I've run 27 marathons and biked thousands of miles over the years. I'm not a super athlete, but I can do physical stuff for hours. “For hours” is the part I love. Good thing, because I have yet to break four hours for a marathon.

For those of you unfamiliar with marathon times, the winners run the 26.2 miles in just over two hours. To qualify for the Boston Marathon, I'd have to run the distance in four hours and five minutes. My best time ever: four hours and six minutes. There's hope for me, but just barely.

With all that exercise, it's easy to start feeling invincible. (Secretly, invincibility was my goal. It was a little ego charge to know that running 10 miles was no big deal.) The day our friends Bob and Julie told my husband Ron and me we had to hike Kearsarge North, it sounded intriguing but sort of wimpy. Hiking? A long walk? Well, maybe we’d try it after one of those vigorous 12 mile runs we liked to take.

We'd visited the Mount Washington Valley for years, always enjoying a ride across the Kancamagus Highway or up to Pinkham Notch. We spent our time taking scenic drives, running on the valley roads, and shopping at the outlet malls. Occasionally someone would tell us about a spectacular waterfall or scenic vista (Ellis and Sabbaday Falls come to mind), and we would take the short walk.

Real hiking was something else. I didn't fit my picture of a hiker the I buy all my outfits at a sports shop type of hiker. Nonetheless, I was intrigued. Our friends went on about how the hike was tougher than it looked and you had to be prepared for it.

These friends greatly admired our running stamina, as many of our friends did, and at that point I think it had gone to our heads a bit. Our friends said to plan about six hours for the hike. If these weekend warriors did it in six, we would surely finish in four hours, if not three.

The morning of our big adventure, I put on my discount-store hiking boots, my one concession to the hike. I pulled on street jeans (fashionable rather than comfortable) and several layers of tops. I rejected the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches Bob had told us were mandatory for energy, although I did make some homemade trail mix as Julie recommended. Ron packed his PB&J sandwich and off we went our first real hiking experience.

We found the trailhead and felt a little thrill just saying “trailhead” like real hikers. The tiny parking lot was packed with cars, but no one was in sight. It was about 8 a.m. We set off on a nice stone and pine needle trail. I was breathing in the air and feeling on top of the world. In six short miles I really would be on top of the world! We'd heard that on a clear day you could see the ocean.

Soon the trail began to rise. Finally, some challenge to this leisurely walk. I hoped I'd have time for a run when we got back. The walk became a steady climb, sometimes a little steeper and sometimes flattening where the trail switched back to alleviate some of the steepness. Nothing I couldn’t handle. But at some point I began to look forward to those short, flatter sections.

Not much farther along, I noticed I was quite warm. Hot, in fact. Sweating. I stopped (secretly thankful for the break) to shed the layers down to my t-shirt. In way too short a time we were back on the trail heading upwards.

Ron finally (and thankfully) mentioned that this hike was tougher than it seemed. Behind him, I was drenched in sweat, my stiff, soggy jeans soaked through. I looked down at my watch. We'd been hiking for 20 minutes! How could that be possible? But giving up never crossed my mind.

Then we turned the corner of a switchback and the trail got even steeper. I offered my husband $50 for his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He wouldn't bargain.

At some point I realized hiking is about the journey, not the destination (although the summit was every bit as beautiful as promised). With my goal-oriented outlook I expect I'll probably keep learning that lesson with every new adventure. I was completely humbled and hooked on hiking that day and have a couple of weekend-warrior friends to thank for it.

Next, I'll tell you the story of my experiences with yoga, another “sport” I once considered wimpy, but I'll leave that for another day.

By: Gini Cornila, Master Gardener