In each monthly issue, Inside Texas Running will publish one chapter from the new book "First Marathons." This month's story begins in the April 2002 issue of ITR.

To order your copy of "First Marathons: Personal Encounters witht the 26.2-Mile Monster," send $23 per copy (plus $2.95 per order for shipping/handling) to Inside Texas Running, P.O. Box 19909, Houston, TX 77224. Please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery.

For the next three days, I couldn't move. I hurt all over. Erica was amused at my effort, but also sympathetic and said she would teach me to run. I had never heard of such a thing. Doesn't everyone know how to run? Erica explained about pacing and starting out with a slow jog until I could build up to a fast run. I jogged religiously and gradually gained the stamina needed for high-altitude climbs.

By now Erica was in high school and had become captain of the track team. Under her supervision, I was running five miles every day without effort. One day she suggested I enter a race, but her motive was underhanded. Her team was running an open, cross-country event and they thought if I entered, then no one on her team would suffer the humiliation of coming in last, because I would! I went along with it, but to everyone's surprise, I finished in third place. I was doing seven-minute miles, not ever realizing I was fast. That was the beginning of my next life. Erica sensed strong running possibilities within me and became my official coach. She taught me interval training, pacing, stretching, speed work, everything I didn't know about the sport. It was fun, but very difficult. She was a demanding coach.

In August of 1975, Erica registered me for the World Masters Track and Field Championships in Toronto. This was going to be my debut. There were hundreds of athletes and it was a very stimulating event. I felt out of place and didn't expect to do well, but ended up wining a silver medal in the five thousand meters. And Fred, who was sixty-three at the time, won a silver and bronze medal in his events. This was a very special moment for our family. I was awestruck.

After Erica left for college, I continued running on my own and Fred picked up the coaching. Back then, women weren't running as much and I had only one female friend, almost fifteen years younger than I, who ran. In January of 1976, Carol suggested we enter the Jersey Shore Marathon. I could never conceive of such a thing. I told her twenty-six miles is only meant for horses to run, not people.

Carol was determined to run, so out of sheer friendship I agreed to run fifteen miles of the course; that was it, no more. January of 1976 was a particularly cold month and this day was the coldest ever, ten degrees below zero without the wind-chill factor. Carol's husband, Enver, offered to ride his bike alongside to keep his eye on us. He also agreed to meet me at the fifteen-mile marker with warm clothes so I wouldn't catch cold. It was very thrilling to be at the starting line, but I felt sorry for all the runners who were going to run the entire course.

Since I only planned to run a little more than half, I started out strong and ran fast. Also, it was freezing, and it helped to keep me warm. The cold was a major factor that day, so cold in fact that at the water stations, the water was frozen in the cups. At fifteen miles I pulled off to the side in expectation of meeting Enver and getting some warm clothes. But there was no Enver. I waited and waited until I was literally freezing to death, so in order to keep warm, I started running again. I stopped at every mile marker, hoping to see Enver, but he was nowhere to be found. The temperature was getting dangerously colder. All the runners had on gloves, hats, and pants, unusual multiple layers for almost any marathon. Any exposed hair on heads or faces was covered in sheets of ice. Finally I reached the twenty-mile marker. Still, no Enver. I kept running. Then someone yelled out, "Only two miles to go!" I couldn't believe it. I was almost at the finish. With a burst of excitement, I picked up my speed and ran as fast as I could, crossing the finish line of my first marathon in 3:25.

I still wonder what bit me that day. I never even entertained the notion of doing a marathon. It was thrilling. After that experience, I gave up track and became obsessed with distance. Another phase of my life had dawned, one that would ultimately take me back to Japan.

Someone told me my marathon time qualified me to run Boston. I wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but when I understood I was eligible to run the Boston Marathon, I got excited all over again. When I became a runner, I followed the career of Michiko "Mikki" Gorman, a Japanese woman who won Boston in 1974. Her life seemed to chronicle mine, being raised in war-torn Japan, settling in the United States, and picking up running late in life.

In a time frame of three months, I went from running one of the coldest marathons on record to one the hottest ever on record, 110 degrees in Boston, in April. At the starting line, I was standing near George Sheehan, who kept repeating, "Heat can kill you! Everyone be careful out there." It was so hot we were hosed down while waiting to begin the race.

Out of a field of thirty women, I came in eighth place at 3:15. The heat never bothered me, although my feet kept squishing from the sweat. I ran hard, but it was fun for me. It almost felt easier than a 5K or 10K on the track. I was hooked on the marathon.

Just as my life was settling down to a nice, easy routine, and I thought the demons had moved on, I was diagnosed with cervical cancer. Why me? I lived such a healthy life. I didn't understand and was in deep despair. As always, Fred and Erica were by my side and the operation was a success. I remember waking up Christmas morning, groggy from all the drugs, and seeing Erica handing me a present. It was a new pair of my favorite running shoes.

Little did anyone expect that I would wear the new shoes so soon. I was determined to put this disease behind me and concentrated on my running as a form of therapy. Just as I never thought of running easy, I attacked my recovery with the same zest.

Four months after my surgery, I ran the 1980 Boston Marathon. I was running with caution, not my usual abandon, and still managed to finish in 3:09. A Japanese reporter from the Associated Press was there and was surprised to see a Japanese woman running. He asked for an interview and as I told him my story, including the cancer surgery, he was most impressed and kept writing and writing and writing.

The following morning, my brother called from Japan to announce I was on the front page of all the newspapers there. He was shocked, as he didn't know anything about my life here, such as my marathon history or the cancer.

I returned to Japan to speak at the Women's World Sports Symposium in Tokyo. I had been away from my country for sixteen years and the trip back was emotional for many reasons. My beloved mother had passed away and finally Erica and I had the opportunity to visit her grave and pay respects to the woman who gave me so much courage, wisdom, and strength throughout her life. She remains with me always.

I don't define myself as a runner because running was always a supportive tool to get me somewhere else. For instance, it made me a better teacher. It brought me closer to my daughter. It took me places I would never have seen otherwise. It was also fun for me, something that I consider my true companion. It also made me physically strong; I have lots of stamina to get me through my busy days.

Sometimes I think back to that moment when I was asked to give up my child. My father tried to convince me that the decision would make my life easier. Little did he know that I have never done anything the easy way. All my decisions, from keeping Erica, to marrying Fred, to running, have brought me more joy and happiness than I ever could have imagined at a time when I thought my world was about to end.

As I go through life, making the inevitable mistakes that take me on unexpected journeys, I remind myself of two Japanese proverbs: "Tap on the stone bridge twice before you cross." And my other favorite, "When you are in a hurry, go around and take a longer route."