IN ARIZONA, SOMETIME before the moon set on Picacho Peak at an ungodly hour Monday morning, Pam Reed passed Dean Karnazes's personal best—262 miles. It had taken him about 75 hours, and it took her 67. "It felt good to pass Dean's record," she says. "But, you know, he was running on hills. It's just going to feel good to go 300 miles." Her form looked almost no different from nearly three days earlier, but her speed was even slower, down to 20-minute miles. Earlier in the night, she'd nodded off for a few seconds as she ran; now she was listening to AC/DC on her 16-year-old's iPod Shuffle.

At 1:57 p.m., 79 hours and 57 minutes after beginning, Reed shambled across the 300- (actually the 302-) mile mark. She hugged her three sons and her parents, who'd been camped beside the road for four days in a Minnie Winnie, cooking her pasta and oatmeal. A few local reporters gathered, and she answered questions and took off her shoes. After 302 miles, she had exactly one blister. The previous evening, the 60 Minutes segment had aired, and by June she would finally secure a long-sought book deal from Rodale Press to write about overcoming anorexia to become an elite athlete. "I want my book to be more on life and how hard it is to be a mom and person and wife," says Reed. "To continue on with training, there's a huge price you pay."

Still, the feeling of achievement was sweet. "I love it that I did it," she said.

Karno probably didn't feel so good, although he acted as if he hardly noticed. He said he'd revised his goal from 300 miles to 500 miles anyway, and that he'd try it on a flatter course, possibly from San Francisco to Los Angeles. "I would never discount what Pam's done," he said. "I applaud anyone who can run that far, but it seemed kind of contrived. It's just not where my heart is, running around in circles. What she did and what I did are so different. I ran 262 miles through the mountains.

"As in every ultra," Karnazes emphasized, "I just compete against myself. I gotta say, I think her ego is bigger than mine."

Not one to take a challenge lightly, Reed upped the ante. In May, she invited Karnazes to join her in a head-to-head 500-mile race sometime within the next year. "The rule would be 500 miles and whoever gets there first," said Reed. "Whatever happens, it would be a win-win." In June, Karnazes said he would accept if the right course and charity could be lined up.

Finally, their rivalry could be openly expressed.

It would be like Billie Jean King and Bobby Riggs!

Like Seabiscuit and War Admiral!

Or not. By early August, Reed was reconsidering, thinking maybe she'd do a 500-miler across the state of Arizona instead. In July at Badwater, she'd had to settle for fifth as Jurek, in his first appearance at the race, wiped out the competition. She hadn't even gotten to face Karno: He'd skipped the event to compete at the world championships in Austria, where he came in 34th overall. Now Reed just seemed tired of it all. "How much more do I have to prove here?" she asked. "I'm not getting any younger. I should forget about Dean." But then again, she added, laughing, "I really would like to run 500 miles. How sick is that?"

For many in this publicity-shy sport, a cease-fire would be a relief. "There are some people for whom any race is never enough," says Ulrich, the Badwater master hallucinator, who describes himself as a "recovering" endurance addict. "I look at them and see they've got a long way to go and a lot to learn. I have respect and appreciation for them. But when you start comparing yourself to other people, it's a bad road to go down. You should be happy with yourself."

Words to run by, no doubt. But perhaps not just yet.