
The scenery from those days often returns to me, suddenly and vividly.
It was the 1980s, the height of Japan’s ski boom. As a moguls skier, I was driven
by the dream of becoming the first Japanese Olympian in the discipline. Every
year, as winter approached, I felt a rush of excitement. November 3rd—the season
opening of the Kurodake Ski Resort in Sounkyo—became a cherished tradition.
In the early morning, the rhythmic rattle of snow chains echoed from the street.
That sound was my wake-up call, transporting my heart back to the world of skiing.
I still vividly remember the thrill of stepping out of the hotel in the dim light,
heading for the snow-covered slopes of Kurodake.
Back then, I stayed at Hotel Taisetsu, blending in with the university ski camps.
The rice balls they packed for lunch were a reward beyond measure after harsh
training in the bitter cold. And after skiing, the ever-flowing hot spring would
embrace my frozen body, melting even the tension in my heart.