What was I thinking??
I was born and raised in the Philippines, where the only "seasons" are wet or dry. Anything lower than 32 degrees Celsius is too cold for me. I own no winter clothes save for a few scarves which I never wear, anyway. I'm not used to piling layers of clothes onto myself; I only ever wished to take clothes off, pronto.
Yet, there I was in Niseko, the "Aspen of Asia." There's 14 metres of snow, it's -20 degrees, I'm wearing Chris' clothes, including thermal underwear made from merino wool which were two sizes too small for me.
"DON'T stretch them," Chris pleaded, perhaps sensing that the expensive wool fabric was about to lose its battle against my thunderous thighs.
"Fine," I sulked, taking the thermals off in a hurry. "I'll just freeze to death."
"Oh, come on," Chris pinched my cheeks. "I was only teasing you, my little Moon Face. Put them back on. Hurry up."
"Moon Face" is Chris' new nickname for me, for obvious reasons.
"Here," Greg threw me a pair of gloves. "These are Allen's. Wear them. They've even got wipers for your goggles."
It must have taken me 45 minutes to figure out the pieces of clothing that corresponded to parts of my body that I wasn't even aware had to be covered.
"Make a checklist of what you need to bring," Peter said helpfully. "It's tricky to remember everything the first time because you've got to have so many items on you."
So, here's my checklist:
- Briefs
- Long johns
- Thick socks
- Ski pants
- Overpants
- Thermal shirt
- T-shirt
- Wool sweater
- Jacket
- Rain shell
- Wool cap
- Helmet
- Goggles
- Multi-purpose head / face / neck scarf
- Gloves
- Snowboard boots
- Snowboard
I had five layers of clothes on, of which the only familiar item is a t-shirt because honestly, I prefer boxers to briefs. I could hardly move. I couldn't even move my fingers, which felt so... fat. Like I just slammed a heavy door on all of them.
I waddled my way into the bus stop, which was thankfully just in front of our villa. I squeezed my tubby self into the minibus, dodging skis and stocks and snowboards along the way. It was like an obstacle course. And I managed to hit my face on everything that was poking on the slightest sideway angle.
"Just wait here for your instructor," the smiling receptionist at the Mountain Centre on lower Hirafu told me.
"What's his name?" I asked.
"Ben," she replied.
"Where's he from?"
"Australia."
Oooh.
"Go," I sent Chris, Peter, Allen and Greg off. "I'll wait here for my instructor. My lesson will take two hours, so let's all just gather back together for lunch."
They boys are veterans of ski/snowboard winter holidays; they were raring to get started and I wasn't about to hold them back. Besides, I much preferred to have Ben all to myself. I'm sure he'd be tall, young, muscular, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a yummy Aussie twang.
"Are you James?" I felt a tap on my shoulder.
I turned my heavy helmeted head around, slow motion - just like in the movies - but saw nobody. Then I looked down.
There she was, a tiny wisp of a girl, maybe 4'11".
"I'm Yuki," she said, extending her hand. "Ben's still at a group lesson so I'll be your instructor today."
Yuki from Montana is a dynamite. She's 32 and has been skiing and snowboarding since she was 9 years old.
"The first thing I'm gonna teach you," she said, "is how to fall."
"Dear God," I whispered. "Help me."
// HYPERACTIVE GOES SNOWBOARDING
NISEKO, JAPAN
WINTER 2012 //
