Learning to love sport has been a painstaking and difficult process.
A long time ago, way before my teenage years, P.E. lessons would be characterised by being freezing cold and not being picked for teams. Like many boys whose natural aptitude was not for kicking, throwing or catching, the sixty minutes where you had to stand and shiver in defence (or if playing cricket, somewhere out towards the boundary) would be the worst minutes of the week.
Heading into my teenage years, things improved slightly when I began to turn 'being bad' into an artform. I even relished a short stint as the school's Best-Worst Goalkeeper Ever.
Nowadays, with no constraints being placed on my sporting activities, I can finds things that I enjoy doing, regardless of how well I do them. Climbing. Badminton. Even skiing, although my bum gets used as a third ski a bit too often.
And that's what I'll be doing, in just under a fortnight's time - strapping planks to my feet and whizzing downhill really quickly. I love it. I also suck, of course, but I really love it.
