"I just want to go home," I wailed, lying in the snow staring up at Chronicle photographer Stuart Munro.
Two minutes into our informal ski lesson at Whakapapa, Mt Ruapehu, and I was ready to quit.
I'm glad I didn't, because an hour and a half later I'd be having the time of my life.
I learned about 30 seconds in that making snow ploughs (or pizzas to us non-skiing folk) to come to a stop was an "easier said than done" sort of thing.
As I took off, picking up speed and heading straight towards the face of a cliff, legs weaving wildly around, I futilely tried making the pizza shape. There was no stopping this train, though, and hearing Stu yelling "sit down!" behind me, I dropped on to my back and skidded to a stop.
The good thing about falling over while you're learning to ski is that everybody else is falling over too, so it's not embarrassing. It's still cold, though, and snow still manages to make it down the back of your jacket.
I'd like to blame tiredness and the high altitude for my reply: "Which way is down the mountain?"
After a few attempts at pulling myself up, Stu took pity and dragged me up. I could tell he was enjoying my misfortune.
If I thought I was tired then, it was nothing compared to how I'd be feeling in half an hour.
Ruapehu Alpine Lifts has a Discover Package for beginners with a Happy Valley or Alpine Meadow lift pass, skis, boots and poles or snowboard and boots, a scenic chair ride, and a beginner group lesson. It's $112 for adults and $80 for youth.
Freddie Lucas, our instructor, must have the patience of a saint. For the first half hour of our lesson I simply couldn't manage anything he tried to teach us.
Part of the reason was that I was hot, shaky, breathless, and just a little nauseous. Roughly every five minutes, Freddie would look at me and ask if I was all right.
I blamed my state on my poor level of fitness and my small breakfast, but Freddie said I would be surprised at how many people had the same problem.
The day before our ski trip, our chief reporter at the Chronicle gave me a lecture about making sure I was warm enough. Instead, I was stripping everything off. Jacket, hat, scarf and gloves were all torn off and thrown in a heap beside a snow-covered rock.
After a brief rest and a drink of water, I threw myself back into the lesson with the aid of the ever-helpful Freddie, and abruptly something clicked. Suddenly I was managing to ski without losing control and flying off towards the rocks.
I still felt light-headed, but that was quickly forgotten in the excitement of actually being able to ski a distance greater than 1m without falling over or nearly taking somebody else out.
Confidence restored, I was off, gliding - slowly and haltingly - down the hill.
"That's much better!" Freddie told me, just as another one of the women in our group whizzed past, heading straight for a cluster of rocks.
The chairlifts were easy enough to master, although on one trip around I got my poles tangled up with my chair buddy's, and could only call back "sorry! Sorry James!" as I slid away, unable to stop. Seeing as I never quite learned how to stop properly, I could only assume James was okay, and that I hadn't injured him in my clumsy exit.
All in all the day was a success. Once I got the hang of skiing I didn't want to stop, and we had a perfect, blue sky.
For anybody wanting to give it a try, the beginner class is the way to go. Based on my experience, perseverance is the key, but being well-fed and hydrated couldn't hurt.
And the aches and pains the next day? Totally worth it.