Ode to back-of-the-packers: run your race

At the time of this writing, there are still 28 mushers running the Iditarod race trail. There is much anticipation as to who will win Iditarod each year, and each year, there seems to be a fight to the finish among the top five teams. There are lots of stories of drama, challenges and adversity. This year's race certainly outdid itself in that category.

When the winners come in, it doesn't matter what time it is, the crowds gather. Cameras flash, and fans cheer far and wide.  Now that 3/4 of the racers have arrived in Nome, it seems things have died down. When those last 28 roll into Nome, do they find the crowds gone?

I personally tip my hat to the back-of-the-packers, for while many if not all mushers face adversity on the trail, often it is those who are last to come in who face the most adversity, who run their own race despite odds and often in solitude. They're the mushers who run their own race without worry about what the others' strategy is or how far they have in lead. They are the ones who, for them, it's not so much a race as it is an experience, a journey with many places to stop and marvel at the amazing life unfolding.

Really, I have no business writing this. I am small potatoes compared to any Iditarod musher, regardless of where they finish.

But this is an homage to much more than the Iditarod. It is an ode to the lifestyle, to those who live outside the lines, those who run their race without thought about whether or not they are good enough. It's a tribute to those who know that just showing up is enough.

It's about setting goals and sticking to them, despite the odds. Those in the back-of-the-pack are often the ones who face the most adversity, who run in solitude having been left behind by faster teams. They are the ones who can face the toughest set backs, like Minnesota's Nathan Schroeder whose father reported that not only was his team sick with a virus and stalled at the White Mountain checkpoint, but Nathan himself was sick and "coughing blood."

It takes a special breed of person to run dogs. As Robert Service said in his poem "The Men Who Don't Fit In":

There's a race of men that don't fit in,
 A race that can't stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
 And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
 And they climb the mountain's crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
 And they don't know how to rest.

If you're ever able to attend a dog sled race, stick around to welcome the back-of-the-packers. In doing so, you will welcome some of the toughest people with the most fortitude that you will ever meet. 

*Update: Nathan and Jodi Bailey came into Nome as I was writing this. Welcome in! 

Foxy: A Tribute. 12/28/96 - 8/30/12

Writing about grief is difficult for me. To be honest, I get squirrelly. I learned how to compartmentalize uncomfortable feelings well from working in hospitals for years. It's not necessarily a skill I am proud of, but one of self-preservation - a necessary evil when working around the tragedy of the human experience.

But this is not a tragedy. This is a heroic tale of an amazing canine athlete, one exalted to magnificent heights; indeed, Foxy lived a full and amazing life. I had to take some time away from this subject in order to write a proper tribute. In the quiet of a rainy post-holiday, it seemed the perfect time to slip away and lose myself in reflections of Foxy.

She would have been 17 on December 28. Seventeen in dog years is...119 years old. She was born on what I'm told was one of the coldest nights ever in Eagle, Alaska: December 28, 1996.

There are many stories from many people about Foxy and how she touched their lives, but I will start with my own.

I first met Foxy in September of 2006.

 
She was the first sled dog I bought. Her dense, woolly coat was unlike anything I'd ever seen on a dog; it seemed to almost glisten with an oily sheen that protected her skin and kept her dry and warm. Her huge paws had long tufts of hair growing out from between the pads to protect her feet; the same tufts grew out of each ear. Everything about Foxy made her perfectly equipped for the tundra of Alaska.

She had been transported from her home in Eagle, Alaska by one of the few other mid-distance mushers in Ohio, Tom Roig.When I brought her home after buying her from Tom, I spoiled her in ways she'd never been. She adjusted quickly to life inside, however. ...

I had hoped to use Foxy for at least one season, but when I got her, she was already nine years old, and pretty much done with being a sled dog. And really, she had earned the right to relax on the sofa. After all, she had run 950 miles of the 1,000 mile Yukon Quest sled dog race in single lead for Wayne Hall in 2002, and had literally run thousands of miles in her lifetime to that point.

She was in a book. She was in a movie. And she became the educational ambassador for my dog sled presentations; as such, she touched the lives of so many. Here are some photos from the many dog sledding talks we've done over the years:

Foxy learned quickly how to "work the crowd" in our talks. She walked up and down the aisles during our talks, stopping to visit each member of the audience for a pat on her fuzzy head. She taught Miles, my current education dog, how to work a crowd too.

Miles at only four months of age during one of my dog sledding presentations

A couple years ago, Foxy developed painful arthritis and retired fully from everything, spending her days sleeping peacefully here at the Ranch and wandering our seven acres.

This spring at the Ranch. A week old hen watches as Foxy walks by

Over the last week of her life, she woke me up crying out in the night - something Foxy never did. Her body was finally failing her after almost 17 amazing years. Her body may have been elderly, but her heart was still strong and refused to give up. Finally, I had to make the painful decision to ease her into the final stage of life.

Mushers have such a special, unique relationship with their canine friends and team mates. We spend so much time with them, are responsible for their happiness, health, and often witness as they take their first breath. But, we also have a responsibility, I think, to be with them when they take their last. I am honored to say I was right beside Foxy when she took her last.

Foxy lived a very full life. She touched the lives of so many, first with her athletic prowess and sharp mind, and later in life, with her gentle demeanor and patience with all people. I am honored to have had nearly seven years with Foxy, and to know well her life story. I am honored to have worked beside her both when she was in harness and in the classroom. She brought such joy and light to everyone she met.

My eight-year-old-daughter, Elise, bravely came with me to the vet on the final day of Foxy's life. As I knelt beside Foxy crying in the sterile office, Elise said, "don't worry, mommy. I've said a prayer for Foxy."

"What was your prayer?" I asked through my tears.

"I asked God to take away Foxy's pain, and take her spirit up to Heaven where she can run in the snow like in Alaska, forever and ever like a puppy again."

Here's to Foxy, with mush love.

Across the miles: friends in far away places

We live in an amazing time.

I've been down lately. It seems like life has presented 101 obstacles to my dog training: sudden flat tires on the training rig; weather; my health. And, after a not-so-great report card about my health today (more on that later), I was feeling pretty down.

I'm ashamed to admit, this week, I've been struggling to give thanks. Feeling pretty negative, I turned to a friend who lives 3632.88 miles away from me, almost quite literally halfway around the globe in Chatanika, Alaska.

Meet Jodi Bailey. I've written about her before.


Jodi and her dog, Jake, after winning the Gin-Gin 200 Sled Dog Race

I first met Jodi via the Internet, on Myspace. You can view her Myspace page here

At first, our conversations were mostly about dogs. Gradually, Jodi and I shared more and more. We began to realize we had many, many things in common.

I happen to love camels and once held the dubious title of "camel handler" at a local zoo. Imagine my surprise when Jodi posted this picture of herself on an Internet social networking site:


A small photo, I realize, but if you can't see it, it is a picture of Jodi receiving kisses from a camel

Not only does Jodi run dogs, she also runs, bikes, loves Bob Dylan, works in a University and claims the Grateful Dead is the "soundtrack to a large part of her life."


She says she runs by herself when the weather is too warm to run dogs. And run she does: she completed her first marathon in '08

It was during my hospital stay last summer that Jodi and I really started becoming close. She reached out to me during a time of darkness and isolation.

Tonight, when I was down, she reached out to me again. From almost 4,000 miles away.

Isn't it funny how the world works, bringing two people who would be very unlikely to find each other together from across the globe?

I was struggling with finding something to be thankful for on this night when I felt so frustrated and alone. But the universe intervened in an email, out of the blue, from Jodi.

It also intervened as I tucked my two kiddos in bed. I was scribbling negative vibes into a notebook, and stumbled on a happy little drawing done by my five year old.



It reminded me to be thankful for my two girls.

It's funny how the world works, isn't it? It keeps us in check, reminds us to not just survive, but live, to not just look, but see.

As Jodi said tonight, "yup sometimes things just, well, click."

Indeed. As the Buddha said, “When you realize how perfect everything is you will tilt your head back and laugh at the sky” Thank you, Jodi.

Yukon River Threatens the Town of Eagle, Alaska as Ice Melt Floods Area Around

Amazing story of musher Andy Bassich and his girlfriend's attempt to escape with their 25 sled dogs.

"Don't think this is a normal break up. This is a once-in-a-millenium type of event. I don't think anybody could have conceived it's done what it's doing. Everyone in Eagle is walking around stunned," said Andy in this CBC podcast. "Our entire riverfront is destroyed."

To listen to the podcast, click here