Here's a tale from my diary... or rather a true tale with bits of exaggeration to entertain you... one of those original "It's A Wonderful Rife" Tales I wrote 20 years ago for the Tatami Times newsletter of Tochigi-ken's JET folks.
It's September 1992, from what I can tell... my second year of Japan is complete, and I'm on my third one-year contract with the Ohtawara Board of Education (OBOE) office as a junior high school assistant English teacher on the Japan Exchange (JET) & Teaching Programme.
After returning home to Ohtawara-shi, Tochigi-ken (I called Japan home!) from a six-week vacation in Toronto where I apparently sloshed back 22 pounds (10 kilograms) worth of beer, my splitting pants and I decided it was time for a diet.
It was bad enough when I went back to Canada (that's where Toronto is) and all my family and friends went "whoa!" as they tried to step around my enlarged stomach, but when the polite Japanese started to do it to, well...
I began the day after I got back. Since I wasn't suffering from jet-lag, I decided to augment my diet with some exercise, starting off with a light 1,600 meter jog at the track of Ohtawara Chu Gakko (Ohtawara Junior High School), one of the seven schools I teach at one week at a time.
Although I had to ride my bicycle the two kilometers there at 9PM to avoid being a spectacle, that didn't tire me out. It was the 20 minutes it took for me to circumnavigate the track four times.
Holy crap! My face was black and blue with bruises from where my stomach kept hitting me.
Needless to say, I felt like crap the next day. And yet, perhaps suffering from a gut-check to the brain, I went back out the next night and did it again... and the next day and the next... each day adding an additional lap of 400 meters.
By the end of the fifth night of jogging, I soon had my own cheering section as students followed me one evening to see just what the heck a 27-year-old, overweight Canadian was up to. And each night, there were more and more kids waiting to see me puke - which I never did in public.
Now... by early November, my 30 pound (13 kilogram) lighter frame can motorvate 10 kilometers with ease. I can also walk through some of the smaller bicycle paths the locals call streets without having to grease myself first.
Anyhow... the principal at one of my junior high schools, upon hearing of my love affair with near-death experience (IE exercise) decided to help me out. He said, rather than have one of his teachers give me a ride to his school as they had done every day since Day 1, it would be better if I rode my bicycle to school. Ten kilometers. Bastard. It's cold. Someone lost my gloves. And there ain't nothing out there on the bike ride except for rice fields and 7-11s. Ohtawara translates in to 'Big Ricefield Field', so you know I'm telling the truth. WTF is with the 7-11s?!
Truth... the first day I had to visit that particular school, members of the local hospital were there. It wasn't in case I decided to have an accident - like the two times in my third month in Japan where I was hit by a car - rather, it was part of a school project whereby the doctors brought crutches and wheelchairs to show the students how the darn things work.
Three doctors with cigarettes dangling precariously from their lower lip, and three teachers with cigarettes - ahhh, you know - they got into the wheelchairs and lectured from them about how difficult it is for people to use the things. They explained that everyone should help out a person in a wheelchair or crutches, if need be. (I am unsure when I began understanding Japanese, but I could and did!)
Next, the motley crew of doctors and teachers (all men) got out of the wheelchairs and placed the crutches under their arms. They then began to demonstrate how to move with them. All except one little guy whose legs couldn't touch the ground. I think he was born that way.
So... a volunteers was quickly ordered to step from the crowd of teachers, and... once the 'crutch-to-armpit' ratio was checked and approved by the Ohtawara Board of Education, clearance was given... for the students to give it a go.
Six lucky students were now able to wheel around in 'the chair', while the other 176 kids were given their own set of crutches to try out.
Now... as most people who are not Japanese are aware, giving 176 teenagers heavy wooden sticks is not a good idea.
Mayhem ensued, with the school kendo club taking the initiative to whack the basketball club. The soccer club then made a dash for safety, as the baseball club was finally able to get a hit.
The doctors and the teachers attempted to run away, and were run down by the six kids in 'the chairs'.
The final score: 16 broken arms, four broken legs, 18 students and three teachers with tread marks up their backsides.
As for me? Well, let's just say I'm glad I learned how to run quickly.
Somewhere signing casts,
Andrew Joseph
It's September 1992, from what I can tell... my second year of Japan is complete, and I'm on my third one-year contract with the Ohtawara Board of Education (OBOE) office as a junior high school assistant English teacher on the Japan Exchange (JET) & Teaching Programme.
After returning home to Ohtawara-shi, Tochigi-ken (I called Japan home!) from a six-week vacation in Toronto where I apparently sloshed back 22 pounds (10 kilograms) worth of beer, my splitting pants and I decided it was time for a diet.
It was bad enough when I went back to Canada (that's where Toronto is) and all my family and friends went "whoa!" as they tried to step around my enlarged stomach, but when the polite Japanese started to do it to, well...
I began the day after I got back. Since I wasn't suffering from jet-lag, I decided to augment my diet with some exercise, starting off with a light 1,600 meter jog at the track of Ohtawara Chu Gakko (Ohtawara Junior High School), one of the seven schools I teach at one week at a time.
Although I had to ride my bicycle the two kilometers there at 9PM to avoid being a spectacle, that didn't tire me out. It was the 20 minutes it took for me to circumnavigate the track four times.
Holy crap! My face was black and blue with bruises from where my stomach kept hitting me.
Needless to say, I felt like crap the next day. And yet, perhaps suffering from a gut-check to the brain, I went back out the next night and did it again... and the next day and the next... each day adding an additional lap of 400 meters.
By the end of the fifth night of jogging, I soon had my own cheering section as students followed me one evening to see just what the heck a 27-year-old, overweight Canadian was up to. And each night, there were more and more kids waiting to see me puke - which I never did in public.
Now... by early November, my 30 pound (13 kilogram) lighter frame can motorvate 10 kilometers with ease. I can also walk through some of the smaller bicycle paths the locals call streets without having to grease myself first.
Anyhow... the principal at one of my junior high schools, upon hearing of my love affair with near-death experience (IE exercise) decided to help me out. He said, rather than have one of his teachers give me a ride to his school as they had done every day since Day 1, it would be better if I rode my bicycle to school. Ten kilometers. Bastard. It's cold. Someone lost my gloves. And there ain't nothing out there on the bike ride except for rice fields and 7-11s. Ohtawara translates in to 'Big Ricefield Field', so you know I'm telling the truth. WTF is with the 7-11s?!
Truth... the first day I had to visit that particular school, members of the local hospital were there. It wasn't in case I decided to have an accident - like the two times in my third month in Japan where I was hit by a car - rather, it was part of a school project whereby the doctors brought crutches and wheelchairs to show the students how the darn things work.
Three doctors with cigarettes dangling precariously from their lower lip, and three teachers with cigarettes - ahhh, you know - they got into the wheelchairs and lectured from them about how difficult it is for people to use the things. They explained that everyone should help out a person in a wheelchair or crutches, if need be. (I am unsure when I began understanding Japanese, but I could and did!)
Next, the motley crew of doctors and teachers (all men) got out of the wheelchairs and placed the crutches under their arms. They then began to demonstrate how to move with them. All except one little guy whose legs couldn't touch the ground. I think he was born that way.
So... a volunteers was quickly ordered to step from the crowd of teachers, and... once the 'crutch-to-armpit' ratio was checked and approved by the Ohtawara Board of Education, clearance was given... for the students to give it a go.
Six lucky students were now able to wheel around in 'the chair', while the other 176 kids were given their own set of crutches to try out.
Now... as most people who are not Japanese are aware, giving 176 teenagers heavy wooden sticks is not a good idea.
Mayhem ensued, with the school kendo club taking the initiative to whack the basketball club. The soccer club then made a dash for safety, as the baseball club was finally able to get a hit.
The doctors and the teachers attempted to run away, and were run down by the six kids in 'the chairs'.
The final score: 16 broken arms, four broken legs, 18 students and three teachers with tread marks up their backsides.
As for me? Well, let's just say I'm glad I learned how to run quickly.
Somewhere signing casts,
Andrew Joseph
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