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The marathon itself, a relentless teacher, strips away pretense. It's a crucible where the body and mind are pushed to their limits, a stark confrontation with one's own capabilities and, more importantly, one's limitations. Each pounding step, each burning breath, demands a reckoning with the present moment. It requires physical and mental fortitude, of course, the grit to persevere when every instinct screams to stop. But the addition of the white flag, held aloft not as a trophy but as a mantra, transfigures the personal challenge. It ceases to be merely a race against the clock, or against other runners. It becomes a public declaration, a moving meditation, a kinetic prayer. It's a physical embodiment of the multifaceted nature of surrender: the surrender to the pain, the surrender to the doubt, the surrender to the ego's relentless demands, and the ultimate surrender to a purpose far greater than individual achievement. The white flag, billowing in the wind of my passage, becomes a symbol not just of my journey, but of the potential for transformation that resides within us all. It whispers, with every stride, of the peace that awaits when we dare to lay down our arms, both internal and external.
 

My decision to carry the white flag is not born from resignation, but from a deeply considered conviction: that surrender, in its truest form, is a radical act of strength, not an admission of weakness. This understanding is illuminated by the existentialist philosophies of Sartre and Camus. They confronted the inherent absurdity of existence, the lack of preordained meaning, yet emphasized the profound freedom that arises from this very void. We are "condemned to be free," as Sartre famously put it, burdened and empowered by the responsibility to create our own meaning through our choices. Carrying this flag, in the face of both personal and global challenges, is a conscious exercise of that freedom, a deliberate choice to embrace hope, to actively construct a narrative of peace amidst a world often consumed by conflict. It is a performative rejection of nihilism, an assertion of agency in the face of apparent meaninglessness.
 

This choice is simultaneously a profound ethical statement, echoing the call of Emmanuel Levinas. Levinas argued that our ethical responsibility is awakened by the face of the "Other," by the encounter with another human being in all their vulnerability. The white flag, carried in this spirit, becomes a visual embodiment of that ethical encounter. It's a public acknowledgment of my own vulnerability, a shedding of the armor of ego and defensiveness, and an open invitation to connect with others on the basis of our shared humanity. It's a silent plea for understanding, a visual "appeal to the other" that transcends language and ideology, a recognition that beneath the surface of our differences lies a fundamental interconnectedness. It's a pre-verbal, pre-political act of reaching out.
 

Furthermore, this act is a deliberate subversion of traditional power dynamics, a concept central to the work of Michel Foucault. Foucault argued that power is not simply a top-down force exerted by institutions or individuals, but a pervasive network of relationships that shapes our thoughts, behaviors, and even our identities. The white flag, historically associated with military defeat and submission to a conquering power, is here reclaimed and re-signified. It becomes a symbol of peaceful resistance, a refusal to engage in the dominant discourse of aggression and domination. It's a quiet but potent act of defiance, a demonstration that true strength lies not in the capacity to exert force, but in the ability to connect, to empathize, to build bridges across seemingly insurmountable divides. It's a challenge to the very notion of "winning" as defined by conventional power structures, proposing instead a victory rooted in understanding, compassion, and the courageous pursuit of peace. The white flag, then, becomes a tool to subtly shift the power dynamic, not through force, but through the disarming power of vulnerability and the invitation to genuine dialogue. It is a reclaiming of agency, not through domination, but through connection.
 

This journey with the white flag, this conscious embrace of surrender as a path to strength, is not solely informed by Western philosophical thought. It draws deeply from the wellsprings of Eastern wisdom, from the poignant reflections of contemporary Japanese literature, from the unique cultural heritage of Okinawa, and from the profound inquiries of the Kyoto School of philosophy. These influences intertwine, creating a rich tapestry of meaning that informs both the internal and external dimensions of this undertaking.

Dōgen (Zen Master, influencing Kyoto School):

To study the self is to forget the self. To forget the self is to be enlightened by all things.
自己を習うというは、自己を忘るるなり。自己を忘るるというは、万法に証せらるるなり。

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Murakami, in his often surreal and melancholic novels, frequently explores themes of loss, memory, and the search for meaning in a seemingly absurd world. His characters often find themselves adrift, grappling with forces beyond their control, yet clinging to a fragile hope for connection. As he writes in Kafka on the Shore, "Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the 1 sandstorm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn." 2 This sense of being caught in a larger, incomprehensible force, yet still striving to find one's way, resonates deeply with the spirit of the white flag. It's an acknowledgment of the forces we cannot control, and a commitment to navigating them with grace and resilience. It's a surrender to the "sandstorm," but not to despair.

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Haruki Murakami:
I just run. I run in a void. Or maybe I should put it the other way: I run in order to acquire a void.

僕はただ走る。空白の中を走る。あるいは、逆の言い方をすべきかもしれない。空白を獲得するために、僕は走るのだ。

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The spirit of Okinawa, the birthplace of Tomiko Higa, carries a unique weight of history and a profound understanding of resilience. Having endured the devastation of war and the ongoing complexities of its relationship with mainland Japan and the United States, Okinawa has cultivated a culture that values peace, community, and a deep connection to nature. The concept of nuchi du takara ("life is a treasure") encapsulates this worldview, emphasizing the preciousness of each individual life and the importance of living in harmony with others and with the environment. This resonates with the Okinawan concept of Ichariba Chode, which translates to, "Though we meet but once, even by chance, we are all brothers and sisters." The white flag, seen through this lens, is not just a symbol of ending conflict, but a celebration of life's inherent value and a commitment to cherishing the bonds that connect us.

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Traditional Japanese aesthetics, particularly the concept of wabi-sabi, also inform this journey. Wabi-sabi finds beauty in imperfection, impermanence, and the natural cycle of growth and decay. It's an acceptance of the transience of life and the inherent flaws in all things. Carrying the white flag, with its inherent connotations of surrender and vulnerability, is an embrace of wabi-sabi. It's a recognition that perfection is an illusion, and that true beauty lies in embracing the imperfections, the struggles, and the uncertainties of the human experience. The marathon, with its inevitable moments of pain and exhaustion, becomes a living embodiment of this principle.

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Nishida Kitaro:

Reality is a continuous, unbroken flow of experience.

現実は、連続的で途切れることのない経験の流れである。

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The Kyoto School, a 20th-century Japanese philosophical movement, sought to synthesize Western philosophy with Zen Buddhist thought. Key figures like Nishida Kitaro and Nishitani Keiji explored concepts like "absolute nothingness" (mu) and the "field of emptiness" (basho) as fundamental to understanding reality. Nishida's concept of "pure experience," a state of direct, unmediated awareness prior to conceptual thought, offers a powerful lens through which to view the act of carrying the white flag. It's a striving to move beyond the limitations of intellectual analysis and to connect with a deeper, more intuitive understanding of self and the world. Nishitani saw religion not in creeds or dogma, but in nihilism, the encounter with nothingness that overcomes the self and connects all. The white flag can be imagined as that nothing, at a certain level.

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Nishitani Keiji:
The self...is not a substance, but a dynamic, ever-changing 'field' or 'emptiness' (basho).

自己は…実体ではなく、動的で常に変化する「場」または「空」である。

 

This act of carrying the white flag, of embodying surrender as strength, finds a further echo in the words of Haruki Murakami, a writer whose novels often explore the inner landscapes of his characters with the same quiet intensity he brings to his own passion for long-distance running. In his memoir, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, he writes: "Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional." This seemingly simple statement encapsulates a profound truth that resonates with the core principles of the white flag, with the practice of Acceptance and Commitment Therapy, and with the very essence of the marathon itself.

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Haruki Murakami:

In long-distance running the only opponent you have to beat is yourself, the way you used to be.

長距離走で打ち負かさなければならない唯一の相手は、かつての自分自身だ。

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The marathon, like life, inevitably presents us with pain – the physical strain, the mental fatigue, the moments of doubt and discouragement. These are unavoidable realities. But suffering, Murakami suggests, is a choice. It's the resistance to the pain, the struggle against the inevitable, the clinging to expectations and the refusal to accept the present moment that transforms discomfort into true suffering.

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Haruki Murakami:

Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.

痛みは避けられないが、苦しみは随意である。

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The white flag, carried during the marathon, becomes a physical embodiment of this crucial distinction. It's a reminder to acknowledge the pain, to accept the discomfort, but to choose not to be consumed by it. It's a surrender to the physical realities of the race, but not a surrender to despair or self-pity. It's a commitment to finding a deeper rhythm, a flow state where the body and mind work in harmony, where the pain becomes simply another sensation, another part of the experience, to be observed and accepted without judgment.

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Tanabe Hajime (Kyoto School):
The path of metanoetics [repentance] is a path of 'action-through-non-action,' a path of self-negation that paradoxically leads to true self-affirmation.

懺悔道の道は、「無為の行為」の道であり、自己否定が逆説的に真の自己肯定につながる道である。

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This echoes the internal "white flag" we've discussed – the surrender to difficult emotions, to limiting beliefs, to the need for control. It's a recognition that true freedom comes not from eliminating discomfort, but from learning to navigate it with grace, acceptance, and a deep understanding of our own resilience. The act of running, then, becomes a microcosm of this larger life lesson. Each step, each breath, each mile completed, is a small victory, not over the pain, but over the resistance to the pain. It is in this subtle but profound shift in perspective that the transformative power of the white flag truly reveals itself. It is not about avoiding the challenges, but about embracing them, learning from them, and ultimately, transcending them, not through force, but through acceptance. The rhythm of the road, the cadence of breath, the presence of the white flag – these become a moving meditation, a pathway to inner peace and a testament to the enduring strength of the human spirit.

 

Nishida Kitaro:

Reality is a continuous, unbroken flow of experience.
現実は、連続的で途切れることのない経験の流れである。

The white flag, therefore, becomes a point of convergence for these diverse streams of thought. It's a symbol of the freedom found in surrendering to the "sandstorm" of fate, a celebration of life's preciousness in the spirit of nuchi du takara, an embrace of imperfection in the tradition of wabi-sabi, and a pathway to the "pure experience" sought by the Kyoto School. It is a reminder that true strength often lies in letting go, in embracing vulnerability, and in connecting with the deeper currents of existence that flow beneath the surface of our everyday lives. It is, in essence, a practice of living philosophy, a tangible expression of the wisdom found in both East and West, ancient and modern.

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Haruki Murakami:
I'm not going to be a runner forever, but as long as I'm going to be one, I want to run well, to my utmost ability. I'm this kind of person.
僕は永遠にランナーでいるつもりはないけれど、ランナーでいる限りは、自分の最大限の能力で、うまく走りたい。僕はそういう人間なんだ