As I sit here on this warm June evening in the comforts of my home, well satiated from a delicious dinner, feet happily soaking in a warm sudsy bath, I cannot help but smile. The 24th week of the year is coming to an end and just a few hours ago, I reached the summit of the 24th peak in my quest to conquer all forty-eight of the highest mountains in New Hampshire in 48 weeks. I’m exactly half way there and reflecting upon how this all got started.

Like most people, I have always been driven by goals. Most of my goals are the typical dreams we all share – to be a good mother, wife, friend, sister, daughter and neighbor. Contribute to my community. Enrich my career. Laugh and have fun. Stay active and healthy. Read a lot and learn something new every day.

But I’m also drawn to those goals that do not make much sense, goals that seem way beyond my ability but worthy of reaching toward if for no other reason than to prove to myself that I can. Without an exception, these goals always involve some sort of outside physical activity which push my body beyond my self-perceived limits and ultimately end up being more about spirit than body.

I’m referring to the feats I’ve recently set out to accomplish such as finishing five 50k cross country ski marathons in one winter, cycling 3000 miles in three months, or racing my bike up Mt Washington in “top notch” speed, a grueling endeavor which actually took five years of determination and sweat to finally accomplish. For me, New Year’s Eve is not a time for dreaded promises doomed for failure such as weight loss or quitting smoking. Instead, I set goals that will be both challenging and fun and this year, I chose to hike.

I have always been aware of the infamous forty-eight 4,000 footers, a collection of the state’s highest peaks for which there is actually a club for hikers who accomplish all of them to join, but while I love hiking, that never enticed me because my competitive side doesn’t respond to “take however long you need to accomplish this.” I needed to up the ante.

So on the last dark wintry night of the year while trying to conjure up a good goal for 2012, I thought, “what if I reached the 48 peaks in 48 weeks?” Instantly, my spark was ignited and three days later, I climbed to the top of the first of those peaks, Mt. Moriah, a 4,049-foot mountain with outstanding views. Or so the book said. On that day, it was ridiculously cold and when I reached the summit frozen to my core, the wind was howling fiercely, snow was stinging my face and visibility was nil. I took a blurry photo, quickly turned around and made my slippery descent back to safety with hands and feet that literally took hours to thaw and were very painful in the process. It was on that hike that I learned ice spikes are truly a girl’s best friend, and I learned a lot about how to dress for winter hiking. But mostly, I found myself grinning at the challenge. I could do this; one down, 47 to go.

The excitement that consumed me was unfortunately matched with ignorance. I didn’t realize how difficult it would be to find the time to make this a reality. I am raising three teenagers, managing a household, working three part-time jobs, and volunteering in my community. How and when did I think I was going to get my body on top of all of NH’s tallest mountains in only 48 weeks? In the first few weeks of the year, I conquered a few more mountains but then endured a skiing accident which resulted in a severe injury to my left knee and doctor’s orders forbidding any activity for six weeks. I was impatient and anxious to get back to the mountains.

Once healed, I continued hiking with a new frenzy and after I had accomplished a dozen of the mountains, I realized my elusive approach to hiking had taken a new twist and I was deeply attached to this goal. It was no longer a whim, I needed to do it. I felt more alive while on a mountain than anywhere else. I started keeping a journal, noting my experiences on each mountain and taking photos. I found a map on which I highlighted those mountains I had climbed. And I spent a lot of time reading the Appalachian Mountain Club’s “White Mountain Guide,” the book which I’ve now officially referred to more than any other book in my life. Like so many of my other seemingly meaningless goals (would it be too much for me to set out to do things that really matter such as save the environment, solve world peace, or cure cancer?) this experience is teaching me so much about myself.

Over the course of the past few months, my legs have taken me over many miles of deep snow, ice-covered trails, deep mud, and rocky trails. My maps have become torn, weathered, ripped, and nearly illegible but I guard them with my life. My boots are warn and torn. My poles are scratched. I spend more time on hiking websites and blogs than any other subject. I plan out each week and have become obsessed and possessed with making sure to juggle my work and family time to allow for a weekly hike as these walks in the woods have become my favorite time of the week and where all life’s problems magically disappear.

When I started this process, I thought of it as a mere physical challenge – could my body accomplish climbing 48 peaks in 48 weeks? However, throughout the past few months, I have experienced a major shift. I have discovered that this challenge has very little to do with my body or the mountains. While by choice or circumstances, I have done all these hikes alone thus far and when you put a person on a trail in the woods in the deep quiet, it is a very powerful experience. I have learned a lot about myself and the earth I so deeply treasure.

What started as a whimsical “I wonder if I can do this” thought has become a driving force in my life. I long to be in the woods; ache to see what’s next. I fear the goal is too big and I may not accomplish it yet I also know without a doubt, that I will. The first half of this journey has been done in winter’s cold, deep snow and spring’s wildly rushing rivers. While I shed the ice spikes, thermal hat and mittens and forge forward in a tank top and shorts, I anxiously await my upcoming experiences and all I will discover. I know I will not stop until it’s done and while I may have not saved the environment or all those dying of cancer, I know, with each step I take in the deep forests making my way up to the highest peaks of New Hampshire, I am becoming a better me. I look forward to writing my “I Did It” story in November and sharing the experiences of the second 24. It is, after all, all downhill from here.

Carol Meader is a resident of Raymond and writes the Inside Raymond column for the Lakes Region Weekly.