Step by step, breath by breath, inch by inch, we shuffle through a maze. A maze with one direction to go. The map laid out for us by dividers on either side. Each step is an awkward coordination of fundamentals. My knees carry my ankles, which are bound stiff. My boot thumps on the ground, signifying my success in coordination. A soft swish follows behind one step and precedes the next. It is multiplied by those around me until we are in a swarm of swish and thump. Swish then thump, thump then swish. Each breath softly shocks me awake as the cold morning air fills my lungs. It is crisp, though dampened by the cloth around my mouth and head. Breathing is a test up here. I fight to grab the scarce oxygen molecules from the air. In my arms, separated from my skin by inches of fabric, I hold 2 perfectly crafted slabs of metal. They are sleek and thin. While their shape may not amount to much in any other context, here they are a gift to man. 

As we approach the exit of the maze, the drone of the grand machines seeps through the padding in my helmet. I see them now, coming around in a monotonous routine. Inside they hold families, friends, and strangers with a common destination- the summit. My pants give one more swish, and my boots one final thump as I raise my eyes to the opening doors in front of me. A cozy room awaits. Two benches sit on either side of this tiny room. We shuffle and pack the room with eight people- family, friends, and strangers. We fill the simple, inviting benches with 4 on each side. The benches are stiff, though we can’t tell through our tightly bundled bodies. The walls are made of glass, confining us like fish in a tank. I raise my hand to temporarily free my fingers from the gloves holding them. Breath of this room’s former occupants still occupies the air, though it has been washed clean by its icy surroundings. It begins to mingle with our own. We watch it dance through the thin oxygen in white clouds. Eventually it lands on the walls, turning to water, then to ice. This is an unfamiliar, yet refreshing, reaction between elements for those of us from Phoenix. This room is our home for the next 10 minutes. Though we sit, dangling from a cable a hundred feet above jagged rocks and trees, it is a safe space. Soon, comforting small talk fills the small room. Scripted conversations play out while our white breath pirouettes out of existence. The strangers on the other bench become stories for the dinner table. Most remain nameless, only to be defined later by the tiny thread found between their corner of the world and ours. 

    In scripted silence, we turn our attention to the world beyond our glass walls. Slowly, our little box breaks from the industrial interior into a world of life. The ground far below us is covered in white clouds of ice, while the sky above is scattered in white clouds of water. The sky is separated from the ground by the climbing, slanted horizon; its border is jagged from the snow-covered pines. The pines lay dormant under blankets of ice clinging to every branch. Sometimes, if you look close enough, you'll see these blankets slip from the grasps of a branch, falling into a bed below. There, the sun fights a losing battle of melting the sheets. Our little box keeps climbing the face of the earth by a motor and a wire. About half way up now, the veins of the mountain come into clear view. They weave through the trees in intricate and skillful patterns. We see life rushing through them, down towards the heart where they will be pumped back into the mountain, just as we are now. The cycle repeats like clockwork with the sun. The end of our ride is now within reach, causing a stir in the cozy room. Jackets are zipped. Boots are tightened. Gloves are returned to their hands. Helmets are buckled. Friendly goodbyes are issued in excited voices. 

We come up and over an edge into another industrial building. The little box begins to slow, which is our cue to stand. As I stand up, I feel the weight of my multiple jackets shifting. The door in front of us slides open and the swish and thump starts again. Swish then thump. Thump then swish. We shed our tiny, temporary home on a wire like a chrysalis left on a branch. The loud thumps turn into soft crunches under my feet. I silence them by throwing down my slabs of metal, which get engulfed in the soft powder on the ground. My boots make it into the skis with a soft click. Suddenly, I feel the burden of traction lifted from me. I speed and turn with this new freedom. Soon I look out and find myself at the top of the world, toes over a ledge. I take one last dampened breath of the summit’s icy air then join the others on the descent back down to the heart.