From 1997 to 2005, I worked as curriculum coordinator and on-site liaison for an international Jungian Psychology conference held in Switzerland. It was a marvelous experience through which I met some of the most brilliant analysts alive. Just listening to to them speak and impart their wisdom is a gift that I treasure to this day.

I spent two weeks in Switzerland every July and August and two weeks in January. Lectures were held throughout the week, but I had weekends to myself. During summer session, I went hiking in the Toggenburg Valley with various conference members. In 2000, a Presbyterian minister and financial planner asked if I'd like to join their small group.

The hikes I'd been accustomed to were vigorous and uphill, but didn't require special equipment other than hiking boots. There's a chain of adjacent peaks in the Toggenburg called the Seven Sisters. The plan was to take a lift two-thirds of the way up the Gamserrugg (2076m), hike to the top, down the back side and across the Panoramaweg Rosenboden, and up to the top of Chäserrugg (2262m), where there's a weather station and lovely little alpine restaurant that serves gros bier vom fass (I don't know much Sweiss-Deutsch, but what I do know is highly practical).

As we waited for the chairlift, the operator repeatedly said, "Schnee, schnee," whilst pointing to our feet. Knowing the Swiss as I do, I thought he wanted us to place our feet exactly upon the painted footprints (the Swiss can be a tad "rigid"). Turns out "schnee" is German for snow and none of us had crampons or poles (necessary gear for traversing snow and ice). Whoops.

Mid way to Gamserrugg, the minister became hot and unzipped his pants (the pants had zippers at the knees to convert into shorts. I just like using the phrase, "the minister unzipped his pants." Trust me, it gets a great reaction when telling the story orally.) It was a good ascent, uphill, intermediate difficulty.

The hike across the Panoramaweg Rosenboden was up and down. The path was very narrow with a vertical drop off one side at times. If, like me, you're not keen on heights, it'll induce a case of the cold pricklies when looking down.

Half way across, we made the acquaintance of a Swiss couple who appeared to be in their 70's. They scrambled over the path and rocks as naturally as mountain goats, also without hiking gear. They didn't speak English and none of us spoke German, but they'd look back, smile, and wave, encouraging us to follow them as the minister checked his map.

We soon learned the meaning of "schnee." We arrived to a snow and ice field that had a 60-degree incline. Uh oh. The three of us considered our options. Going back the way we came would take twice as long as going forward. We had approximately 2 hours of daylight left and clouds were rolling in across the peaks. Meanwhile, the "elderly" Swiss couple were gamboling across the ice field, beckoning us forward. We pushed on.

The first half of the ice field was no sweat; the incline was tricky. In order to have more traction, I was walking, hands first, fingernails clawing into the granular July ice and snow. We made it across. I felt a sense of relief and believed the worst part of the hike was over. Wrong.

The last leg of the hike was vertical rock with iron spikes blasted into the mountainside connected by knotted ropes. As I looked up in terror, I experienced a wave of vertigo. No way. Once again, I weighed my options: Climb up the cliff and pray I don't fall, plummeting to certain death (approximately a 10 minute climb or 2-3 seconds if unsuccessful) vs. turning back, in the quickly approaching dark and cold, and pray someone alerts the Swiss rescue authorities of my absence before I freeze to death.

I looked at the Swiss couple. They were nimbly scampering up the ropes. I firmly stated to my companions, "If Heidi's grandparents can do it, so can I!" and up I went. I don't know if it was the adrenaline surge, fear, determination, or all of the above, but the vertical climb felt like the easiest part of the hike.

When we reached the top, the minister snapped a photo of the financial planner and me, sitting on a rock, arms about each other's shoulders, with triumphant smiles upon our faces. We went to the little restaurant, had two large glasses of beer (the best I've ever tasted), and took the vernicular down the mountain.

You'll always be surprised by what you can achieve when the other option is a slow and certain death. AND successfully facing one challenge (particularly a physical challenge) cross pollinates to other areas of your life.

At the time I climbed the mountain, I was in the midst of a professional conflict. My climbing experience put everything else in perspective. I realized I'd made piddly, insignificant molehills into mountains. They ceased to be as I rode the vernicular down.