It was a dance I had never done before but had only dabbled in long, long ago in another decade, time and space; a different dancefloor, different music, different rhythm, different; different.  There were seemingly long stretches where we fell so deeply intertwined into the task at hand that my focus shifted from what my body was physically doing to emotionally just being in complete and utter awe of her focus, strength, drive and desire to achieve this goal.  This was pure passion.  This was pure motivation, pure love, and I was merely just a spectator.  I felt small and humbled by the powerfulness of it all - I felt like one of the boats I see on my own runs on the harbor; unassumingly bobbing along in the sunshine but really just watching the raging sea beneath it's boards, a simple witness to the utter fierce force.

This past weekend I had the absolute pleasure of being a pacer to my best friend during her fourth ultramarathon.  She had already ran 33 miles by the time I joined her for the last 17.  I haven't been running on trails since I was about 18 years old, and the trail that we were running wasn't even a running trail - this was a full-on hiking trail and I don't even think I would have brought my mountain bike on that trail.  It was difficult and technical, buggy, muddy, twisted with roots and holes and horse shit.  It was 95 degrees in the scalding July sun.  I was extremely sleep deprived, having only slept a few hours for the past several nights and after camping the night prior I was running on less than two hours sleep due to some guy snoring in a different tent and the race volunteers LOUDLY.DEBATING.EVERYTHING.at six thirty in the morning. 

There's so much to say about this, but I honestly can't even verbalize it all for a number of reasons.  Supporting her through those last 17 miles is definitely on my top 5 list of most humbling, powerful, meaningful running experiences.  For those few hours, for that brief time, our happy running hearts were dancing together.  It was simply amazing and there was a point in the race where I actually started crying because I was so proud of her and just so floored by her mental focus.  I have never experienced anyone so driven like that before, and although I'm admitting my tears here, I never let her suspect during the race because that's not my job as pacer and mud and tears have never played well together in my world.  I am so proud, humbled, flattered and happy to be her friend. 

However, I will say this:  I am not an ultrarunner.  I am a marathoner and have decided that the marathon is my race.  I'm not even certain if I am a triathlete, but time will reveal that label I suppose.  However, it was incredible to visit this foreign country of a completely different type of running, and to understand and define my borders a little more.  I was a tourist for the weekend, and although it was great and there are some pictures as souveniers burned into my mind, I don't think I could live there, but I do have the utmost respect for it and it's time to just add that passport stamp and head on home to my familiar 26.2.  Next weekend I will be home, next weekend we take it to eleven.