I do my best to not look down—to not lookup, either, for that matter—and just focus on taking the next step, and the next after that. My legs burn from the incline.
“I’m glad Emma decided not to come,” I tell Thorn, slightly breathless from the effort, the two of us at the front of the pack. And then, a confession: “It’s messing with me a little, too. Being this high up.”
Thorn glances over his shoulder just in time to see me lose my footing, the tiniest little slip, not enough to be dangerous.
“You okay?” Thorn asks.
“These boots are gold,” I tell him. “Someone really should have added them to the suggested packing list.”
He laughs, so fully it echoes off the rock wall to our left, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
I make a mental note to buy Emma a second milkshake when we get back down to the bottom, or fries. Or a cheeseburger. Or anything, really. Maybe she’d like a spa gift card?
“The dizziness, though?” he goes on. “Are you feeling nauseated? Lightheaded? Headache or anything else?”
I recognize the symptoms of altitude sickness, but thankfully, I’m pretty sure that’s not what this is.
“None of that,” I say. “Just…height anxiety? Is that a thing?”
He laughs again. “I think that’s got to be the official term, yeah.”
It’s only going to get worse the closer we get to the top. I can do this, though: mind over matter. Faith over fear and all that.
Fear leapfrogs ahead at the beginning of mile six.
I should find it comforting that, suddenly, there are cables to hold—a zigzagging line of them held up by steel poles, as if we’re in line at a theme park and just can’t see the roller coaster anywhere up ahead—
It’s not comforting. Not at all.
The only thing it puts in my head is that there’s a good reason for the cable railings from here on up: that it’s so steep, so dangerous, that we’re most definitely going to need to hold on to them.
All I can think of is Brittany, twisting her ankle and nearly falling over the edge of the switchbacks that day.
My mouth goes dry, and I’m suddenly having trouble swallowing.
I still have a decent amount of water left; I take a sip and hope it helps.
It does—but only a little.
“You’ve got this, Sadie,” Trey says, the back of the group catching up to us where I’ve paused. “You can do this.”
Hunter takes advantage of our brief break, seeming completely at ease up here as he whips his camera out to snap a shot of the expansive view.
“Can I borrow some of your fearlessness?” I ask him, only mostly joking.
Right now, I can’t fathom feeling anything but a burning desire for this to be over.
“Sadie?” Thorn says, looking down on me with concern from his slightly elevated position. “You good?”
He offers me his hand—a warm alternative to the cold, metallic cable that I will have to hold on to eventually—as inimmediately—and it’s just the right thing to get me moving again.
As soon as my hand closes around the metal cable, I feel better.
Safer.
I’m not going to fall. Scratch that—Irefuseto fall.
I have two jobs: to hold on, and to keep going.
