Turning back at this point would be more dangerous than continuing forward–it wasn’t an option. Trying to click into my skis on this grade would also be too risky. The only choice was to keep moving upward, up over the lip of the bowl and onto the gentler slope of the snowfield above. I knew this, logically, but I still couldn’t move my boot up to the next foothold. The fear was visceral, and I felt pathetic. I was frozen.