The sun blazes down on the half-pipe. Every time I nail something, Saskia raises the bar. I’m pushing it as hard as I dare. If I break something before the Le Rocher Open tomorrow, I’m screwed.

By midafternoon, my water bottle is empty again. I’ve already trekked to the midstation once to refill it. I leave my board at the bottom of the pipe like last time, among the colorful array of others, and jog across the plateau.

On my way back, I pass a family of skiers—mum, dad, and small child—in agitated debate on the cliff edge. When I peer over, I see why. A tiny blue glove lies on the snow below.

My gaze returns to the family. Strapped to the man’s chest is a baby, all bundled up against the elements. Only his little pink cheeks are exposed. And one small bare hand. He must have dropped the glove from the rickety chairlift that rattles overhead. Le Rocher isn’t a family-friendly resort and it’s the first family I’ve seen here. They must be locals.

I check either way along the cliff. I’ve jumped higher ones plenty of times. If it’s not over twenty foot, it’s not even a cliff, according to Whitelines magazine. But it will eat into my training time. I look over my shoulder at the pipe, where Saskia will be increasing her lead, then back at the baby and his poor bare hand. Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve stuck my water bottle into my sports bra and I’m running to the edge. The woman’s hand flies to her mouth as I leap.

Midair, a realization hits me. I’ve only ever jumped cliffs with my snowboard on. This is going to hurt . . .

I plummet through the air. Powder and rocks loom below. As my boots touch down, I tuck my shoulder in and roll, coming to a stop, plastered with snow. I raise my goggles and see the family’s shocked faces peering over the cliff at me. Now, where’s that glove?

A twinge of pain from my knee as I scramble up. Old injury; it does that sometimes, and today’s wipeouts didn’t help. I hold up the glove and the parents clap. As hard as I can, I hurl it upward. The man snatches it and shouts out his thanks, and the family disappears from view. Now I need to figure out how to get back up.

After a long sideways hike through deep powder, I’m finally back at the pipe, sweaty and breathless. And all that for a bloody baby glove.