When I wake up in the morning, the first thing I do is look outside. Being from Florida, I pray for sunshine.

I use this glance out the window as an opportunity to determine what to wear on my feet. I have two rules:

1) If it is snowing, I don’t wear sandals.

2) If it is raining, I don’t wear sandals.

In all other instances, sandals are the choice of footwear.

This system worked fine until Tuesday. I looked outside and saw the sunshine covering the Timothy Dwight courtyard. I threw sandals on my feet and I quickly buttoned a long-sleeved shirt. I ran outside, since I was already 15 minutes late for “Fractal Geometry.”

Just 10 seconds into my jog I could no longer feel my ears. What is this? The sun is out; why isn’t it warm? Why is it only 18 degrees?

Sadly, I discovered I was no longer in Orlando, and the sunshine indicator failed me for the first time. Sunshine does not imply warm weather. And 18-degree weather means the days of fall sports are over.

What am I supposed to do now that snow is on the ground? Go through the basement to get to the dining hall? Wear my O.J. Simpson ski mask? Learn how to play winter sports?

My knowledge is very limited when it comes to sports played in the winter. In Florida, our tennis season starts in December, and masses still flock to the beach for pick-up games of volleyball. Last week I played golf three times in 75-degree Floridian weather. I guess I will have to ditch my beach volleyball shades for protective squash eyewear.

Camp Yale freshman year was the first time I had ever heard of squash:

Chris: Hi, my name is Chris. I am from Orlando. I am in Directed Studies (oh the former ego I used to have).

Abigail: Hi, my name is Abby. I am from Brooklyn. I play squash.

C: Did you go on Harvest?

A: Umm, no. Why?

C: You like to play with squash.

A: Who are you? Squash is a sport.

C: (Looking nervously back and forth) So, what college are you in?

Wishing to avoid any future awkward social situations, I quickly signed up for squash lessons at the beginning of this year. I love those free classes at the gym. Half of the class speaks broken English and three-fourths of the class is graduate students. Many fall into both groups.

Learning squash did wonderful things for my tennis and table tennis games. I now play tennis like squash, table tennis like tennis, and squash like table tennis. I think there are therapy groups for people like me.

Playing too many sports in a short period ruins any chances of success. Earlier this year, I played intramural volleyball on Tuesday, and on Wednesday I was out on the soccer field. Classic Hanson was in action during the soccer game. I jumped into the air to hit the ball with my fist, realized it was not a volleyball, twisted my body to stop my hands from touching the ball, and ultimately smashed into a trash can on the sidelines. And Trumbull kept playing! Who could not stop and appreciate this masterful maneuver?

I think winter sports will just cause further confusion. Soon, I will want to hit the squash ball with my head.

Hockey is always the other intramural possibility in the winter. I easily can skate in a circle. Put 15 pounds of protective gear on me, and I think I could still make my way around the rink.

But going from side to side is a problem, and whether or not I am wearing gear, I still can’t skate backwards. I am thinking “Little Giants.” Intimidation goes a long way. But I think I will leave this event to those maple leaf Canadians in Timothy Dwight.

Yet, I must persevere. Only three weeks until I am home for Christmas. And that means the sunshine indicator will be in full force.