The hill next the Stamp Student Union is steep and we all hate it. Enoch Hsiao/For The Diamondback
It was a bitingly cold and blustery day. My attire, which included a scarf pulled up around my face, a hat and a heavy jacket, looked like a poorly executed Eskimo costume. I had 10 minutes until the start of my first class.
I trekked across the hilly, parking lot-filled landscape that constitutes the majority of this campus and eventually came to my least favorite part of the journey. I neared the corner of Union Lane and Fieldhouse Drive and gazed up at the hill next to Stamp Student Union: a hill that is essentially the Mt. Everest of the College Park campus.
Every fiber of my being told me to turn around. Unlike an Eskimo, I didn’t have a team of peppy sled dogs to pull me up the hill. I didn’t even have one sled dog to keep me company.
I knew that I could opt to walk into Stamp, go up the elevator and exit through the other side of the building. However, that option was ruled out after I considered the fact that making that journey while bundled in so many clothes would lead to me overheating and my eventual death. Dying in front of a Panda Express because I was too lazy to take my jacket off was not how I wanted to go.
I began the ascent. The first few strides were easy — that is, until I hit an icy patch on the sidewalk.
“Curse these tractionless boots,” I thought, as I began to slip on the ice. I would have shaken my fist angrily in the air had my hands not been permanently shoved inside of my pockets for warmth.
Before too long, a valiant soul on a bicycle began to ride up the slope. I watched as his legs struggled to pedal. I prayed that he would make it, that Stamp Mountain would not claim its next victim.
Alas, it was too much for him. About halfway up, he angrily dismounted his bike and resorted to walking it up the hill.
“It’s all right, noble warrior,” I mumbled into my scarf. “Maybe next time, you will conquer the hill while still perched atop your metal steed.”
The wind continued to blow directly into my face. The whole ordeal felt like Mother Nature screaming, “Don’t do it! Go back! That geography class is just an I-Series! Those don’t matter, right?”
I turned and watched as a girl began to frantically jog up the hill. She looked as if she was about to be late for something. I admired her athleticism and determination, for the only thing running on my side of the street was my nose.
Finally, I reached the summit. As I took a moment to peer back down the slope, I realized my water bottle had fallen out of the side pocket of my backpack and was sitting at the bottom of the hill.
I kept walking. I never really liked that water bottle anyway.
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