Chapter 6 chapter Five

Chapter 5 Cambridge, MA, October 3, 2005 Even then I had a long ponytail In the Boston area, there are always a few days in a summer when the idea of ​​​​cursing everything is born.As long as you get through those few days, the rest of the days are pretty good.Well-to-do people flocked to Warmont or Cape Cod for the summer, so the towns were empty and pleasant.Street trees cast their shady shadows on the road along the river.On the dazzling river, students from Harvard University or Boston University are diligently practicing rowing.Girls spread beach towels on the lawns, listened to Walkmans or iPods, and sunbathed in generous bikinis.Ice cream sellers set up pickup truck-turned-stands.Someone was strumming a guitar and singing old Neil Young songs.The long-haired dog chased the Frisbee without looking sideways.A Democratic (presumably) psychiatrist in a dark red convertible roared by on the road along the river against the evening wind.

Soon, however, that uniquely short and beautiful autumn in New England came in and out.The surrounding area is full of dark green, and little by little, it gave up its seat to the golden yellow that came as promised.Then came the time to add a pair of sweatpants to the shorts I wore when I was running, and the dead leaves danced with the phoenix, and the acorns thumped on the asphalt, and the hard and dry sound spread everywhere.At this time, the industrious squirrel was running around for food for the winter, so tired that even his expression changed. After Halloween, Winter is like a capable tax collector, coming in succinctly and without error.Once upon a time, the river was covered with a thick layer of ice, and the rowing boats disappeared.You can walk from the ice to the other side of the river if you want.There is not even a single leaf left on the trees, they are all gone, and the thin branches are knocked back and forth by the wind, like dry bones, making a rattling sound.On the tall tree, you can see the nest built by the squirrel.They were probably dreaming peaceful dreams in that nest.The black-fronted geese, which never frightened, flew from north to south in groups. Oh, there is a colder place in the north than here.The wind blowing across the river was like a freshly polished machete, cold and sharp.The days are shortening rapidly and the clouds are thickening.

I put on gloves, a woolen hat pulled down to my ears, and a huge face mask, but my fingertips were still numb and my earlobes felt like pins and needles.It's just that the cold wind is nothing, but it can still bear it.The worst thing is heavy snow.The accumulated snow turned into huge slippery blocks of ice in the middle of the night, stubbornly blocking the road.We had to give up running and either swim in the indoor pool or ride on that boring exercise bike, adjusting our physical strength and waiting for the arrival of spring. This is the Charles River.People come here to spend their days around the river in their own style.Some are just for a leisurely stroll, others are for walking the dog.Someone rides a bike, someone jogs, or has fun rollerblading—how something so dangerous can be "fun" is, frankly, beyond my comprehension.People seem to be attracted by some kind of magnetic force, and they gather at the riverside.

Perhaps, seeing a lot of water every day is of great significance to human beings.Ah, maybe a bit of an exaggeration, but it counts as a big deal to me.If I haven't seen water for a while, I feel like I'm gradually losing something.People who love music but stay away from music for a long time for some reason feel somewhat similar.Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I was born by the sea and grew up by the sea. The surface of the water changes subtly every day, changing the color, shape of the waves and the speed of the river.The seasons literally change the appearance of the flora and fauna that surround the river.

Clouds of different sizes and shapes come as they please, appear suddenly and then disappear.The river bears the brilliance of the sun, and reflects the coming and going of the white light and shadow on the water surface, which is sometimes vivid and sometimes warm.Depending on the season, the wind direction changes almost like a switch.And according to the touch, smell and wind direction, we can definitely feel the scale of the passing of the seasons.In such a flow and change accompanied by a sense of reality, I realize that I am just a tiny piece of color in the huge mosaic of nature; like the water in a river, it just flows under the bridge and goes to the sea a replaceable part of nature.

In March, the solid snow finally melted, and the annoying mud dried up after the snow melted. People took off their thick coats and came to the banks of the Charles River in a mighty way (it’s still too early to see the cherry blossoms on the banks of the river. .In this city, cherry blossoms bloom in May). "Okay, it looks like everything is ready..." And just like that, the Boston Marathon came. It is early October.Running in a vest and feeling cold after all.It seems too early to wear long-sleeved shirts.There is still one month before the race in New York, and the "mileage" must be gradually reduced to gradually eliminate the fatigue accumulated so far. In English, it is called the tapering period.From now on, no matter how much distance you run, it won't help the race, but it will slow you down.

Looking back at the amount of running I've done so far, I seem to be getting ready for the race at a pretty good pace. 260 kilometers in June 310 kilometers in July 350 kilometers in August 300 kilometers in September The amount of practice paints a graceful pyramid shape.Converted to the amount of exercise per week, it is: Sixty kilometers --> seventy kilometers --> eighty kilometers --> seventy kilometers.In October, the practice will probably be done at the same pace as in June-60 kilometers per week. Brand new Mizuno jogging shoes are ready.I tried many different brands of jogging shoes at City Sports in Cambridge, and finally chose the same Mizuno brand as the shoes I wear in practice now.The weight is light, and the cushion at the ankle is a little harder. As usual, it is the kind of foot feeling that disdains to please customers.The shoes of this manufacturer, because there are no gimmicks deliberately added, give me a natural sense of trust.Of course, this is just my opinion. Turnips and vegetables have their own preferences.Once upon a time, I had the opportunity to talk to the person in charge of sales of Mizuno jogging shoes. At that time, he was a little bit unfair: "Our company's shoes are plain and unobtrusive. Although we are very confident in our products, they just don't look good. Lovely." I understood exactly what he was trying to convey: the shoes had no gimmicks, no sense of style, no buzzwords, so they weren't very appealing to the average consumer.Compared with other cars, it may be quite similar to the image of the Japanese Subaru car.Yet its sole grips the road precisely, squarely, and firmly.From experience, as a partner who ran with me on a 42-kilometer trip, it is impeccable.Recently, the performance of jogging shoes of various companies has been greatly improved, but once the price reaches a certain price point, there will not be much difference in buying shoes from any manufacturer.Still, there is a slight difference in feel.And it is this subtlety that runners are always looking for.

Next, until the official competition, I will spend a month to let my feet get used to the new pair of shoes slowly. The fatigue caused by long-term practice has not yet dissipated, so the speed can't run out.Along the Charles River in the early morning, I was jogging at my own pace, but I was overtaken one by one by girls who were probably Harvard freshmen.Most of them are petite, slender, wearing crimson T-shirts with the Harvard logo, blond hair tied into ponytails, listening to brand new iPods, and walking straight along the road heroically.One definitely feels something aggressive and challenging about it.They seem to be used to surpassing everyone one by one, not used to being surpassed by others.They are instantly recognizable as good, healthy, attractive, serious, and confident.Their running, no matter how you look at it, is not a running method suitable for long-distance running, but a typical middle-distance running.The stride is long and the pedal is sharp and powerful.Running leisurely while admiring the surrounding scenery is probably incompatible with their way of thinking.

In contrast, I have long been accustomed to failure.This is no boast.There are so many things in the world that make me feel helpless, and there are countless opponents that I can't beat even with all my strength.However, they probably haven't experienced such pain. Of course, they don't have to experience it now.Looking at their dangling and swaying ponytails, and their long, aggressive legs, I thought about things like this, and kept my pace, leisurely. Run on the road along the river. Have there been such glorious days in my life? Yes, there may have been those few days.But even then I had a long ponytail, which probably never dangled like theirs.My feet certainly weren't as strong and powerful as theirs back then.This is a matter of course.No matter how you say it, they are brand-new first-year students of the world-renowned Harvard University!

Watching them run is a pleasure.You will simply feel that the world is passed down in such a real way.At the end of the day, this is something like a handover of inheritance.Therefore, although they catch up and overtake from behind, they will not feel annoyed.They have their own pace, their own timing.I have my pace, my timing.The two are completely different things, and it is only natural that I am different from them. On the jogging track along the river in the morning, around the same time, I would meet some people.A little Indian woman was walking, about sixty years old, elegant and neatly dressed.Oddly—or perhaps not in the slightest—she dresses differently from day to day, sometimes in a dashing sari, sometimes in an oversized sweatshirt emblazoned with the university's name.Not once, if my memory serves me, did I see her in the same dress.Checking out what she's wearing today has also become a small joy of my morning runs.And a middle-aged man with a big, black walker on his right foot, walking briskly.It was a tall white man who had probably just been badly wounded.However, the walker, just what I saw, was installed for four full months.What happened to his right foot? Walking seems to be no problem, the man is walking at a fairly fast pace, listening to music through large headphones, walking silently and with determined speed along the road along the river.

Yesterday I went for a run listening to The Rolling Stones' Beggar's Feast. The still simple and wild "ho ho" accompaniment in "Song of Mercy for the Devil" is really suitable for running.The day before, I was listening to Eric Clapp's ((Reptile)) run.Both are impeccable music, refreshing and never tire of listening to."Reptiles" in particular, I listened to while running, over and over again.Allowing me to speak of my personal opinion, I would like to say: ((Reptiles is the best songbook to listen to in the morning when you don't rush to run. Nothing aggressive or artificial. The rhythm is always reliable and the melody is very natural. My Consciousness is quietly dragged into the music, and the legs step forward and backward regularly in accordance with the rhythm. In the music flowing from the earphones, from time to time, you can hear "I want to get from your "On your left!" (On your left!) roar. Ever since, there was a racing bicycle whistling, speeding past me on the left side. A further study on the writing of novels——While running. "Like Murakami-kun, if you live a healthy life every day, won't you be unable to write a novel one day?" People say this from time to time.In foreign countries, it is not common for people to say that about me, but in H, there seem to be quite a few people who hold this opinion.Writing novels is an unhealthy behavior. As a writer, one should stay away from the world of virtue and live an unhealthy life, so as to bid farewell to the world and get closer to something pure with artistic value—such a kind of Conventional understanding, deeply rooted in the world.It seems that the formula of "artist = unhealthy, decadent" was gradually created over the years.In movies and TV shows, there are often such generic—at best, mythical—writers who come on stage. I generally agree with the assertion that writing fiction is an unhealthy business.When we intend to write a novel, when we intend to use words to present a story, the toxin-like things hidden in human nature will indiscriminately seep out and surface on the surface.Writers more or less have to confront this poison head-on, knowing the danger, but still have to deal with it skillfully.Without this poison intervening, the act of creation cannot be truly practiced.I apologize in advance for the weirdness of the following metaphor: this, perhaps, is very similar to the most delicious part of the puffer fish.No matter how you think about it, writing is probably not a "healthy job". The so-called artistic behavior, from its original origin, contains unhealthy and anti-social elements.I voluntarily admit this.Only in this way, many writers (artists) will become decadent from the level of real life, or wrapped in anti-social cloak.This is totally understandable.I will never deny such a gesture. I think, however, that we must develop an immune system against this dangerous (and sometimes deadly) venom if we hope to sustain fiction writing as a profession.Only in this way can we fight against the more toxic toxins correctly and efficiently, in other words, we can construct a more grandiose story.To build this self-immune system and maintain it for a long time, you must have extraordinary energy, and you must find ways to obtain this energy.But where can we get this energy other than our basic physical strength? Don't misunderstand me, I am not advocating that this is the only good way for a writer.Just as there are various genres in literature, there are also all kinds of writers in writers.Every writer has a different worldview than the others.The themes they choose are different, and the targets they lock are also different from each other.For the novelist, there is no such thing as the only right path.I think that strengthening the "basic physical strength" is an indispensable preparation for more magnificent creations, and I firmly believe that this is something worth doing, at least doing it is much better than not doing it well.And--as banal as this insight is--as it is often said, everything worth doing is worth doing, even doing too much. To deal with unhealthy things, people have to try to be as healthy as possible.This is my proposition.It is even said that even an unhealthy soul needs a healthy body.This statement is somewhat contradictory, but it is my deep feeling since I became a professional novelist.Healthy and unhealthy things are not polar opposites, nor are tit for tat.They complement each other and in some cases are naturally contained within each other.People who wish to be healthy tend to think only of healthy things, and unhealthy people think only of unhealthy things.Such a bias will not lead to success. Writers who wrote beautiful and powerful masterpieces in their youth have reached a certain age, and some people will suddenly show a strong color of exhaustion, which can be described by the word "literary emaciation".The things written may still be beautiful, and their haggardness may also have its own charm.However, it is clear at a glance that his creative energy is gradually decaying.According to my guess, this may be that his or her physical strength has been unable to overcome the toxin.Previously, the vitality of the body naturally surpassed the toxins. After the peak period, the immune function was gradually lost, and it was difficult to actively create as before.The balance between the imagination and the physical strength that supports it has crumbled.From then on, I can only use the old techniques and methods, and use something like waste heat to polish the outline of the work.It has not been a joyous journey, even to put it mildly.Some even took their own lives at this juncture.There are also some people who simply give up creation and embark on a different path. I'd love to avoid this "haggard way" if possible.The literature in my mind is something more spontaneous and centripetal.A natural and positive energy is essential.To me, writing a novel is to challenge the steep mountain, to climb the cliff, and after a long and fierce struggle, finally set foot on the top of the business-either conquer yourself or lose to yourself, the two must be one.I always keep this image in mind when I write novels. People always lose one day.Like it or not, the physical body dies with the passage of time.Once the body dies, the spirit dies too.I know this well, but I want to postpone that fork—the fork where my vitality is defeated and overtaken by poison—even if only for a little bit.This is the goal I set as a novelist.Right now I don't have the leisure time to "haggard".Because of this, even if people say that I am "not an artist like that", I still keep running. On October 6, a reading will be held at KMIT (Massachusetts Institute of Technology), and I have to speak in full view, so today I practice my speech (without making a sound, of course) while running.Of course I don't listen to music at this time, but speak English in my head. When I was in Japan, there was almost no chance of speaking in public.I never give speeches or anything like that.However, in English, I have given several speeches, and I am afraid I will continue to do so if I have the opportunity.There is something strange about this remark: speaking in public, it is easier to speak in English, which is still not satisfactory, than in Japanese.This is probably because, if I make a complete speech in Japanese, I will be disturbed by the feeling that I am swallowed by a sea of ​​words, in which there are infinite choices and infinite possibilities.As a writer, I am too closely related to the Japanese language. When I use Japanese to speak to people, I will feel lost and frustrated in the rich sea of ​​words. As far as Japanese is concerned, I would rather stick to my job of writing essays alone at my desk.Competing on the home court of words, I can still capture words and contexts more comfortably and effectively, and give them contours—this is my profession after all.What should be grasped in this way, if I change it to say it loudly in front of everyone, I can really feel that something important is missing from it.I am afraid I cannot endorse such a stripping.In real life, I don't want my face to be a public thing either.I don't like people I don't know greet me when I'm walking down the street.This is the biggest reason why I don't want to show my face in front of everyone. However, to compose a speech in a foreign language, the range of choices given to me by the language must be limited - I like to read English books, but I am very bad at English conversation. Foreign words, what can I do? This is a meaningful discovery.Naturally, it takes time to prepare.It is necessary to put the 30 to 40-minute English speech into my mind word for word, and then go to the altar to give a speech.Going from the script line by line will fail to convey vivid emotion to the audience.You have to choose words that are easy to understand, and you have to add some jokes to make the audience feel at ease.I must convey my character and conduct to the other party subtly; I must let the audience listen to my speech attentively, even if it is only temporarily, and let them become my friends.For this reason, I practiced the speech method over and over again.Although it is time-consuming and labor-intensive, you will find a certain feeling in it, and feel that you are challenging something new. I think running is great for reciting speeches and the like.As I walked almost unconsciously, I arranged words in sequence in my mind, checked the rhythm of the article, and imagined the rhythm of the words and sentences.In this way, while placing the consciousness elsewhere, while running, you can run at a natural speed for a long time without any effort.It's just that, talking to myself in my head, and sometimes inadvertently making expressions and posing, people running from the opposite side will be inexplicable. While running today, I saw a huge, round black-fronted goose dead by the waters of the Charles River.There was also a squirrel that died under a tree root.As if in a deep sleep, they died.Judging from their expressions, they just quietly accepted the end of their lives, not unlike being liberated from something.Also, to the left of the rowing shed by the river, a filthy homeless man pushing a shopping cart is singing "America the Beautiful."After all, this is frank and from the bottom of my heart. Is the i5's singing a deep sarcasm? As a passer-by, I couldn't tell the difference. All in all, the calendar flipped to October.In a blink of an eye, a month has passed.The harsh season is approaching.