Don’t eat that yellow snow.

Well.

I didn’t die.

In fact. Despite my kicking and screaming internal protestations and predictions of death…It was sort of fun.

I’m a dick. I hate change or doing things where I’m not 100% in control of myself. Actually – scratch that… I just hate doing stuffs in general.  Then,  when I’m scared or threatened or even just a little nervous these silent worries  manifest themselves as stubborn and childish aggression with a delicious side helping of vitriolic nihilism.

On the way there, sat on the bus listening to RATM I was quite sure I hated Skiing; hated snow; hated getting up early and hated Japan, the Universe and everything. 

Of course – by the end of the day I was addicted – it was an awesome feeling – There was no ‘whooshing’ down the slopes per se,  but I was gaining some speed and able to manoeuvre myself around obstacles of significance.

Awesome things I managed to do included:

1. Skiing into a haystack. On the TOP of the mountain. Nic was not impressed. See the judgement:

2.Ski into a really cute snowboarder and what I thought was a snow bank but was actually a jump and get totally entangled with him. Seeing as this might be as close as I get to a Japanese dude ever I was kind of happy. And turned on.

3. Lose my skiis. Twice.

Going Skiing was kind of a big deal for me. My teenage years weren’t really that long ago and the childish worries that coloured those years still sit heavily with me sometimes, even though I know they’re ridiculous. Anway, I went to this small, moderately posh private school where everyone could Ski and I couldn’t. At least, that’s what it felt like. And it was another, particularly symbolic thing on the long list I used to have, of everything that was wrong with me. Which included having fat ears and being poor. Lunacy, but hey when your 14 those are the things that matter, right?

 Sat on top of the mountain (I should say spreadeagled on top of the mountain with snow soaking into my butt, but that’s not as poetic eh?) I wobbled along a knife edge. I muttered to myself that I couldn’t do this. Really effing couldn’t do this. An old part of me was shitting myself and felt rather nauseous.

After a while – once everyone had skiid off, I sat on my tod with snow in my face, surveying the scene below. I had to admit that wow. I’m in Japan, living in a foreign country, I’m pretty awesome and I’ve done a lot more challenging things than allowing gravity to get me from point A on a mountain to point B on said Mountain. The worst that would happen is I break myself and fail. Then pick myself up and do it again.

So I did just that. I failed.  I ate snow. I spilled. I screamed. I moaned. I rolled on my back like a pregnant turtle. Then I got over it and fell over some more. Then did it again. Then…it started to get a teeeny bit fun. And then very fun. And then addictively awesome.  And then I fell over some more.

It helped when I finally figured out how to stand up. lols.

My co-workers are adorable.

So, here’s to falling over. Failing. and doing it over again.

Love, Mizichan xoxoxoxoxo