Reminiscing Rexburg

I was recently reminiscing with some friends about my days at Ricks College, and there's a topic I just have to bring up.

The ice.

Seriously. Whether it was in my nose, under my feet (where it belonged), or flying at my face as I did a triple-twist-land-on-my-rear in front of all those people, I have to say it is one of the top three things that instantly comes to mind when I think of the most memorable aspects of Ricks College life.

I'm from the Northwest. We don't do cold over here. Occasionally we'll get a little cold snap, but it rarely gets below 20, and doesn't usually last more than a few days. On average, if it hovers around freezing everyone here thinks it "sooo cold." I definitely belonged in this club.

Until the first time my nose hairs froze.

Can I just say what a shock it was walking out into Rexburg's sub-zero-freeze-your-rear-off temperature and having my nose hairs freeze? One innocent sniff of that arid, frigid, Rexburg wind and my nostrils became an ice forest. So unpleasant.

Then there was the battle up to the Smith Building. Eight o'clock am religion class - aka good-luck-getting-there-alive-because-they-haven't-salted-the-east-campus-sidewalks-yet. I vividly remember trying to make it up the sidewalk (in the dark) as that same arid, frigid, Rexburg wind (that was busy freezing my nose hairs) hit me so hard I would find myself sliding backwards down the hill. You can bet I was more careful in my schedule planning after that first semester. Nothing uphill until after nine. (Nothing period until after nine, if you really want to know).

But the worst thing about the ice, hands down, was the regular public humiliation that came with falling. It's almost like the Lord put the school in Rexburg just to ensure humility in all prospective students. You'd be walking innocently along, thinking you were doing fine, when all of the sudden BAM! Down on the ice. It wasn't so bad if you had a roomie or friend with you, because then the two of you could laugh together and you could act as if falling in front of hordes of people didn't bother you at all. On a good day, your roomie would go down with you (which could sometimes be arranged mid-fall), and you could share your humiliation as you crawled to the safety of a clear patch before attempting to once more attain a standing position.

But then there were the solo falls. The walking-all-alone-and-really-look-like-a-dork falls. It was like time froze as my feet flew out from under me, my arms desperately windmilling, and my legs flailing in a sad attempt to keep from actually hitting the ground. As I'd sense everyone suddenly slowing to watch the show (no doubt secretly hoping it was a worthwhile crash) I'd try to decide how to salvage a little self-respect once I was lying on the cold, hard, ground.

It doesn't matter how you play this one off, you're a loser either way. Try to act cool and get up as if you didn't just make a complete fool of yourself - and the crowd of people who stopped to watch just stand there and stare, reminding you that no, you are not cool.

Try to look like you're so well adjusted and secure that you can laugh at yourself and do your best to demonstrate how hilarious you think your acrobatics were - and the staring crowd doesn't crack a smile. In fact, you get the impression that they're all thinking you're a little insane, and that none of them have ever been the victims of icy-sidewalks. Liars.

Seriously. Staring people are so annoying.

Looking back, however, I have to say that overall that these repeated (and humiliating) falls were experiences in self-discovery. I learned that humiliation actually wouldn't kill me. I learned to be more considerate of others falling around me. And I learned that despite the hazards, I was not willing to resign myself to clunky old hiking boots every day. For me, feeling cute was worth the risks - both physical and emotional.

Let's face it - at the end of the day, it's all about the shoes.