As I write this, my wrist muscles are so sore I can barely move them. My bum is a pudding. My knees are swollen and my shoulders creak. I hate the world. I hate the snow. I hate exercise.
Today, I went snowboarding for the first time.
All you arses back in NZ who get on my back every time we chat, moaning about the fact that I live in immediate proximity to some of the best snow in the world, but choose to spend my weekends playing pool/reading books/ drinking sake - I capitulated. I folded. I caved.
This is for you (I hate you).
Today, I took 1.5 hour bus trip out to Kokusai, one of the closest ski resorts to Sapporo city.
I rented pants, goggles, board and gloves.
Lookit - I was going to give y'all a detailed, nuanced description of the experience.
The beauty of the mountains.
The number of times I fell (100? More?).
The terror and elation of catapulting down a slope at obscene speeds, knowing all along that the only way to stop is to fall over.
The terror and elation of catapulting down a slope BACKWARDS at obscene speeds, knowing all along that the only way to stop is to fall over.
Being bypassed by Japanese children by the hundred as tall as my knee.
Finding myself totally, utterly unable to stand up and thus sitting halfway down the mountain contemplating the universe.
Watching a girl wearing fake eyelashes carve it up.
Using Shu, a long-suffering Singaporean, weighing 40kg soaking wet, as leaning post, lever and wall.
The attractiveness of my fringe, frozen in icy tendrils to my forehead.
The redness of my face.
But I can't be bothered. I'm tired. I want my dinner.
Here's your proof: