Seventh grade science class in Elizabethtown, KY learns about dog sledding from Diamond Dogs

I am an educator first, before I've been anything else. I have taught grade-schoolers all the way up to middle-aged college freshmen returning to school. I spent seven years doing health education beside the beds of critically ill cardiac, Cystic Fibrosis, cancer and burn patients. I was raised to believe - and believe whole-heartedly - that education is the key to what makes or breaks us in life. It can change beliefs, prejudices, habits and lives.

Embracing my inner geek

I have been pleasantly surprised at how relevant and far reaching education can span within dog sledding. It involves tons of science: biology, genetics, ecology, geography. And one of my favorites: history!

Most know I do lots of educational presentations about dog sledding, but today was the first day I Skyped with an entire classroom of students about dog sledding! Technology offers such cool ways to learn about dog sledding - and science - from afar. I was impressed with the questions Ms. Kim Swickard's 7th grade science class at T.K. Stone Middle School asked me during our dog sledding Skype session today. They asked thoughtful questions, like how do you train the dogs, and how often do people get hurt in dog sledding. They also asked things like what kind of sports I played as a kid, and what I do in my spare time.

Finally, one student asked a question that has been popping around backstage in my mind, the question probably all mushers are asked and entertain at some point: do you ever want to run a long distance race like Iditarod. 

Almost six years ago, I said I had a short-term goal to run the U.P. 200. I keep running longer races, and no matter how long, no matter how many hours I am out there on the sled, I never want it to end.

I have always said I have no desire to run any kind of super distance marathon like Iditarod - the lack of sleep alone would just about kill me, not to mention it is super expensive: just the entry fee for Iditarod costs about as much as a fairly decent used car.

But something has shifted in me this season. I just keep doing longer races, and at the end of every one of them, I don't want it to end. And, as I said to my friend and mentor, Jodi Bailey, I started thinking,  if my dogs can do a 42 mile race at a 9.1 mile an hour pace, that's kinda like running from one checkpoint to the next in the Iditarod. It always seemed overwhelming to think about until now: 1,150 miles. Holy shit. Who does that? But now, I think, it's just a series of 42 mile, 18 mile, 50 mile, 90 mile runs.

And I guess that's how it starts. When you can look at that 1,150 miles and not see that number, but as each piece as a stepping stone to the big picture. Right?

And I can see that now. My mind has shifted.


And, as Jodi replied, "The mind shift is the first step, something goes from impossible to plausible to possible, and then you're doomed *hehehe*"

You can learn more about one of my favorite people, Jodi Bailey and her husband Dan and their adventures here. 

So, to answer the question, yea, I can see someday possibly attempting a race like Iditarod. I have lots of races that loom in the distance as long-term goals: The International Pedigree Stage Stop Sled Dog Race, Montana's Race to the Sky, Minnesota's John Beargrease Sled Dog Marathon, and, closer to home and more immediately attainable, The U.P. 200 and The Copper Dog 150....

That's it. I am, indeed, doomed :)

For more information about how you can use mushing in your classroom, please visit any of the race sites linked above, or click on the following:

Polar Husky

Will Steger Foundation

The Iditarod: for Teachers

Outward Bound Wilderness Expeditions

"Does it have to be so hard?"

Crappy things have a way of happening all at once. They can't stagger themselves. Nope. They have to come like a rain storm, hence the phrase "when it rains, it pours."

There's been some frustration lately, and it’s been all at once. Silly things like,

1) Our dryer has the wrong electrical plug for the outlet on the wall so I’ve been going to laundromats with crazy men in them. No joke. I spent an hour and a half in a Laundromat in Lake Milton last week with a man who would not shut up and admitted several times he was on disability for mental health issues. He talked a mile a minute and often of shooting people. Lovely.

2) My tractor needs a new tire, and I drove to three different places today looking for a Carlisle 20x10 - 00.9 tire, and no place had it! Driving to three different places is synonymous with driving significant miles now because we live in the sticks. Frustrating.

3) I don't have an oven, because apparently there is not an easy way to get a propane adapter connection to the oven. And I love baking. And I'm not even entirely sure what to do to order the part, so I feel stuck. And I don't take kindly to feeling stuck.

And a host of other gripes I won't bore you with.

But I started spiraling today. Nothing has been easy on this move, and it's been downright less than welcoming beginning with Bob's dying the day we moved in. I found myself today looking up at an overcast, humid sky (which is another thing that's been less than stellar - the 90 degree temps!) pleading with God.

"Does it have to be so hard?"

And then I received an email from my good friend Jodi Bailey in Alaska. In her usual zen-like peaceful manner, she told me this story:

"One year on the Quest there was bad, bad overflow after Braeburn on the way to the finish: up to your hips, dogs swimming, total mess. Anyhow Michelle Phillips (*as she tells it) is standing up to her waist leading a team through a few yards of this, second section of it. And she stops in the middle and yells up to the sky "Does it have to be so f'ing hard!" And even though I may have the last words wrong, the image sticks in my brain, as the ultimate illustration of that feeling :)

I know I have said this before, but find peace in the knowledge that things are unfolding exactly as they should, despite my cosmic inability to make sense of it."

Thank you, Jodi, for reminding me that it's just a ride. And to enjoy the ride :)

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.