It's a nice and sunny morning. It's 30 degrees, way warmer than the average ten degree day over the past few weeks. I wake up at 7:00 AM sharp, much earlier than usual and get straight out of bed. No usual excuses. After brushing and showering while trying not to wake my roommate, I make my way down six stories. I gaze out at Army Tower glistening in the sunlight, the light snow on the roofs and frost on the windows turning the building into something straight out of Harry Potter.

I bound down the stairs, feeling no pain from brutal leg exercises last week. Walking through the basement of McFaddin Hall, I think about the breakfast I'm about to eat: blueberries and raspberries, hash browns and eggs, milk and honey. I open the heavy old wooden door to the fresh morning, reminding me of the Bay at this time of the year. The ground is slightly puddled.

I walk towards the main house and see that my usual pebbled path is covered in snow. Instead of risking slipping, I go the long way on the sidewalk. Especially since I'm wearing my beat-up dunks with such little friction that they would qualify as ice skates. Generally I have my hands exposed to catch myself in the off-chance I fall, but I put my hands in my pockets since I'm taking the safe way. This way has never betrayed me.

As I saunter down the path, I look at the beautiful Victorian houses in the distance, and suddenly go flying like a car in Mario Kart that hit a banana on that one icy track. My feet go straight into the air and my arms shoot out of my jacket to save my life but it's too late. I see someone else look at me reeling on the ground and that hurts more than the actual fall. I scramble to get up and quickly escape to the sloshy grass. The person I saw looks at their own feet and slows down their pace.

I run to the main house—ultra-carefully—while the person is on my trail. I feel like a clandestine agent trying to evade the enemy. My knees throb with pain, and my hands burn even worse than after an intense climbing session. Then I immediately think about writing this.