Ekiden Stories No.2: Forged in the Heat of Hakone

The door is pulled open with the stiff resistance of a new build. As I step inside, I’m hit by the intensity of a modern-day forge. A sharp metallic clang of weights. The furious pounding of a treadmill. The hiss of the sauna. The whir of washing machines scrubbing the day’s kit clean. Cutting through it all, the punchy aroma of freshly chopped ginger from the kitchen upstairs.

A forge isn’t gentle. It’s pressure and friction. It shapes you through contact. That’s what this space is for.

I’ve entered the newly built clubhouse of MABP Maverick, one of Japan’s youngest professional Ekiden teams. I haven’t come for a tour — I’ll save that for another day. Today, I’m here to meet two MABP athletes forged in the same fire: Rin Kitsuki and Shota Onizuka.

The MABP Maverick Ekiden Team: Shota Onizuka (4th from left) and Rin Kitsuki (5th from left)

Both have sparkling Ekiden résumés and have raced multiple times in the big dance, the Hakone Ekiden. The race is held every year on January 2nd and 3rd, and remains Japan’s most-watched collegiate sporting event, with viewership in the tens of millions.

When people talk about “Ekiden” in Japan and around the world, they almost always mean Hakone.

It’s a 10-leg, 217.1km relay steeped in tradition, national pride, and over a century of history. I’ve been fascinated by the Hakone Ekiden for a long time. There are plenty of other Ekiden races, but when people talk about “Ekiden” in Japan and around the world, they almost always mean Hakone.

I want to know what that fire feels like, not just the race itself, but everything around it: the path in, the weight it places on young shoulders, and how it shapes future careers. With a growing international interest in Ekiden, exemplified by the recent second run of the UK Ekiden, I want to understand what’s at the core of this uniquely “Japanese” tradition.

Sparks from the South

Shota Onizuka and Rin Kitsuki both come from Kyushu, Japan’s southern island of smoldering volcanic energy. They both possessed natural talent; you don’t get to this level without it, but their journeys into the sport were sparked in different ways.

“I really didn’t want to run it.” But he ran. And he won.

Rin grew up playing baseball, but during winter training runs, his speed caught a coach’s eye. The suggestion was simple: “You’re fast. Maybe try distance running?” Shota’s start was more reluctant. His parents signed him up for a local race. “I really didn’t want to run it,” he admits. “I wasn’t even sure why I had to do it.” But he ran. And he won. That single race lit the fuse.

Both went on to attend high schools with formidable Ekiden pedigrees. Shota enrolled at Ohmuta High School, famous for its no-nonsense, old-school approach to distance training. Rin went to Oita Tomei, another respected program. Both still carry vivid memories of just how brutal it was.

Shota (red) running for his high school

Out of the Frying Pan…

I’d heard from multiple sources that high school Ekiden could be even tougher than university or pro: the relentless mileage, strict discipline, zero room for error. Were these well-burnished myths or immutable realities?

“Yeah, it’s real,” they confirm in unison, laughing but nodding. Shota hints at the kind of coaching culture that still leans on old-school intensity, with its strict routines and a fair bit of fire.

High school Ekiden doesn’t draw the same cameras or fanfare as Hakone, but for many runners, this is where the flame is first lit, and where the weight of expectation begins to settle.

If you’re among the best, there’s just one place to go. In Japan, only university teams from the Kanto region — Tokyo and the surrounding prefectures — are eligible to compete in the Hakone Ekiden. So for runners of Rin and Shota’s caliber, the road north felt less like a choice and more like a calling.

Leaving Kyushu behind meant stepping away from home, family, and familiarity, all in pursuit of the biggest stage Japanese distance running has to offer.

Rin giving his all for Kokugakuin University in the Hakone Ekiden

Into the Fire

For those in an Ekiden team, university life is a world apart from the typical student experience, as their academic calendars are bent around racing. “It’s not like we never studied,” Shota says with a smile, “but training always came first.” Between regular track meets, some cross-country and the big three Ekidens –Izumo, All-Japan, and Hakone – there is rarely a quiet season.

For the top teams, the goal is to sweep them all. The fabled 三冠 (sankan), winning all three Ekidens, is considered the highest team achievement in university distance running. And at the heart of it all, whether stated aloud or quietly acknowledged, is Hakone.

The way each university approached that goal wasn’t always the same. At Kokugakuin, where Rin ran, everything orbited around Hakone. “It was the center,” he says. “Every day was about preparing for Hakone.” A countdown on the clubhouse wall marked the days until the race.

Shota forging ahead on the track during his Tokai University days

 Tokai University, where Shota trained, took a slightly broader approach. While Hakone was always a major focus, Tokai is a perennial powerhouse, there was also encouragement to look beyond it. The team valued international racing opportunities and placed importance on individual growth as an all-around athlete. It wasn’t just about one race.

But even with that wider lens, the pull of Hakone was undeniable. “Yeah,” Shota says. “We had the same countdown too.”

At one point, I ask what kind of training volumes they were logging in peak season. Rin answers matter-of-factly: “At times, we were probably hitting 1,000 kilometers a month.”

Shota blinks. “You hit 1,000?”

“Yeah,” Rin shrugs. “Especially when we were building for the big ones.”

Eek.

The Burning Question

For a long-time fan of the sport like me, it felt slightly unreal to be sitting across from two runners who had lived it; runners who had stepped onto the Hakone Ekiden stage multiple times and raced with the eyes of a nation on them.

But here’s where I admit a certain failing as a storyteller. I’ll be honest: I thought I already knew the answer. I’d written it in my head before we even sat down.

And now I finally had the chance to ask what I’d been wondering for years. And that is simply: What’s it like to run Hakone?

But here’s where I admit a certain failing as a storyteller. I’ll be honest: I thought I already knew the answer. I’d written it in my head before we even sat down.

Surely they’d talk about the sleepless nights. The unbearable pressure. The weight of expectation pressing down on legs that refused to move. The fear of letting their teammates down. I imagined that anxiety would be the defining emotion.

But their answers surprised me.

Yes, they felt nervous; they’re human. But their stories were calm. Grounded. Clear.

Rin pushing the pace on the 7th leg of the Hakone Ekiden

Rin told me he hardly remembers the race itself. “I think I was concentrating so hard that it was just…over,” he said with a laugh. As an amateur runner who gets easily distracted, I’m in awe of Rin, who held this deep focus for the distance of a half marathon, at a searing pace, with television cameras tracking every stride.

Shota, who stormed the first leg as a freshman and later helped Tokai win the whole thing, recalled something else: the ringing in his ears. “It was only afterward that I noticed it,” he said. “The crowds were so loud, but in the moment, it felt like silence.”

I had expected fire and mild chaos. What I found was clarity born of repetition, of athletes so well-prepared, so thoroughly shaped by the system, that when the biggest moment came, it didn’t consume them. It sharpened them.

When I asked Shota what it felt like to win Hakone, he hesitated. “I wasn’t that satisfied with my own performance,” he admitted. “But I was shocked at the overwhelming response from the team, the school, and people I didn’t even know. I guess that’s when I realized how big this race really is.”

There’s the Ekiden dichotomy again: individual performances held in tension with collective pride.

Rin putting in the work on the training track

Forged, Not Finished

From the grind of high school to the spotlight of Hakone, Rin and Shota have climbed every rung of Japan’s Ekiden system. Forged by pressure, repetition, and expectation, they are now into their next chapter: life as professional athletes.

They’ve joined MABP Maverick, a team that, true to its name, isn’t afraid to do things differently. There’s ambition here, and something quietly disruptive. They’re not following an easy path, but they’re not shying away from the challenge either.

Shota training with his MABP Maverick teammates

“There’s freedom here,” Shota told me. “But also ambition.” Rin added, “We’ve only just started, but we’re coming together.” You can feel it, a rhythm, a shared intent. A synthesis forming as they look toward qualification for the New Year Ekiden, the crown jewel of Japan’s men’s pro Ekiden calendar.

But this isn’t just emotion; there’s responsibility. As a newly formed team, MABP Maverick doesn’t yet have the roster depth of more established squads. And when it takes ten runners to make it to the start line, there’s no room for passengers and very little room for error.

“That pressure’s always there,” Rin said. “We’re still a small team. Everyone has to be ready.”

How Do You Run for Something Bigger?

Through these Ekiden stories, I’m trying to get closer to the heart of a sport that’s as layered as it is arduous. Each conversation offers another piece of the puzzle. And lately, I’ve found myself wondering if one of Ekiden’s hidden essences is this: in a discipline where ego often fuels performance, Ekiden asks for the opposite. It demands that ego be held in check. That no one surges ahead in training just to make a point. That the team’s pace is the only pace that matters.

Rin and Shota, thank you for sharing your Ekiden stories with me

 I put this theory to Rin and Shota. They agreed… mostly. “Yeah,” Shota said, grinning. “But the sessions can get a bit heated sometimes.”

Because the fire never fades. It just needs direction. It needs to be harnessed. Held steady. So the whole team can rise with it. That’s the work ahead for MABP. And Rin and Shota? They’re exactly the kind of athletes you want in the forge.

Text: Jeremy Kuhles

Edit: Mike Balderi

Images: Kindly provided by Rin, Shota & MABP Maverick