The summit’s just there,” yells my guide, pointing over the spindly grasses clinging to the steep side of Pasochoa Volcano. I look out over the perfect pyramids of ice and stone that encircle us like the rings of a planet and silently plead with my heart to slow its beat, with my lungs to breathe more deeply.

My eyes brim with tears as my partner wraps his arms around me. “You’re a trooper,” he whispers. “And troopers don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying,” I pant into the gales of sharp, howling wind. “We’re 13,000 feet above sea level. It’s just the altitude, I swear.” I’m only half lying.

The four-day lodge-to-lodge trek through Ecuador’s Avenue of the Volcanoes was my idea. We’d hike by day and cozy up to the fireplace at night in a dreamy checkerboard of adventure and relaxation. The trail itself didn’t concern me. We’d done longer trails before; we’d even done them carrying all of our gear. It was the thought of the Andean altitude that turned my blood cold.