I got up in the morning to pack my gym bag. It felt strange—like I was stepping back into an old routine I hadn’t touched in years. When I lived in a smaller town, things were close enough that I could stop by home before the gym or practice. Tokyo doesn’t give you that kind of breathing room. Maybe that’s part of what makes me miss the countryside—the pace, the space, the simplicity. Out there, I was a drop in the ocean. Here, I feel more like a single pixel on an endless screen. Still, as I tossed gear into my shoulder bag, nostalgia hit me harder than expected.

I’ve never been the biggest fan of the “game of life.” Like any gamer, I’ve got my gripes with the mechanics. But one thing I do like is how small experiences shift your perspective. I picked up a gold-and-purple Kobe Bryant basketball, and just holding it made me appreciate every ball I’d ever played with growing up.

I still remember hesitating before buying it. Do I splurge on the leather ball that’s twice the price? Do I settle for the cheap rubber ones? Kobe was my favorite player, and in the end, a couple of bucks extra felt worth it. But when you’re paying for rent, food, insurance—suddenly every little purchase has weight. That ball made me grateful in a way the free ones at home never did.

Training Time

On the train I flipped through, The Mamba Mentality: How I Play, Kobe’s obsession with details blew me away—how he taped his fingers, chose shoes, even how he thought about recovery. When I started to drift, I mixed in podcasts and YouTube videos about him. What stuck with me most wasn’t just the skill but how he handled adversity.

In school I never really fit in. Neither did Kobe. The difference is, he used it as fuel. I let it eat me alive. Call it “emotional damage.”

I still remember football practice when two seniors targeted me every play. Earlier I’d hit someone hard in a drill because the coaches told us to, and they didn’t like it. So they spent the scrimmage bulldozing me, ignoring their real jobs just to push me around. I was 135 pounds; they were well over 185. Play in and out I got crushed. I didn’t know how to process it back then.

Looking back, I wish I’d seen it differently. I wish I’d had the guts to say: Good. You see me as a threat. I welcome the challenge. They might’ve beaten me down then, but I got back up, and I’m stronger now. Kobe said: Be better today than you were yesterday. Life’s a long race, and I’m still running.

Then again, sometimes you don’t get second chances. Life isn’t a video game. Bryce, Ben—if we ever meet in New Game Plus, you’d better be ready.

Why am I here?

I won’t go full existential with “why am I alive,” but I will answer why I’m in Japan. When I meet guests, I usually mention it in my self-intro. The truth is, I’m here because of cartoons and cars. That’s what started it. It’s kind of funny—uprooting your life because of some drifting pixels on a screen.

Of course I’ve found other connections since, but the real turning point was when my friend let me wrench on his car after school. That’s when I thought: maybe I could really do this.

Today I guided two guests from the States—one a basketball coach, the other a Nissan fan. Pretty much my worlds colliding. Tokyo feels second nature now. For most of the big spots, I don’t even need a map anymore.

Still, the imposter syndrome lingers. There’s always more history to learn, more details to master. And on tour, I wear the mask—friendly, upbeat, “nothing wrong at all.” The truth is, I’m introverted and tired. Like being an ALT, guiding means putting on the genki mask. Sometimes it’s that loss of authenticity that stings the most.

Rough Start

After the tour I headed to a basketball meetup group. The plan was simple: make some new friends, push myself in a healthier direction. I’m not new to working out, but competition forces you to dig deeper.

The game started rough. Turnovers, bad shots, sloppy finishes. Voices in my head kept piling on: You suck. How did you miss that? Before I spiraled, I stopped and took a breath. That’s when the voices of my old coaches cut through the noise.

Slow Down

When you’re holding the ball, you’re standing in the eye of the storm. Panic, and the chaos swallows you. Stay calm, and you can actually see—the defense, your teammates, the plays unfolding.

That’s when it clicked. Basketball doesn’t have to be an athletic showcase. My hops aren’t what they used to be, but slowing down let me play some of my best ball in years. Nothing flashy, just smart passing, steady footwork, and good decisions.

Finding a Way To Win

That’s the thing—you get older, and you have to find new ways to win. I used to lean on raw athleticism. Now it’s patience, vision, and choices.

At first I was scared of missing shots, but then I remembered Kobe:

“I wasn’t scared of missing, looking bad, or being embarrassed. That’s because I always kept the end result, the long game, in my mind. I always focused on the fact that I had to try something to get it, and once I got it, I’d have another tool in my arsenal. If the price was a lot of work and a few missed shots, I was OK with that.”

Kobe Bryant

Key

🔵Make
❌Miss
🔺Assist

Leaving it All On The Court

By the end, I was drained. Even a pickup game flips my switch—I can only play full tilt. My body made me pay: bruised rib, sore muscles, knee screaming the whole way home.

On the train I half-dozed, then limped through what should’ve been a 25-minute walk that stretched into 40 with too many breaks. I cursed being both busted up and broke. A cab would’ve been 1500 yen, but that’s not a daily option.

When I finally made it home, I had plans—watch the Silverstone F1 race, knock out a few things on my list. Instead, I collapsed. Even asleep, my rib reminded me basketball isn’t gentle. Before I completely passed out, I did manage one thing: scheduling that doctor’s appointment I’d been avoiding.

Much Love
LaidbackMarco

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