37 FramesThere’s something meditative about running. That slow conversation between the body and the mind. The rhythm of feet against pavement. The quiet competition between who you were when you started and who you’re becoming with every step.
Murakami calls it the art of running. And we think about it often.
You might not guess it to look at us now … headsets instead of hydration packs, timelines instead of training logs … but there was a time when we were runners. The kind with early alarms, shoes by the door, playlists timed to long-distance routes, and a shared dream: the Tokyo Marathon, 2010.
We trained hard. We ran slow. And we learned everything.
Running Was Never Just About Running
In What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, Murakami says:
“Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.”
At the time, that line felt poetic.
Now, it feels like life.
Running, like wedding planning, or photography, or any creative work, is not about speed or perfection. It’s about rhythm. Discipline. Showing up even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.
We remember those early Tokyo mornings … cold air, vending machines glowing blue in the dark, the city still half asleep. The world felt clean and endless. Running through the empty streets felt like holding Japan in the palm of your hand.
We were training our legs. But we were also training our lives.
Because to run long distances … like to plan a wedding, or build a business, or tell stories that matter … you have to make peace with repetition. You have to love the mundane. You have to find beauty in the doing.
Japan Teaches You to Keep Moving, Gently
Living in Japan is like living in a constant marathon of mindfulness. Everything is intentional. Every movement has purpose.
People here walk briskly but gracefully. Trains glide with precision. Bowing is choreography. And everywhere, there’s quiet endurance. An understanding that mastery is less about grand gestures and more about consistency.
Murakami gets that. His books are full of small repetitions, long silences, and quiet obsessions. He writes like he runs … steadily, daily, without spectacle. He doesn’t wait for inspiration; he trains for it.
That’s something we understand deeply now.
Weddings, after all, are our marathon.
Each one is a long-distance event … a buildup of months, sometimes years, of training, preparation, and pacing. There are sprints, hills, unexpected weather, and moments that make you feel like you could run forever.
And then… there’s that glorious finish line. The vows. The laughter. The exhale.
The Tokyo Marathon: Our Beautiful, Blistered Memory
The 2010 Tokyo Marathon. We can still feel the ache in our legs and the salt in the air. And the sleet hitting our faces. Yes. It snowed.
We weren’t fast … But participating was enough.
Japan does events differently. Polite applause. Bowing volunteers. Strangers offering “ganbatte!” from the sidewalks … do your best. That one phrase still makes us emotional.
Because that’s what the marathon … and maybe all of life … is about. Doing your best. Not for medals. Not for recognition. But because it’s your path. Your pace. Your story.
It wasn’t just a race. It was a moment of pure alignment between body, will, and spirit.
The Long Game: How Running and Creativity Are the Same Muscle
We’ve built a business that thrives on endurance.
On long days.
On the ability to see a vision through.
There are days when weddings feel like marathons … not because they’re hard (though they are), but because they demand that same balance of focus and flow.
You can’t plan a perfect day without pacing yourself. You can’t photograph joy if you don’t stay present long enough to notice it.
Like running, creativity rewards patience. You can’t rush the story. You can’t force the rhythm. You can only keep moving forward, one frame at a time.
Murakami writes:
“Most runners run not because they want to live longer, but because they want to live life to the fullest.”
That’s exactly how we feel about our work. We don’t plan weddings or capture them to fill a portfolio. We do it to feel alive inside them. To be part of something that moves.
Because when you’re in motion … physically or creatively … life expands.
The Discipline of Joy
Running taught us something profound about joy.
That it’s not something you stumble upon.
It’s something you train for.
Joy takes stamina.
It’s not always easy to show up with enthusiasm, to give your best, to create magic again and again … especially when you’re tired. But that’s the job. That’s the art.
The joy comes in the repetition.
In the knowing that every step, every frame, every couple, every wedding … it all builds toward something.
We tell our couples that the best moments are rarely the ones you can plan. They’re the ones that reveal themselves in the middle of the marathon.
A father’s hand reaching out.
A laugh that breaks the tension.
The final sprint down the aisle.
That’s where joy lives.
Murakami’s Lesson for All of Us
Murakami says that he runs every morning, alone, without music. That he needs solitude to listen to himself.
And isn’t that the real lesson?
That in a world of noise, we need movement to think.
That motion is medicine.
That endurance is grace.
Running, like art, like love, is about rhythm. The heartbeat that reminds you you’re still here.
Our Pace Now
We don’t run marathons anymore. These days, our steps are slower, the cameras heavier, the schedules fuller.
But we still move. We walk through temples in Kyoto, through markets in Tokyo, through forests in Karuizawa. We move through stories … of couples, of cultures, of life itself.
And every now and then, when the light hits a certain way, or a song plays that reminds us of the 2010 marathon, we feel it again … that quiet ache of accomplishment. That whisper of “ganbatte.”
The art of running never leaves you. It just changes form.
Final Reflection: The Finish Line Is Never the End
Murakami wrote,
“The most important thing we learn as we get older is that there’s no finish line.”
And that feels true.
Whether it’s a marathon or a marriage, a photograph or a life … there’s no real end. Just the rhythm of continuing.
The Tokyo Marathon taught us about distance.
Murakami taught us about endurance.
And Japan … this beautiful, relentless, humbling country … teaches us daily about showing up.
One step at a time.
One story at a time.
One frame at a time.
Because we’re all still running. Toward meaning, toward joy, toward the next horizon.
📋 Planning | 📸 Photography | 🎥 Film by @37frames
🏃♀️ Written somewhere between Shinjuku and memory.
37 Frames
