It was what I thought was going to be an easy going Saturday at the beach, but of course I was wrong.  A few of my friends and I took a trip to the infamous Blacks Beach, a nude beach in San Diego that actually has optimal waves for surfing.  The trouble started with a set of perfect waves. My friend, Niko, who was surfing closest to me, and I were graced with an amazing 10 minutes of quality surfing that surpassed the entire previous two hours. We used this as an excuse to return to the beach to brag of our conquests.  With our story properly told and exaggerated, we felt the need to sightsee the cliffs near us.
    

Quite quickly, Niko found a path next to a small stream, which was unfamiliar to both of us.  As we were walked up the path, it slowly transitioned in a ledge. This did not deter us, although it should have. On this path there was a light but pleasant breeze cooling us from the heat. The farther into the journey, the narrower the ledge became and the higher we were from the small stream. We went on for another fifteen minutes until we reached a large pile of boulders, this was where we knew we could go no farther. This was when I realized I had made a huge mistake. I looked to my right over the edge and saw that the drop was at least forty feet straight down. I froze. My heart and stomach felt as if they had just began the rapid drop from the top of a roller coaster. The once pleasant breeze, now felt as I was being pushed towards the edge. The distance from me to the bottom seemed to be expanding. My breathing became rapid and choppy. I was having a panic attack. I could not move.
    

“Come on, let’s go,” Niko exclaimed at me.
    

“I… can’t… move,” I choppily told him. After some struggle, he decided to go get the others. I waited for what felt like hours for them to come. Even when they did arrive, there was no improvement to my state of panic. They began to berate me with comments such as telling me to move or that this was no big deal, and etc. I struggled with trying to move but I simply could not, the entire group expected me to be easily able to continue back. A war went on in my mind between moving or staying exactly where I was, a battle of safety and embarrassment versus potential danger and group satisfaction. Everyone was getting impatient and wanted me to hurry and go. The fear won and told me that I could not move. Joyce, one of the females in our group, then got an idea to help.
    

“What if I give you a piggyback down?” The question lingered in the air.
    

“Okay.” I responded, in whisper. I then proceeded back down the trail, on her back. Leaving all my dignity back at the top with the boulders, I reaffirmed that my inherent fear of heights and falling trumps an measure of peer pressure, no matter the group size or gender.