Page 2 of Make It Last

She shrugged, all nonchalant and calm. “Yeah. Just like driving in a car, there’s always a risk.”

“Okay, but I am numb to the risks of driving. What’s the risk of walking across a glacier?”

I looked down at my boots. They were sturdy with grippy soles. I was feeling brave until she answered with, “Worst-case scenario, you could fall into a crevasse.”

“Excuse me?” I sputtered.

“Odds are slim,” Lacey continued, still way too calm. “But that’s what the ropes are for. We’re all gonna be roped together. We have gear. I know exactly where we’re walking. I’ve been across this section before. It should be fine.”

“Should? Is should enough?” I pressed.

She blinked. “It’s fine.”

That was how I found myself roped to three of my best friends and a guide with a baby on board, carefully stepping across a glacier. I had little crampons on my boots—those spiky things for ice—and I talked to myself the entire way. I did not fall into a crevasse. For the win.

But when we got to the far edge of the glacier, the guide glanced back with another smile.

“Okay, we’re in the clear. No more glacier crevasse concerns. But when we get to the edge, you’ll need to do a little bit of a jump to clear the gap between the glacier and solid ground.”

“A jump?” Amy squeaked.

“Just like… a leap,” she said, all breezy and casual.

“Oh my God,” I whispered under my breath.

“You go first, Amy,” Helen said.

She did, taking a little leap, graceful and effortless, like she did this every day. She landed and turned around to meet my eyes with a grin. “You’ve got this.”

I took a deep breath, put my hands out, and jumped.

“Ouch!” I exclaimed the second I landed.

A few minutes later, our guide crouched beside me where she’d guided me to sit on the ground by a boulder, well clear of what I was now calling “that stupid glacier.” “Well, I think you’ve broken your ankle.”

“What now?” I was trying to stay calm, but my ankle hurt.

“I’ve already called emergency services.”

“Are they going to fly in and transport me by helicopter?” I asked, picturing some dramatic, slow-motion rescue with blades spinning and wind in my hair.

“Doubtful. We’re not far from town, so they’ll hike up,” Lacey explained. She worked quickly, stabilizing my ankle and assuring me I'd be okay.

“Ankle breaks are a nightmare,” I said to Helen a few minutes later.

“Are they?”

“Yes. They’re absolutely a nightmare.”

“How do you know?” she asked.

“Because there are so many tiny bones. My life is ruined.”

“Dramatic much?” Amy asked dryly.

They could tease because the pain was surprisingly not horrifying. Yet. My friends also knew humor was the way to get me through a bad moment. “Yes! I broke my ankle. This was supposed to be a fun, celebratory trip!”

I could tell Lacey felt bad, but I’d been the one who jumped way too high. I just went for it like I was a mountain goat trying to prove something. Totally unnecessary.