The biggest challenge I ever took involved running 13 miles without any training. While it sounds on the surface to be satisfying to my ego, if that were simply the case, it would have been an empty exercise of physical energy management and quite forgettable. Actually, it stemmed from a desire to help an extraordinary stranger who seemed to be on her last legs as if she were a boxer weaving stumbling and about to fall. To help her avoid surrender, I issued a spontaneous -- and physically devastating -- challenge to myself that I had no idea I could answer. The whole idea was to get her to renew her faith in herself.

It all began when my father took me to Hawaii because he was covering a three-day triathlon called the Ultraman. I got free tickets because I volunteered to be on a competitor's support crew. In Ultraman, each racer needs at least three to four people driving a van within a mile's distance the whole time to provide food, drink, time splits, mechanical fixes and moral and psychological support. Although the race is long and the pace is often slow, I was surprised to discover how utterly unboring it was.

This triathlon opens with a 6.2-mile swim from Kailua to Keauhou, followed by a 90-mile bike with 4,000 feet of climbing to Volcanoes National Monument. The second day, the bike covers 171.4 miles and includes another 5,000 feet of climbing and as much descending. On the final day, they finish off with a double marathon on the Queen Ka'ahumanu Highway, 52.4 miles from Hawi to the old airport at Kailua-Kona.

The crews provide everything from water, food, extra items in case things break and serve in tag-team fashion as pacers on the run. They are trained in first aid, but most important, they provide emotional support for the long race. When you're out there in 85 degree heat, with nothing but hard sharp lava rock as far as the eye can see, and you know you have at least 40 more miles until you can stop moving, you need a little pep. That was precisely my job. My sole purpose was cheering on Suzy Degazon of Puerto Rico. In my whole life I have never seen someone work so hard for something they know won't bring them glory, but high personal achievement. It was truly inspiring.

On the Sunday after Thanksgiving, Suzy had covered 39 miles and was desperate. There were 13 miles left in the race, and her willpower was fading, her heart was cracking, and her bones were aching. I would occasionally run a mile here and there in the beginning of the run to chat with her about various things, or surprise her with a nice cold sweet ice cream bar, which would cheer her up immeasurably, or make up funny jokes and skits to take her mind off the pain in her legs. But by mid afternoon when the mumuku winds rose along with the thermometer, salt began to cake on her back and neck. She began to stop repeatedly and wanted to quit, but we kept her going with inspirational thoughts. But with 13 miles still to go, it seemed all too much. The irrepressible, positive, funny and superhuman Suzy seemed to be possessed by this new, average, normal person who suddenly saw clearly the enormous folly she had embarked upon and who said with a depressed, practical finality that it was too much, she wouldn't go on.

Suddenly we were all confronted by this stubborn, fast-talking, funny Puerto Rican who decided with the finality of a donkey that her sole ambition in life was to sit. We couldn't think what to do, our resourceful minds were tapped, and our pepping-up energy seemed at an all-time low. I was watching her cry with what thimblesful of energy she had left, and decided to put my own comfort and stability on hold. I said in as serious a manner I could render: "Suzy, if you get up and finish, I will be by your side the whole way. I will not sit in the car once." She looked up at me in astonished disbelief, without a glint of her usual humor. "You girl better keep your promise, else you are a liar to me forever more," she said with her 'rico accent. I reaffirmed my statement with vigor and intensity, and we took off. Lucky for me, she was already so tired from the past two days that her pace was slower than normal, so I could keep up with her. Here I am: a chubby, white, well-meaning, naive, 15-year-old Valley girl with all hope for humanity, running next to a sleek, tan, muscular woman who embodies grace, courage, and a love for life that can't be humanly measured. Although I didn't know it at the time, I later found out that a decade ago she had wasted away to 58 pounds and nearly died of anorexia, but had picked herself up and found reason to live with the love of friends and a newfound passion for diving and endurance sports.

As the miles rolled away along the Queen K, as long as I entertained her with my huffing and puffing and allowed her to make fun of me, she kept going. This became the only thing that was important to me: showing her that if a white, not-in-shape girl could run the distance, then she most certainly could finish the last eighth of the race. I was nearing the end of my strength, and felt that I would be much happier laying in a coffin, dead, when something happened. In those the last miles, we were no longer limping along on asphalt and blisters, we were drawn onward by a magic carpet of shared will and enduring friendship. Suzy had now begun to urge me on with witty humor, and inspirational thoughts. My body was screaming, but suddenly the finish line appeared like the Emerald City with massage tables, beer, food, and cheering people awaiting. When we crossed the line, Suzy cried and gave me a sweaty hug with all her might. I was amazed at the affect I'd had on her. Did I really run 13 freaking miles for somebody else?!! Yes, I did, and I was so happy, and proud. I had unselfishly sacrificed myself for somebody else's dream.

The next days were followed by agonizing pain when ever I moved my body, and taking care of bloody blisters on my feet. But I earned that pain, so I hobbled with pride. This was one of my greatest challenges, with an even greater reward.