Mechanically, predictably (inevitably even), the chair lift deposits you at the top of the mountain. You're feeling cocky and strong - pumped to take on Whistler's toughest run. An observant onlooker may even detect the subtle flourish of your poles as your skis hit the snow. But just before you clear the path of the lift, the chair gives you one of those catch-you-off-guard little kicks in the butt. As if to say, "you're next, sucker."

You shake it off; you've seen one black diamond run, you've seen 'em all. (Right?)