The most common recurring piece of advice I heard before leaving to study abroad in Japan was that I should make efforts to join a club, or a team, and become involved. The idea behind it was full cultural immersion: to take our Japanese outside the classroom and apply it to everyday life. I was welcomed into my host university’s track and field team, and in my experience, it was as much of a culture shock for me, as it was for them.

It was not an easy transition to position oneself inside a group of all Japanese, and my friends who also joined various teams and activities also shared similar experiences. By being a prospective addition to the team, and the “uchi to soto” (inside group vs outside group) concept that exists in Japan, I was already an outsider, and then even more so by being a gaikokujin.

Just because you look like them, it doesn’t necessarily make you one of them… I wouldn’t describe it as an unwelcoming atmosphere, but an awkward one. The first day I went to observe the track and field team, I was handed a uniform and tracksuit, and the second day was a race day. It was a qualification race for the Hakone Ekiden, one of the most prominent university relay marathon races in Japan. So, I dressed in my tracksuit, and went to the train station and ran into  four of my teammates on the platform. Their faces were new to me, just as mine was new to them, and even if they did see me the day before, this time they were curiously whispering when I was only five feet away. And we rode the train all the way to the meet like that: as two separate groups, not talking, despite wearing identical outfits.

Dressing like the Japanese, following the trends, and styling based on their fashion is not all it takes to be welcomed into a particular “in-crowd”. The foreigner wearing gothic Lolita clothing or mimicking popular hairstyles and make-up art will stand out and garner attention but at the expense of still being thought of as soto. It isn’t about whether or not it looks good or bad but rather just that it’s different. And with this cultural concept, being different is enough to distinguish “in” from “out”.

My impression of the Japanese is that they are introverted and shy, but curious… I’ve also learned that some of them have interesting impressions of foreigners, and in my case, specifically Americans. There exists the assumption that all Americans are outgoing and extroverted. For me, being the guest on the team, I expected that everybody else would approach me after I made my presence as a new runner. In my mind, I had played my part of the extrovert by seeking out the group and following through with my interest to join. I assumed that I would be met halfway in making new friends, but instead, I was kept waiting. And I was kept waiting for a while. There would be a few exchanges of words and greetings though nothing that led to a substantial conversation.

Over time, when they did start to open up and express their curiosity, I was overrun by various questions and comments. I was told statements such as “I’ve never seen a half [mixed] person before” and asked questions such as “do you own a gun?” The more they realized that simple conversations with the American didn’t have to be terrifying, the language barrier seemed to come down more quickly.

That being said, speaking the same language also doesn’t make us one of them. The language barrier is a big issue when it comes to interacting and communicating. In my experiences, the introversion did not just come from the shy Japanese personalities, but also the fear of striking up a conversation with a non-native because they won’t know what to do if it fails. The fear of not being able to understand the response, or the fear of not having the foreigner understand what they are trying to say is enough motivation to keep the “in-group” exclusive for a while. A dialogue may open for a couple of sentences only, because one or both parties believe that they have reached the limit of their foreign language abilities.

There were also those teammates who were studying English, or had lived in America before, or wanted to study abroad, who seemed to be driven by the prospect of one thing: eikaiwa (English conversation). Rather than becoming a fellow athlete or teammate, I had become the source of practicing English that they would not otherwise have access to. In theory, it was convenient for both parties involved, though ultimately, I was left to discover that I was merely the token English- speaking person in the group, who was befriended for the sole purpose of conversing in English. Every practice while jogging, I would act as an English conversation partner for one of my teammates. It ended up being great practice for them, and a good bridge to making real friends for me, but in the beginning that was not the way “in” and it wasn’t giving me any Japanese language practice, which was my motivation for joining in the beginning.

It probably wasn’t helped by the fact that to most Japanese, I did not look mixed or half-Asian, but fully Caucasian. They had no reason to assume that I had any level of Japanese language ability that included keeping up with nuances and humor. This made it easier for me, since it allowed me to surprise them consistently. Even with this “advantage”, when my teammates did realize that I could converse in Japanese, they were suddenly worried about how much I knew and would be overly cautious in considering how much I did or did not know. It seemed as they were entered into a new realm of stress regarding speaking with the foreigner. Considering the opposite of that, the expectation for people who look Japanese seems to be set much higher. In regard to those non-natives, it appeared to be assumed that they can speak Japanese, until it is discovered that they can’t. In both scenarios, it’s at these points that the aforementioned fears of being unable to communicate kick in, into a positive feedback loop.

Another difficulty of feeling fully accepted is the presence of the sometimes false, always presented, politeness known as tatemae. The difference between honne, one’s true feelings or desires, and tatemae, one’s public behavior, is hard to notice at face value. Similar to those times when store employees don’t get responses to customer service surveys, or when we get non-responses from friends who decided they wanted to cancel plans at the last minute, that was what is was like living in Japan for the first few months every time I met a new group of people. In fact, I would say it was safe to assume that without a situation that would require consistently seeing the new people I met, there was a high possibility that I would not see them again. They will be polite, probably exchange phone email addresses, and will say that they want to hang out again so an event should be planned, only to result in me never hearing from them again. It emphasizes that distinction between just experiencing a night out and making a close friend. I think that foreigners tend to expect the latter, which can be the source of frustration. But that is okay because despite all of that, if you give it time, the “uchi-soto” dynamic can shift.

It is possible for those shy exterior walls to come down… Though many foreigners and non-native Japanese feel as though they will never fit in, it is possible to go from being an outsider to part of the “in-group”. I joined the university track team during the off-season, but by the time track season started, it was no longer awkward to be wearing the same uniform going to track meets. When it ultimately got to that point, it made my time on the bukatsu (club) one of the best conquests of the intended cultural immersion. The collective cheering that is customary of Japanese sports fandom was unlike any form of cohesion I experienced as a track and field runner back home in California. I managed to make one or two close friends a couple of months in, and like a domino effect, the warmth from the rest of the team followed. It may take a shift in perspective on both our parts and some patience working through some cultural and language boundaries, but once “different” goes from being scary and unapproachable, to interesting and safe, it is my experience that the uchi to soto differences also seem to matter a little bit less.

What is surprising is that the Tokyo Marathon isn’t just for Kenyans wanting to leave everybody else in the dust; there’s also a ton of people who just like to dress up and go for a small 26-mile run.

With this year’s Tokyo Marathon set to take place next month, I thought I’d share with you some of the craziest costumes from previous years:

As we all know, Jesus actually lived and died in Japan, so it makes sense seeing him in the Tokyo Marathon.

A foreigner running the Tokyo Marathon as Captain America? What a real American.

Joseph Tame of Tame Gone Wild is an unusual runner who runs in different shapes (like a banana or an Apple logo). He also likes to strap computer equipment to himself to livestream his runs and measure how far and where he runs.

For a while, Hikonyan was one of the most popular mascots in all of Japan and apparently, that popularity was great enough to convince some guy to dress up as a creepy, creepy Hikonyan.

I don’t remember the genie being this gross and sweaty in Aladdin. Maybe it’s time to rewatch it?

It looks like my old congressman David Wu made it over to Japan to race. Neat!

What’s your favorite costume? If you were to run in the Tokyo Marathon, would you dress up? Tell me in the comments!

Tanaka’s win wasn’t just remarkable because he was the first Japanese person to ever win the Boston Marthon (before the Kenyans came along and started kicking everybody’s asses), and not even because Tanaka was a survivor of the nuclear bombing of Hiroshima.

What’s really remarkable about Tanaka is that he didn’t wear conventional running shoes; instead, Tanaka rocked the tabi (足袋), or split-toe Japanese footwear, to his 2:27:45 victory.

We’ve seen the Japanese technique for walking efficiently (see: our guide to walking like an Edo-era long-distance messenger), are there advantages in Japanese footwear too?

What Are Tabi?

Tabi are pretty simple: they’re just two-toed socks. Why are they two-toed? Do the Japanese have some sort of collective foot deformity?

Not quite. Hundreds of years ago in Japan, lots traditional Japanese footwear like zori have straps that fit in between your toes (just like flip-flops), so it makes sense that tabi are designed the same way.

And while a lot of people associate tabi with ninja, it wasn’t just Japan’s silent assassins who rocked the split-toed footwear. People of all walks of life wore tabi when the occasion called for it.

Over time, tabi evolved froms simple socks to so much more. Today, you can find a different type of tabi for virtually any use, and while tabi aren’t regularly worn by your average Japanese person, some professions and hobbies that still regularly make use of tabi.

Occasionally traditional artisans wear tabi, along with some construction workers (who sport the more sturdy jika-tabi); but there are some uses for tabi in the modern world, too.

Running Tabi

After Tanaka won the Boston Marathon, there was an effort by Japanese companies to capitalize on his success. A shoe company named Onitsuka (that later became ASICS) introduced a “marathon tabi” in the early 1950^s but it never really took off.

Nowadays though, people are rethinking the best way to run. Some people think that running barefoot or with shoes that replicate being barefoot (like the “five finger” shoes) are best.

Somewhere in that, shoe companies have decided that tabi-style two-toed shoes might be worth re-examining too. You can buy split-toed shoes from a ton of different Western companies, although I can’t really vouch for their fashionability.

Armored Tabi

Even samurai needed socks; although in the case of the samurai they needed tabi strong enough to deflect (or at least slow down) any threats to their toes. Nothing worse than getting an arrow in the foot.

Some armored tabi were covered in plate armor, some were protected by chainmail, but all of the samurai’s protective footwear were definitely form over function. I wouldn’t imagine that many people would want to wear armored tabi today.

Space Tabi

What’s better than tabi? How about tabi in space?! A few years ago, ASICS started working with JAXA, the Japanese space agency, to create specialty footware for Japanese astronauts heading up to the International Space Station.

The shoes featured a lightweight design, a better grip for zero-g situations, and a shape that helps stretch out the wearer’s muscles to fight muscle atrophy.

Are There Advantages to Tabi?

Despite all of these different uses for tabi, I haven’t found anything that supports the idea that the unique, two-toed design of tabi will make you run faster, jump higher, or look more handsome.

Regardless, for some people tabi are the footwear of choice. Some covet its traditionalism, others just think they’re plain comfy, but whatever the reason, tabi will be around for a long time. We’ll see whether or not the Kenyans ever get around to trying them out.

Thanks to Patrick for the article suggestion!