The view from The Top Of The World is awe-inspiring.

And it’s freaking terrifying.

You get there by chairlift, traveling over terrain that, in the winter, is blanketed with soft and forgiving snow and covered with hordes of skiers. In the summer, the snow melts, exposing the rocky surface of the mountain, and the skiers give way to mountain bikers.

This is Whistler Mountain Bike Park, and I’m standing at the top of the highest point, looking down at a two-foot-wide path snaking down the side of the biggest mountain I’ve ever laid eyes on.

The trip to the top had been relaxing. After riding hard all day, we welcomed the first part of the journey in the air-conditioned gondola. That took us most of the way; then, an open-air chairlift carried us to the summit.

The scenery is nothing short of breathtaking.

At the top, the air is a good 20 degrees cooler than where we started, and it swirls in a way that it only can at the top of a mountain. My mind flashed back to a backpacking trip, years ago, in the Blue Ridge Mountains where we’d been caught in a storm that nearly blew us from the top of the ridge we were walking.

I am questioning myself.

This is crazy.

Can I do this?

The three of us have stopped near the trailhead to take pictures. As we take turns with the camera, we talk about what a great day it’s been and how excellent the trails are. And they really are - Whistler is a mountain biker’s dream.

But I’m starting to get nervous. As soon as we reach the starting point and look down, I hear one of the other guys mutter something beneath his breath. “Fuck that,” he says louder, “no way I’m riding that. See you guys back at the bottom.”

Just like that, he’s gone, and his absence does not help my nerves.

As I straddled my bike and put one foot on a pedal, my heart starts to race, and my anxiety is replaced with fear. I cannot will myself to push off, and I’m considering following my friend's footsteps and taking a second trip in the gondola.

But I will not.

This is a once-in-a-lifetime trip for me, and I know it’s extraordinarily unlikely that I will ever stand in this spot again. If I walk away, I fail myself, and the story is forever tainted. With a deep breath and slow exhale, I push off for the ride of my life.

I want to tell you that I shredded my way straight to the bottom, catching massive air at every jump and slinging dirt at every berm. The truth is, I held on for dear life, absolutely terrified for most of the ride.

But it was wicked fun.

My fear very nearly kept me from that run, but the pain of knowing that I could never tell the tale of Whistler without also admitting that I’d not done what I came to do outweighed that wear, and on the other side of it I found the time of my life.

I will always remember that trip. Not only for the good time and good memories but for the reminder of just how powerful fear can be. But as powerful as it is, it's only temporary.

Whereas the pain of knowing you never tried is forever.