The first thing I notice is that it’s cold. A layer of ice coats my lungs. The coppery blur of a chipmunk scampers across the path, startling me. Who knew a chipmunk could climb a mountain? I push forward. I feel like I have just run the turkey trot and, still there is more mountain. Frozen wind finger-paints the trees with frost. I pull my warm, cozy, gray, hat over my ears. The only thing in my vision is the top of the mountain.

As the last ledges appear above me I hurry. The boulders beneath me have been worn smooth by millions of feet. If I can make it this far I can make it anywhere.

When I come over the last boulder I am exhausted but proud. People cheer my name as if I have just won an award. When I finally touch the marker showing the top of the mountain I feel like I am glowing with pride. Glowing because I made it to the top, because I helped other people get here and because I achieved my goal.