Master of the Bunny Slope
Yuzawa, Japan
English teachers learning to snowboard
Spring has come to Japan and winter has been pushed out the seasonal door. I say good riddance because even though I like winter and the snow, I’m afraid I might be tempted to try snowboarding again, if winter were to last any longer. Weeks after the attempt I still feel aches and pain from this self-inflicted Spanish Inquisition of winter sports.
Whose sadistic idea was this anyway to make what was obviously some kind of torture method from medieval Switzerland into a sport?
I went to Echigo Yuzawa in the Niigata prefecture last month. Being a Southerner, it seemed strange to me to engage in winter sports at the end of March. Our snow generally comes discreetly in December and has the common sense and decency to depart by the end of February, with the exception of a few rude snowstorms. With the aid of the shinkansen, the Japanese bullet train, one can leave spring’s domain in Tokyo and be knocking at winter’s door within an hour. Some slopes in the Japanese Alps and the northern region Tohoku will often stay open till the beginning of May, though skiers may find themselves fighting over remaining patches of slushy snow.
Echigo Yuzawa
I went with three fellow English teachers from work and one of the receptionists from our school. One of the teachers and the receptionist had snowboarded before. The rest of us were amateurs, but I had at least skied a few times. Luke had skied once when he
was 11. Martin had never skied or snowboarded before.
The coats and pants we rented were less padded than we expected or would have liked. Joseph, our snowboarding expert, said not to worry as this was normal for snowboarders.
Fair enough but later in the changing room we found him applying all sorts of padding to his body.
“Uh, you didn’t mention anything about bringing padding,” one of us said to him.
“Don’t worry! I’m sure you boys won’t be needing it!” he said, perhaps a little too cheerily.
Martin was the first of us to go. He never even made it to the chairlift. He only got one foot strapped on the board before he went. We had been practicing how to stand properly on the board when Martin went down. All of us had been falling but Martin landed hard on his shoulder. So hard that he was in fact done for the day before he even got started.
He was a good sport about it after the painkillers kicked in. He drank beer in the lodge all day and rode the gondolas while Luke and I were busy sliding down the mountain side on our faces.
Luke was the next of us to go. He sprained his wrist a little while later and switched to skis for the remainder of the day.
I had actually twisted a muscle in my back before I even got on the chairlift just trying to walk with the stupid board on my foot. Instead of joining Martin for beers in the lodge, my stupidity overrode my pain and I persevered so I could achieve more pain. I believe I succeeded admirably as I must have cracked a rib because it still hurts a bit weeks later.
I remember how I used to hold snowboarders back home in such contempt when I had gone skiing in the past. I was a decent skier, meaning I could avoid trees and other skiers and actually get off the chair lift without falling over. But my beginner’s skills were no match for dealing with insane snowboarders who were constantly either zipping wildly past or falling all over the place trying to copy some stupid stunt they saw on MTV last week.
Now the board was on the other foot (though I had a hell of a time trying to get the other foot on it). As I struggled and fell down the hill, skiers would pass me with the same contemptuous sneer I once had for snowboarders.
Smiling hard to hide the pain
I was quite impressed with the Japanese skiers and snowboarders. They were very polite and aware of their surroundings. They were able to gracefully move out of harm’s way whenever an out-of-control first-time snowboarder such as myself came tumbling by.
Japanese snowboarders are quite different than their North America counterparts. I saw very little in the way of stupid stunts that cocky snowboarders try to do back home. This is perhaps due to the fact that when snowboarding was first introduced in Japan, many slopes required a license in order to snowboard. Japan didn’t want the type of hooligan snowboarder that was often a prevalent nuisance in other countries. The Nagano Olympics in 1998 first introduce snowboarding as an Olympic sport thus propelling its popularity in Japan. Nowadays you find snowboarders to be of all different ages and backgrounds.
I spent most of the morning braving the slightly inclined slope of the beginner slope. Whipping by at speeds that would have turned a tortoise’s head, I eventually got a little better. I became confident. I became cocky. I became: The Master of the Bunny Slope.
I should have stayed there but no! I had to listen to Joseph’s advice to try the tougher slopes. I realize now that Joseph wasn’t going to be satisfied until everybody was badly hurt.
On the higher slopes I found I was no longer the Master of the Bunny Slope. I was the rank novice of the beginner slope and the chicken of the intermediate slope. The expert slope had all the allure to me that a piping hot bowl of chili has to a legionnaire dying of thirst in the Sahara Desert.
As I tumbled down the mountain, the sharp blows to the head (did I mention Joseph had a helmet?) jarred an early childhood memory of an old ABC TV Sports World commercial. The commercial showed a scene of a runner winning a race as the words: “…the thrill of
victory…” were spoken followed by: “and the agony of defeat!” The scene would then switch to a skier tumbling down, down, down a mountain side. In fact I think he is stilling falling. The agony of defeat I can handle, its the agony of falling (not too mention landing) that I have a problem with.
I had one comforting thought, though, as I fell. I realized that if I was knocked unconscious, I wouldn’t have to listen anymore to the J-Pop music that was coming out the speaker system on every slope.
Later, in an effort to keep my bones from becoming completely jelly, I devised a new technique on how to get down the mountain in one piece. Our receptionist, Mari, was stunned. She had never seen anyone snowplow all the way down a mountain before. And on a snowboard no less. I said never underestimate what cowardliness and necessity can come up with.
Mari was a very graceful snowboarder herself. She could glide off the chair lift with the poise and grace of a petite Olympic ice skater. That is until one time I ran into the back of her and knocked us both flat on our backs. I’m sure that had nothing to do with the cracked rib she got.
By the end of the day, I had a body full of pain. My ribs hurt, my back hurt, my wrists hurt, my bum hurt, and my knees hurt. I felt like I had been the guest of honor at an all male orgy.
My first day of skiing I had left feeling sore but confident. At the end of my first day snowboarding, I felt only pain, and more pain, and deep suspicion of Joseph who escaped injury.
All I can say is “Thank God spring is here.”
