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Wrapped in a swarm of white clouds, at an elevation of 4610 ft, my friend Lucas and I were 257 ft from the top of Whiteface Mountain. There was only one thing in our way from summiting; a 320 m stretch of narrow, ice-filled stairs. They glistened in the snowy wind. I chuckled to myself. It was a stairway to heaven… or hell, if you took the wrong step. To tell you the truth, staring up at that stairway, I felt perfectly content right at the bottom of it. I was safe here. I was comfortable. Being so close to the top made the intensity of the winds almost unbearable and considering this hike had already demanded everything I thought my body could handle, I didn’t think I could make the climb. Not to mention, I was scared. Most people won’t understand why, I had already gone so far, but then again, most people don’t understand just how tall that mountain was. You can’t see 4610 ft. But when you’re there, looking over the edge, it’s not just a number anymore, it’s real. That’s when the stories bombard your mind. Stories of people falling from mountain ledges. The numbers. They hit you like a snowball to the face. So, I froze, both figuratively and literally. Ironically, in many ways, I wanted to be a number. I wanted to say that I had stood on top of the frozen behemoth. Just like the 4000 who climbed Everest had become a part of its history, I wanted to become part of Whiteface’s, and sequentially, shape my own. I caught Lucas looking back and forth towards me and the summit. I knew what he wanted. And I knew he saw the fear in my eyes. “I gotta go for it,” he said. “It’s right there.” That’s the kind of guy he was, never any half measures, it was all or nothing for him. With or without me, he was summiting Whiteface Mountain. I thought about stopping, I really did, but I told myself that I needed to do this. History has a tendency of repeating itself, I realized, and I did not want it to have anything over me. I took a deep breath of the freezing air and told Lucas to lead the way. I kept my eyes locked on my feet, making sure every step was perfectly placed. My trembling hands tightened around the handrail. I felt like Atlas, carrying the weight of the sky on my shoulders. I, like him, was condemned to this pain after making my choice. I had to continue though, there was no going back now. I’m sure the Gods laughed as I struggled. Don’t be that kind of number, I thought to myself. Be like the 4000 to climb Everest, not the 300 who died. Don’t let my fear get in the way of my history. I could see the final incline. 15 stairs left. Lucas was just about there, finishing his last few. I called out to him with what felt like a cry of relief, “Wait for me! We’re doing this together.” 10 stairs. He looked back at me, holding out his hand as if it were the trophy, I had worked all my life for. 5 stairs. I reached out, grabbing it in pure ecstasy. He pulled me up. We walked the final steps to the summit together. Our eyes widened. We stood on a plateau of rocks, floating amongst the clouds. El. 4867 ft, 1483.5 m, WHITEFACE MT., read a whitecapped shaped sign. We embraced, not just in celebration, but in a silent appreciation for each other. We felt like Gods, and maybe even for a second, they looked at us like that too. Maybe that’s why they’re eternal, I thought. Some endured the toughest of tasks, but because of it, they will forever feel alive. I smiled to myself. The toughest of times show us not who we are, but who we can be. I liked what I saw. All my previous negative thoughts; wiped, in an instant. There was no more fear, just the fear of never feeling like this again.