This isn't always the case, but it describes my situation undeniably accurately - I'm a summer baby with no aptitude whatsoever in winter sports. (Let's refrain from questioning my Canadian-ness now.)
While many youngsters raised on maple syrup tend to take advantage of cold weather to engage in skating, skiing, snowboarding, and the like, I must confess that I have never once experienced such an urge.
I had reached out to a friend several weeks prior regarding a potential meet-up to shoot fireworks on New Year's Eve. As it turned out, he was attending a ski/snowboard reunion that day, so I casually inquired about being added to the roster as a guest.
We left at the crack of dawn (very painful indeed), before the sun even made its appearance, and arrived at Mount St. Louis at approximately half past nine.
Originally, the day's plan involved my enrolment in a beginner class, followed by lunch and some form of group activity. But this was, in fact, not the case at all, for I was abandoned for the Black Diamond slope and blatantly excluded from any sort of interaction. It was heartbreaking to say in the least, and more reminiscent of a solo trip than anything else.
I knew that I would be experiencing soreness of a lifetime the following day. It would be an inevitable collection of pulled muscles (why had no one told me to stretch?!?) and even the tiniest movements resulting in waves of crippling pain.