うたぴょんスポーツThis post is about the night before a race, not the race itself. On February 21, 2026, Uta and I were in Himeji, a city west of Osaka, getting ready for the Himeji Castle Marathon the next morning.
Last year she didn't even make it to the start line feeling right. She came down with a sudden fever or stomach trouble right before the race and ended up in tears. This year we went back to try again.
How the evening went
Uta is 9 now, born early in 2016, so she's one of the younger kids in her school year. We checked into Himeji the evening before the race, the way we always do, and she seemed relaxed. No stomach complaints, no fever, nothing like last year. She said she felt good, and on camera she really did look like it — calm, a bit excited, ready for bed early instead of wound up.
It's strange how much a single bad night can stick with you. Last year's collapse wasn't her fault, it was just bad luck with timing, but it left a mark on both of us. So this year every small sign that she felt normal — eating dinner fine, sleeping on schedule — mattered more than it probably should have.
Looking back, and looking ahead
We didn't race that night, obviously. What we did was talk through what happened last year, out loud, on camera. She remembered crying. She remembered not understanding why her body wouldn't cooperate. A year later she's stronger and more experienced — she was ranked 10th nationally in the 1000m for third-grade girls in the 2024 season — but none of that guarantees anything on race morning. Marathons don't care about last year's ranking.
She'd also just appeared on Nsuta, a Japanese news program, running alongside another young runner known online as Run Girl-chan. Seeing herself on national TV a few days earlier seemed to give her a little extra confidence heading into Himeji, even if she'd never say it that directly.
What I took from it as her dad
The lesson from last year wasn't about training harder. It was about paying attention to how she's doing the night before, not just how fast she ran in practice that week. This year I watched her sleep, eat, and talk about the race instead of just watching her splits.
I also learned to let her carry some of this herself. She's the one who remembers crying last year, and she's the one who chose to come back and try again. All I can do is make sure she's rested, fed, and not carrying unnecessary pressure from me on top of her own nerves.
The race itself is a separate video — this one is just the night before, the part nobody usually films. Watch it here to see how she was feeling going in.