Hakone Ekiden

On January 2 each year, Japan wakes up not to fireworks or leftover celebration, but to a race. Streets clear, screens light up, families gather around televisions and millions line the roads from Tokyo to Hakone. The country collectively holds its breath as ten young runners from each of Japan’s top universities embark on one of the most dramatic tests in world sport: the Hakone Ekiden.

It is not a marathon. It is not a relay as most know it either. It is a two day journey into the core of Japanese culture, one that blends duty and endurance, victory and heartbreak, and a quiet kind of national pride that rises with every passing stride.

This race began in 1920 with a visionary idea. Shizo Kanaguri, a founding figure of distance running in Japan, imagined a competition where runners would carry their university’s spirit across the landscape of their country. The term “Ekiden” comes from the era of feudal couriers who delivered messages station by station. In the Hakone Ekiden, that message becomes a sash called the tasuki. When one runner’s leg ends and he hands it off to a teammate, he is transferring trust, hope and responsibility. In that simple motion is everything the race represents.

The structure of Hakone is deceptively simple: five runners on the first day race from Tokyo to the mountain town of Hakone. Five more bring the sash back the next day. More than 200 kilometers in total. Each athlete covers the distance of a personal half marathon. Every step is cheered, scrutinized and archived in national memory.

What elevates the Hakone Ekiden from athletic event to cultural phenomenon is not the statistics. It is the story. Viewership rivals the greatest spectacles in global television. Nearly every household seems to know the names of the heroes and the heartbreaks. Alumni rivalry transforms otherwise quiet campuses into roaring factions of devotion. When January arrives, marathon glory does not belong to world champions. It belongs to college students.

Stand along the route and you will understand. The winter air bites sharply, yet spectators arrive hours early, bundled tightly and holding banners that signal generations of loyalty. When a runner appears, momentum building and breath visible in the cold, the crowd becomes a single voice calling his name.

By Day One’s final leg, the course becomes a battle with the mountains. The incline to Hakone is a near mythic opponent, capable of changing the race in minutes. This part of the course reveals more than training or speed. It reveals identity. Some runners rise into national icons here. Others collapse, physically or emotionally overwhelmed by the pressure they have worked years to withstand.

Then, after a night of restless anticipation, Day Two begins. The return to Tokyo forces runners to descend the same punishing elevation that tested their teammates the day before. Speed becomes both weapon and risk. Descending at brutal pace, legs wobble, form frays, pain ignites. And yet they continue, because in this race the team is everything.

Universities do not simply aim to win. They fight for the right to return. Only the top finishers earn automatic qualification for next year’s competition. Those who fall short must race months later for survival in the elite field. Even mid-pack positioning carries history and consequence. There is no such thing as a quiet result in Hakone.

Television captures split screens of agony and ambition. Teammates scream through tears as the sash exchanges hands. Coaches yell updates that can change careers. In the rare seconds where a runner falters and fails to reach the next station before the time limit, officials step in. The team must continue without their sash. For a Japanese audience, this is devastation made visible.

Yet this is precisely why the Hakone Ekiden commands respect. It reflects a deeper truth about the country watching. Japan values resilience not as a cliché but as a way of living. Here, perseverance is not merely celebrated. It is expected. Every runner embodies that expectation, and the nation honors them for trying even when the outcome becomes impossible.

What happens at the finish line on January 3 is never simply a victory. It is relief, release and the emotional culmination of a story carried by ten individuals who gave the very best of themselves. They are student athletes, but for two days they hold the collective heartbeat of Japan.

For travelers, witnessing the Hakone Ekiden in person is not just attending a sporting event. It is stepping into the inner world of modern Japanese identity. You see the quiet unity of a country that gathers without command. You feel the pulse of tradition running alongside innovation. And you understand why the new year begins not in celebration, but in motion.

In an age where sports often feel distant, monetized and detached from the communities that love them, the Hakone Ekiden stands apart. It remains intimate, human and unpolished. The stakes are deeply personal. The triumphs are deeply shared.

Go once, and you will remember the sound of the crowd when the first runner appears. The silence when another collapses. The fire in the eyes of those who carry the sash to the very end. You will understand why Japan stops for this race, and why its people return to the roadside every year, hands frozen, hearts full.

The Hakone Ekiden is the first story Japan tells each year. A story about teamwork. A story about endurance. A story about how far someone will go when they carry a hope greater than their own.

Watch it once. You will never forget it.