Why Are Japanese People So Fascinated by Ekiden, a Sport in Which People Simply Run?
October has arrived, bringing slightly cooler weather.
At this time of year, ekiden relay races begin appearing frequently on weekend television in Japan. An ekiden is a long-distance relay run on public roads, with teammates passing a sash instead of a baton.
University ekiden, women’s ekiden, corporate ekiden—Japanese people love these long-distance road relays in every form.
I will admit that I am a devoted ekiden fan myself.
When you think about it calmly, however, it is a strange sport.
Fundamentally, all that happens is that people run along public roads. No one kicks a ball, and there are no spectacular techniques to watch.
Yet I find myself unable to leave the television for hours.
Why is that?
A Sport Where Japanese Athletes Take Center Stage, Unlike the Marathon
The marathon is also popular among long-distance running events.
In recent international competitions, however, African athletes have been overwhelmingly strong. Even when you support a Japanese runner, that runner rarely becomes involved in the battle at the very top of the world.
Ekiden is different in that respect.
Teams within Japan compete against one another, placing Japanese athletes at the center of the action.
Of course, it is also exciting to watch an international student runner pass competitor after competitor at astonishing speed.
But the appeal of ekiden is not merely that Japanese runners can win.
The sport contains something more carefully designed to resonate with Japanese sensibilities.
Why Does a Single Sash Carry So Much Weight?
The defining feature of ekiden is that it transforms long-distance running, normally an individual event, into a team sport.
No team can win through the speed of one runner alone. Every member must fulfill their role.
The symbol of that shared effort is a single tasuki, the sash passed from one runner to the next.
The most brutal feature is the forced start.
If a team falls a specified amount of time behind the leader, its next runner must start before the previous runner arrives.
The rule is necessary because public roads cannot remain closed indefinitely, but it is painful to watch.
One runner races desperately toward the relay point as the time limit approaches without mercy.
Then the starter’s pistol fires.
The announcer shouts:
“The dry crack of the pistol has sounded! The tasuki has been broken!”
The next teammate begins running with a substitute sash provided by the organizers.
The sash that their team had carried from runner to runner ends there.
The team’s total time is still calculated properly. In competitive terms, nothing is wrong.
But at that moment, such logic ceases to matter.
If only the runner had arrived a few dozen seconds earlier, the sash could have been passed.
Conversely, when a runner completes the handoff with only moments remaining, you cannot help shouting at the television.
How can a single strip of cloth stir this much emotion?
When you think about it, Japanese people have always loved this kind of story.
Rather than a single hero solving everything, we prefer stories in which companions work together and one person makes up for another’s failure.
Ekiden turns that story into a sport.
And there is no script.
The Pleasure of Watching a Weak Team Become a Dynasty
There is another reason I enjoy ekiden.
The process through which a team becomes strong is itself fascinating.
A leading example is Aoyama Gakuin University in the Hakone Ekiden, Japan’s most famous university relay race.
Today, the university is routinely named among the favorites to win, but there was once a long period when it could not even qualify for the race.
After coach Susumu Hara took over, he changed the training methods and team culture, gradually building the program into a powerhouse.
That process is genuinely fascinating.
This is not a story about one exceptionally gifted runner enrolling and producing an immediate victory.
The university recruited athletes, developed them, built a team, and produced results over many years.
The process has something in common with reforming an organization inside a company.
Once a team becomes strong, it faces pressure to win as a matter of course.
The former challenger gradually becomes the team everyone else wants to defeat.
In university ekiden, athletes change every year, so even the same school cannot maintain the same strength indefinitely.
This year, Toyo University, the dominant team before the rise of Aoyama Gakuin, lost its seeded status and must begin again in the qualifying race.
A university that was once a regular contender for the Hakone Ekiden title now finds itself competing merely for a place in the main event.
There is no guarantee that a powerhouse will remain one forever. As new universities rise, former champions fall into difficulty.
This cycle of rise and decline is another part of what makes university ekiden so compelling.
Ekiden Is Both a Sport and a Continuing Drama
Ekiden is about more than simply competing for position.
A runner who failed last year returns with an outstanding performance and earns redemption.
An unknown first-year student suddenly runs like an ace.
A pre-race favorite unexpectedly slows down, while an overlooked university moves near the top.
Every runner has a story, and all those stories are connected by one sash.
In university ekiden, moreover, an athlete generally has only four years in which to compete.
No matter how outstanding a team may be, its leading runners eventually graduate.
That is precisely why each year’s competition carries so much weight.
Television networks understand this very well and carefully introduce the athletes’ past setbacks and their relationships with their coaches.
Before I know it, I am completely emotionally invested in the lives of university students I have never met.
Viewed rationally, they are merely strangers running along a road.
Yet somehow, I even find myself in tears.
In the End, I Will Be Unable to Leave the Television Again This Year
After considering the many attractions of ekiden, I think it ultimately contains a perfect collection of the story elements Japanese people love.
Bonds between teammates, effort, setbacks, comebacks, and underdog victories.
And the easily understood objective of carrying a single sash to the end.
With all these elements present, how could it fail to be entertaining?
Ekiden season will continue from autumn into winter.
And at New Year, there is the Hakone Ekiden.
It attracts its share of criticism, but it remains the most popular ekiden event and draws the largest television audiences.
From autumn through winter, I will undoubtedly spend hours in front of the television watching runners.
I will not move a single step from my sofa, yet I will be deeply moved by the sight of other people running with all their strength.
When you think about it, there may be no easier sport than this.