Goat Whisperer
Well-Known Member
You’re standing on the edge. Before you is a dark, blue, cold, gaping hole of ice. The wind blows, water trickles by, the sun glaring in the run off. Wind blows through your hair, rustles your light hiking clothes, pierces the silent tension. You look around at the immense beauty, the ice going on a distance, until it suddenly disappears in a horizon to the mountains below. The sun still threatens to blind you; but instead it magically sparkles because your eyes are hidden safely behind the dark lenses of your sunglasses. You look down again; your heart skips a beat. Death. It glares at you, staring back with darkness; the glacier threatens to swallow you whole with the accidental slip, simplest mess-up, and smallest hesitation. Breath comes deeply, the sharp cold air attacks your lungs and sinks to the bottom of your gut, making you feel heavier with each tense moment that passes. Breathing doesn’t help, your heart pounds against your chest, harder and harder with each beat. You have to move on. Your team is waiting on you, counting on you to keep going. Feel the confidence inside you. Don’t hesitate. Let it build up, you’ve done harder, you’ve faced worse. The sharp crampons on your boot dig into the ice as you prepare. Nervously, you adjust your backpack, take a step forward, rest your foot on the edge. Focus. Focus on the other side, the other wall of ice. See your foot there, it will get there, and you will pull yourself up. Pull back; rest your weight on your foot. Don’t hesitate. Breathe. Count: one, two, three, jump. In the air, legs spread apart, a sharp crunch, contact. Your foot is on the other side. The ice isn’t crumbling. Balance on that foot, your entire world is resting on that foot. Pull your leg forward, the backpack is apart of you, don’t fall back on it, into the darkness. You’re there. You stand confidently, both legs safely on the glacier, the crevasse behind you.
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