with unsuccessful friends? You maybe think you did, and I could have sworn I saw it too, but as it turns out it was just a clever ad for cigarettes."

Typhoon? Typhoon! Really? Are there precautions to take? Batteries to buy? Places to seek shelter?

School was canceled and I was a mass of critical concern. Natural diasters usually prompt a Hula freak out session, but strangely enough the promise of a typhoon was strangely alluring. I headed into the city center with hopes of joining my other impulsive, move to Japan on a whim, like-minded friends to watch the eye of the storm circle and swoop. We romanticized danger. Howling winds a gentle chorus. Tipped trashcans a playful waltz. Maybe we were trying to create. Make an allegory of our experiences. Maybe we needed the permission to destroy our past life in exchange for this new one that we tiptoe around. A storm. A natural diaster that wouldn't be a product of our own making. That's making a madness of metaphor, but it's also quite telling that the typhoon didn't materialize. That we were safe. Reeling. Waiting. Holding eachother in the hopes that we'd desperately need that tight grasph. And, it worked. Here's a home. Here's a love. Hiroshima is happiness.

We meet here for our dress rehearsal to say, "I wanted it this way"...

"...because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you can the blue centrelight pop and everybody goes 'Awwww!' ".

Perfect quote to segway into my Japanese Independence Day. Photos and all!

By Japanese Independence Day I'm really referencing American Independence Day celebrated in Japan, which was infinitely more entertaining. I haven't had a Japanese Independence Day yet. Not of the accepted, calendar added variety, but the day I feel I've overthrown the culture shock and reveled in my own revolution. I'm certain it's forthcoming. Wars of this massive scale aren't often won overnight.

Regardless, I met some friends in the park nearest the Hiroshima Castle. What a beautiful thing to be walking to a destination, a tepid July evening, meeting friends at a Castle's entrance. I'll never again read a text asking to meet at a castle, turn left at a shrine. It's certainly something to blog home about. Well, we had ourselves a lovely time as Japanese children's stores sell fireworks a-plenty. Alone, yet obnoxious in the park, the police didn't mind if we blew off our own fingers, so long as our danger sticks weren't pointed at the nearest road. What followed was silly pyro-technic shows, attemtps to scale trees, and and grand tour of Hiroshima's nightlife well into the early hours of the a.m.

oh Hiroshima. I'm tired.

No matter, the city is still breathing and my bronchial infection has finally subsided.