The grand finale. One of the best moments of my life so far.

As I popped my cheap bottle of champagne while sitting in the snow on top of Balsam Lake Mountain, everything was perfect. The sky was crystal clear and the snow was still deep. I was surrounded by four of the most important people in my life, and I’d just run ungracefully through an archway of hiking poles to celebrate the end of an era—my quest to finish the Catskill 3500 in one year. I made it in 357 days.

It all started quietly, without much thought. I read about the 3500 Club online, and I marked my first 3500 summit with a peanut butter sandwich on top of Balsam Mountain. Alone, as I usually was on the mountains. To become a Catskill 35er, you must climb the 35 Catskill peaks above 3,500 feet in elevation, plus four peaks climbed a second time during the winter season. A total of 39 summits. I was quite efficient in my pursuit, and I got all my peaks in about 191 miles, over the course of 23 hiking days, averaging 8.3 miles per day.

Nothing about the Catskill 3500 was supposed to change my life. But oh, how it did. These mountains wove themselves into my soul. They didn’t just put me back together, they built me up into a stronger, better, more alive and more loving person than I ever was and ever dreamed I could be after the previous few years.

When I finally left my marriage (11 months before I started the 3500), I think my biggest fear was that I would be forever defined as “the girl who got divorced before 30.” I had always been so much more than that. I was the girl who quit my journalism career to work in bed and breakfasts in Europe just because it sounded fun. I’d been to more than a dozen countries, I was a successful journalist and a mildly talented photographer. Of course, no one who knew me was ever actually going to relegate me to being defined only by my marital status, but hey, Catholic guilt is a powerful thing.

I was hiding when I first sought the mountains. I’d take my journal and my camera and go the whole weekend without speaking to another human, beyond a polite “hello” on the trail. The only reason that changed is because I love winter hiking so damn much. One day I found myself spun out on an ice-covered ledge, facing the wrong direction, unable to get my feet back under me and about two feet from falling down a very unpleasant-looking cliff. That was the day I grudgingly decided I needed to find hiking partners. I joined a Facebook group called Women Who Hike, and found myself at the last minute typing onto a message thread that I’d join a meetup happening that weekend.

These. Women. As much as I love the mountains themselves, the women I have shared them with should really get the credit for who I am today. That first group hike, I naturally gravitated toward the other woman who said the word “divorced,” and I was a bit wary of the animated one who brought homemade cookies (even though I asked for the recipe and had to restrain myself from stealing the whole bag). Koren and Caroline will both tell you when they met me that early March day last year, I was about as cynical and grumpy as you can get.

Three weeks after I began my pursuit of the Catskill 3500, I joined the two of them in an attempt to tackle the Devil’s Path in one day. I’d never hiked double digit miles, but I showed up with a liter of water and some Clif bars, so I thought I was good to go for one of the hardest day hikes on the East coast. Thanks to Caroline’s extra water supply and Koren’s eternal optimism, we made it over four 3500 peaks that day before bailing around the last one. More than 22 miles in one day, from sun up to sundown.

Just a little bit of rock climbing between mountains 3 and 4.

That single hike redefined what I thought I was capable of. It was no-holds-barred from then on. My friends and I have done whole ranges in a day. We drank mimosas as we watched the sunrise following a 4-mile hike in the dark, and we pulled icicles from our eyelashes in -35 degree windchill. We’ve shared pre-hike sleepovers and post-hike beers. I’ve learned to read topographic maps and follow a GPS. I can find the handholds on a rocky summer climb or pick out the shallowest passage in a winter snowdrift.

-35 windchill. This is how we celebrate a new year.

And in the midst of all that, it turned out that I could fall in love again. Caroline and Koren weren’t the only two pairs of hands lifting me up for our celebratory photo op that day—the two loves of my life, my boyfriend and his son, were right there with us. Tomorrow I get on a plane to go hike out west with Caroline, Koren, and another soul sister from that first WWH group hike, Caitlin. And in two months, I move in with Steve and Nicholas. In the UK.

As one old friend (and licensed therapist) told me, “You’ve become the person you were always meant to be.” The mountains teach you who you are, and who you can be. I can be the person who breaks trail for two miles on snowshoes while also reading the GPS. I can be the person who climbs 10 Adirondack high peaks in one day. I can get up in the middle of the night despite never having been a morning person, so that I can watch the sunrise from a mountaintop.

In the weeks since achieving 35er status, I’ve attended the club banquet and hiked a few more 3500 peaks with strangers. I’m starting to get to the point where I can identify the different peaks by sight. And I’m still learning just how much this journey has changed me as a human being. It feels good, this peace and confidence I carry with me. I have the Catskills to thank for that. I’ll never forget—especially now that I literally have them tattooed on my leg.

More people should drink champagne on mountains. And I should drink more champagne on mountains.