When I was handed the giant pair of ugly grey boots, I immediately felt a sense of repulsion, longing for my delicately soft brown ugg boots that were waiting for me back in my hotel room. Ski boots were easily the biggest cause of my ski-related misery on my ski trip; something as simple as the boots can make or break your experience and the discomfort can be enough to ruin your day of skiing. The most annoying thing in my opinion is that the boots may feel fine in the ski school, but the minute you walk a distance them for fewer than five minutes or by the time you get to the top of the mountain, you can be crippled with pain. So I grabbed my boots, looking at them miserably, the weight of them alone made me dread the thought of putting them on. I walked to the closest bench and set them beside me; glancing around me I could see angry skiers furiously jamming their foot into an unforgiving boot, and other people desperately trying to buckle the straps. And so I decided to try my hand at putting the boots on, and with this I immediately joined the group of people furiously jamming their foot into the boot. Wriggling my toes around, slamming my foot on the ground, pulling the boot up with every ounce of strength in my body, but to no avail. I'd become convinced that Italian shoe sizes were different and I'd somehow rented a boot two sizes too small, but I had then been informed that I was completely wrong with this opinion. Then, I looked down to see that one of the buckles I was supposed to open, wasn't open. I put it down to my lack of experience. My foot was then in the boot, buckling them was up next. Slipping the buckle into the ridge and pushing it down seemed like an easy task, but as I was soon to learn, it wasn't. The two bottom buckles were easy, I slipped the buckle into the ridge and pushed down with ease, which gave me confidence, and so I thought it couldn't be that bad of a task. They added a little pressure to my foot,