There is a lot you learn as you prepare for an endurance event like this. I learned that walking one hour will take you the distance of 3 to 4 kilometres. I also learned that pacing is critical: you must hike consciously slow for the first one or two hours. After that, you will naturally develop a rhythm (the hiker’s pace) that can take you fairly easily over whole mountains. And so went the first hour.

The sun was beating down on us pretty hard; it was about 30˚C, and there was traffic from all the participants. We passed a beaten-up car (on the mountain, and I mean, way up, and I mean... what?), a couple of Buddhist Jizō statues, and a lot of tall trees.

Soon we arrived at Check Point 1 (CP 1), the first of eight. Each of the eight Check Points supplies food, shelter, toilets and medical service. We sit to drink water while I throw on knee supports to protect my injury, and we set out again.

From CP 1 to 2, we were pretty much getting our pace, acclimatizing to the heat, and spreading out from the traffic.

This is one of the prettiest parts of all 100 kilometres, with hanging maple branches, a soft trail, and brilliant flowers. We stopped for lunch at the top, with actual, natural grass, and we made our way to CP 2 around 4:00pm. We’d been hiking for 7 hours.

At CP 2, we met up with Luther, Joe, Cieran and Jack of another team in Shizuoka (there were five teams of friends – 20 people in total – doing the hike.) It was great to see familiar faces, and we hiked from CP 2 to 3 together. Ah, a beautiful stretch… only 5.5 kilometres and fairly flat. We walked along the million-dollar houses facing Ashino Lake and Mt. Fuji. Unfortunately, it was cloudy, so could only admire the lake and its red torii gate in the water. Actually, we didn’t see Mt. Fuji once on the hike, though it’s visible from most of the trail. It was always too cloudy, too rainy, or night when we hit the most scenic spots.

The hike between CP 2 to 3, though beautiful, wasn’t without accident. The guys from the other team decided to walk ahead, and watched them hop easily down the road and around the corner. When we turned the corner ourselves, we saw that Jack had fallen. We ran up to see if he was ok. Jack tried his leg, and decided that he could continue to the next Check Point where he would receive medical treatment. We saw him hours later at Check Point 5, where he had retired, having climbed an amazing 33 kilometres on a damaged ankle.

We continued, and the walk to CP 3 saw us past the Hakone station of the old Tokai Road. Cruelly, those clouds that obscured Mt. Fuji contained rain, which it started to expel on us unfortunate souls, who had been hiking for 8.5 hours and 23 kilometres. We arrived at Check Point 3, just a tent, where we loaded up on food and prepared for rain and… night-time. It was about 6:00pm and the sun was starting to set.

CP 3-4. The most beloved leg of the hike, since it’s 12.5 kilometres right along Ashino Lake… and therefore perfectly flat. Well, hah. My teammates maintained their high spirits, but I was in no condition to even manage a smile by the end of it. Why? When I’d hiked CP 3-4 on my practice hikes, it had been easy. Of course, I hadn’t hiked it:

a. after already hiking 24 kilometres,
b. when I was developing a headache,
c. when it was raining, or
d. when it was dark.

Ugh! I marched through those puddles with bitterness coursing into the heartbeats of my feet. Ken let us forget about our pains and the downpour by asking: “what’s your favourite book?”, “what’s your dream?” and things like that. Rae asked: “what’s your earliest childhood memory?” which created a conversational bit that took us two kilometres.

On this part, we met up with an all-female team – two from Rae’s home of Tasmania – with whom for about 8 hours we had been meeting up with along different parts of the hike. We were curious, on our previous meetings with them, about two of the members who were connected by some rope. Along Check Point 3, however, we discovered upon talking with them that one of the members was visually impaired. The realization of her feat was humbling; 100 kilometres up and down about 6 mountains, is no easy task with sight. What an inspiration.

And guess what? They beat us to the finish line.

Well, after what seemed like forever, we arrived at CP 4, at about 8:30pm and nearly 12 hours into our hike. Soaking wet, we grabbed some cup-of-soup and entered a large, dry room. We were made to take off our shoes (yes, sir!) and grab a number if we wanted a free stretch. We were meant to meet up with our one Support Crew member, Toby, but due to fog and poor signage, she got lost. We didn’t mind waiting for her as we warmed up, got our free stretch, and chatted with the other four teams and their support crews. A sign read:

...The proverb was uplifting, but no one seemed to catch the irony. Finally, Toby arrived. She’d made us food… delicious pasta salad and sandwiches – real food! Not raisins or trail mix. She brought us our stuff, with sweet, dry clothes to change into… it was such a boost to our morale.

And ok, we spent a little long at Check Point 4.

Like… 3 hours.

But it was worth every minute. Bonus: when we went out again, the rain had virtually stopped. As we walked out, we saw team Shizettes, looking low; Mel D of their team was close to retiring because of blisters. We helped them a bit, and it was 11:30pm when we walked back into the elements to undertake the notorious stretch between Check Points 4 and 5. On our team’s 43-kilometre practice hike, this is where we’d started. The good news: we’d tackled it before. The bad news: it hadn’t been easy, and that’s without 36 kilometres already behind us.

But the team knew what to do. On the practice hike, we basically burned through the mountain, called Mt. Myojingatake, with nary an ache in our joints. They threw me in lead, since I’d taken us to the top before. Our team was wicked during this part. We passed almost 10 other wet and tired teams.

But, while I was struggling between 3-4, Rae was struggling now, and at some point she just said, “I feel like I’m going to vomit.” We pushed through and finally made it to the top (which we didn’t want to sit and enjoy), and started our descent. The descent on Mt. Myojingatake is the longest stretch of downhill on the course. Our legs were turning to jelly. But about an hour into it, the sky started to turn from black to dark blue, and our ears adjusted to the new sound of birds chirping. It was about 4:30am.

A long pavement road leads down to Check Point 5 and teases us with its “just around the corner” antics. Jeff and Ken walk down the hill backwards to ease their pain. I try it, but no matter what I do, my feet hurt, so I resign. We make it to Check Point 5 at about 6:00am and when we enter, Ken falls asleep immediately. My stomach starts feeling weak, and I’m almost certain I’m going to vomit. Jeff explains that our bodies have never been through such physical endurance, and they were trying to communicate to us to quit it. We’d been walking for about 21 hours.

We stayed at Check Point 5 for two hours. I ate some food and received medical attention for my right thigh which I’d pulled on the mountain. It was a strange pull, only about one inch in diameter about half-way up my thigh. Even the nurse was confused, but she gave me instructions on how to tape my leg. Meanwhile, as Jeff was getting ready, he walked by a female hiker plucking her eyebrows. He told us what he’d seen. “...Because every eyebrow feels like two on the trail”, he laughed. We met two other Shizuoka teams and learned that some team members had withdrawn.

We picked up again for CP5-6. And this… is where it starts to get blurry. I only vaguely recollect passing the “On-ri Yu-” (Only You) public baths, which got that stupid song in my head. But there is a lot of variety on this trail, and by now we are quite removed from others; it’s just us and nature. It was easy to be distracted by the beauty, but we also had to be more diligent about how we were hiking. The path had roots and rocks, and we were tired, so it could be easy to twist an ankle. But at least it was day time! And we were now past kilometre 50.

Hiking on pavement. Rae and Jeff take painkillers. I rely on complaining… no, not really. But we’re tired and not talking much. Rae brought out her mini iPod stereo, and we listened to Toto’s “Africa”, The Doors’ “Love Her Madly”, and “Brown Eyed Girl”. The music kept the energy going.

Pavement, pavement, pavement. Starting to think this thing will never end.

But we’re almost at CP6, which marks 63.5 kilometres and almost two thirds finished. Somewhere along this stretch, we also pass the 24-hour mark. Aaaaand, we get to do some more!

Hmm. was this the part were we traversed along the left part of the mountain? No, that’s CP 6-7. Just writing about it makes me wish it would end!

CP 6, at 10:30am. We arrive and… miracle of miracles, someone is waiting for us! Mel D, who’d retired soon after Check Point 4, had taken a bus ahead and was waiting for her team to arrive. It was great to see someone so… rested-looking. I ate a banana, an energy gel, opted out of yakisoba, and munched on sundry other snacks. Rae slept bent over on her chair. It was hot outside. 36.5 kilometres to go, and now we must cross CP6-7. It had been the last stretch on our 43-kilometre team practice hike a month earlier, when I’d felt like putting my pathetic legs out of their misery.

The first part of 6-7 starts with more pavement (“Ken, can I have some painkillers?”) and veers steeply uphill. They put me in lead. It hurts, but the day is nice. The path is nice. And at some point along this stretch, Ken says: “I know it may sound strange, but there’s no place I’d rather be right now… than with friends, out in nature, walking for a good cause.” We reflect on this and agree. Despite the pain, it was sincerely true for me too.

We reach the top. Now, the traverse. On the left, a beautiful view of the surrounding mountains. What a beautiful day! We make our way up to the top, what we call the Peach Tree. We call it the Peach Tree from of our 43-kilometer practice hike, which was memorably miserable since we’d reached this peak in the rain and lacking sleep. When we’d made it to the top, Jeff just walked away from us without a word, sat under a tree, and grumpily dug into a can of peaches.

The Peach Tree was one of the landmarks we were looking forward to reaching as we hiked the 100km. When we made it, Jeff, Rae and I used trees to prop up our feet to ease the swelling.

By now we’d hiked 72 kilometres. Rae took a picture of Jeff under his tree for old time’s sake, and we set off again.

Downhill.

The worst downhill of the 100 kilometre hike. The real test of endurance. The thing we’d been dreading, because we’d done it before in practice and it certainly made real hikers out of us. It starts steeply. The trail path turns to gravel. The gravel turns to pavement. It’s 8 kilometres of straight downhill.

I tell you, walking downhill, with weighted backpacks, on pavement, without sleep, when you’ve already walked 75 kilometres… it’s worse than you know.

I’m sorry, team mates, this part of the hike was me at my worst. My legs were killing. When I closed my eyes, I started immediately dreaming. I had a dream that there was a woman reading a book she had authored… the cover was solid blue. I opened my eyes and I found my legs still walking downhill. I have to raise my eyebrows to keep my eyes open. I’m not walking straight. But I still feel the pain, and I still know what I’m doing, and I’m not happy about it.

We make it to the bottom and into Oyama town. A man comes out of his house to cheer us on, which lifts us up, but we end up walking an unexpectedly long stretch through the streets, falsely believing that Check Point 7 is just around the corner. Oh, it’s unbearable!

Finally, and I could not use this word with more emphasis, at around 4:00pm, we arrive at Check Point 7, marking an unbelievable 79.5 kilometres and 31 hours of hiking. I don’t know about Rae or Ken, but Jeff and I were close to tears as we entered Check Point 7. Dozens of Oxfam volunteers clapped us on enthusiastically. By Check Point 7, almost 50% of teams only have 3, or 2, or 1 member left. We are still four. We feel like heroes.

We enter the gates of Check Point 7 and it almost hurts to see familiar faces… Mel D and Randy are there, looking rested. Rae and I head to the nap room… my first sleep on this entire hike. Ken wakes me up. “It’s almost 5:00”, he whispers. I jump up. Almost 5:00! We were supposed to leave at 3:00! I’ve slept for over two hours! No, Jessie, I realize, as my mind awakens, we only went to sleep at 4:30, and I’ve only been asleep for half an hour. Time is warping.

I go downstairs and meet Jeff, Ken, Mel and Randy. The four of us look just beautiful. Rumour is we’re ahead of two teams, behind one, and the fourth team was all out, as all its members had retired. We learn that we are the last full team of the five groups. As we prepare for our last 20.5 kilometres, Mel says to me, “Remember, you still have at least 8 hours of hiking to go.” Somehow, I couldn’t believe it; I felt like we were almost there. We remember the advice from the guy we met on Thursday night: “save your energy for the last 20 kilometres.”

At 6:30pm, we’re ready to leave CP 7 and head back into the wilderness. Other teams’ support crews had arrived, and they were there to wave us goodbye. Jacq yelled, “you’re the last full team left… go Shizuoka!” Sharla, Nicole, Jacq, Randy, Mel, and others cheered us on. This was one of my best moments on the trail.

We start walking again. The sun is setting, so we bring out our headlamps for the second night. We’ve been on the trail for 34 hours… but there’s only 8 hours of hiking left. I can finally put it into perspective; 8 hours is a day hike. 8 hours is a day at work. 8 hours is tangible, actual, and reachable, where up to this point, the Finish had been so far and abstract. We turn right onto a steep trail path and it starts to rain, just like it had the night before.

I’m in lead again, and then Rae takes over for the 12.5 kilometres until Check Point 8. She did a great job, tearing us through the kilometres. I don’t really remember the stretch between Check Points 7 and 8. All I recall is that about half-way there, I hit a realization.

We are going to finish this thing. All four of us.

It was the first time I’d been 100% confident, and oh, how sweet it was.

“I feel great”, I say, which was met with a chorus of “ugggh.” I hadn’t let myself be too confident before now because of the risk of injury or blisters. But even if one of us got injured now, the Finish is close enough that we could still push on until end. It was as good as done.

We found our way to the steepest part of the entire 100 kilometres, where they’ve installed ropes to help you pull yourself up (which Ken masochistically labelled “fun.”) It was still raining and the trail was just mud. Jeff’s hits a wall, and feels like he’s going to vomit; he goes in the lead for a while.

By now our legs are only moving because that’s what they’ve been doing for 36 hours. I end up behind Rae, who follows the markers and leads us closer to Check Point 8. We start a downhill climb, and pass a few other teams (mostly with only three members.) Jeff starts become talkative again and asks us what food we’d like to have at the Finish Line. “I want an ice cream store” he says, “with smoothies. And ice cream in different flavours: green, blue and pink.” Hmm, Rae says, I didn’t know colours were flavours, but Jeff’s talkative mood brings our spirits up.

Check Point 8. It’s 12:00am. It’s just a tent, and hikers, all sweaty and rain-soaked, are packed inside. We don’t want to join them but we don’t want to stand out in the rain, either. We grab some crates to sit on.

But after about 10 minutes, we realize that it’s too cold, too crowded, and our muscles are starting to cramp up. We’ve been walking for 39 hours. It’s better to just keep walking.

We start upward on a small path, but it seems like only 20 minutes later that we meet a group of volunteers standing in the rain to cheer us on. “Only 5.5 kilometres left!” they ring. That can be done in two hours! I go in lead, and take off my rain jacket to walk in my t-shirt, letting the rain get through everything. What does it matter now?

We wonder what that Finish Line looks like. We wonder how many volunteers will be there waiting for us. Will there be lots of food, and blankets? Will there be a place for us to sleep?

Now, we’ve made it to the top of another mountain and the earth is like wet muddy sand. It hurts, but it’s not that I’m particularly miserable, but my body needs the basics: proper sleep, and rest from exercise. It’s about 2:20am on the second night.

We get to the bottom and walk on pavement. We think we see the YMCA, home of the Finish Line, in the distance. Finally, the road flattens out and straightens. We are walking straight towards a group of lights, and we realize that we are almost there. We’re so exhausted, but our spirits lift. We still have all four members.

We’re only a few meters away and we see the big white “Finish Line” banner and people behind the line, cheering for us to arrive. Arm in arm, smiling, exhausted and relieved, Jeff, Ken, Rae and I walk across the Finish Line, and take our last of the thousands of steps that took us over 6 mountains and across 100 kilometres for Oxfam International.

I don’t remember much, except arriving at Check-In and having them congratulate us. A lady makes an announcement: “…The Shizuoka Trailbiters, completed Oxfam Trailwalker Japan in 42 hours JUST!” It’s 3:00am.

I call my mom (where I leave a message) and then my dad. “Guess what I just did?” I ask. “What?” my dad asks. “I just walked 100 kilometres.” “Oh yeah!” he says. Thanks, dad.

We get off the phone and I say goodnight to Ken and Rae, who rush off to sleep. As I enter the building, I see Mel D, who has made her way to the Finish to congratulate us and her last remaining team member. I have never seen such a sight for sore eyes as seeing Mel at that moment. I go to take a bath and peel away all the tape that was covering my feet, my knees, and that strange muscle pull on my right thigh. After my bath, I get changed into new clothes, enter the big building, and lie down on the floor.

I don’t even remember my head touching the pillow.

A few weeks later, here I am. There are a lot of people I have to thank for getting me through this event. First, my team mates, for being so utterly awesome in every respect. Second, to Toby, for single-handedly helping us so much. Then, to the other teams: Mel D, Marian, Mel M, Azusa, Sharla, Vicky, Subashni, Ben, Joe, Luther, Cieran, Jack and the Tokaido Quakers. A special mention to Joe for stimulating everyone’s interest in the Oxfam Trailwalk; planting seeds is the best kind of activism. Then, to the other teams’ Support Crews. And most importantly, to the people who donated to us and helped us raise more than our target of 300,000… more than $4,000 to fight poverty in the Philippines, Sudan, India, Cambodia, South Africa, Mozambique and Laos. In the end, it's not really what we've done that's important, but what you've done to help impoverished countries. On behalf of those who'll gain from your generosity, thank you. And finally, to you, reader, if you’ve made it this far; I say thank you with the hope that we might have given some inspiration to you. Thanks for reading.