I did it. I conquered you. Wheezing and sore and sweaty, I conquered you, mountain. About ten minutes into the hike, I was starting to regret my decision to “get out of my comfort zone.” I tried to breathe in and out, my calves were burning, and I was focusing all my energy on not falling over.

I’m sure you knew that I’m not an outdoorsy person. I prefer a good book to a good workout, a delightful sweet pastry to a steep climb. I joke that I’m an indoor Kat.

When my friends and I took a weekend trip to Scotland, one of the items on our list of adventures was Arthur’s Seat—an easy, 30-minute hike that looked over the city. I threw in my enthusiasm, for I caught the travel bug and the symptoms were a sense of adventure and an eagerness to explore. I was in good company, I would be fine, I told myself.

And you know what? I was.

The last time I hiked a mountain, I had a slight panic attack—we were nearly climbing it instead of hiking, my knees were giving out, I had no breath left to give. The time before that, I tripped on a tree root, dislocated my knee, and had to be carried—also involving a French man and a horse, but that’s a different story. And the time before that, a 5-mile hike turned into a 7 and ½ mile hike when we got lost. So I don’t have a great track record for hiking.

But I was fine. My knee didn’t give out, I didn’t cry or fall, my friends were kind and patient with me, and the view was really incredible.

I’m usually a firm believer in knowing your limits and being careful not to push them. But I’m starting to see that getting out of your comfort zone—both physically and mentally—can bring some worthwhile experiences. You are not the limits you set for yourself. Know your limits, but also know that they are flexible.

It might be a while before I hike another mountain, but maybe mountains aren’t so scary. Maybe mountains and I can be friends.