Nothing ventured, nothing gained: 2014 Midnight Run

"He that nought n'assayeth, nought n'acheveth,."Troilus and Criseyde
    - Geoffrey Chaucer, 1374

The team and I set out on our third consecutive Midnight Run, a 90 mile sled dog race, this past weekend in Marquette, Michigan. There is a saying in mushing "run your race." This means, don't get caught up in stress about what your competitors are doing. Keep your focus on what's important: your team. Heading up north, my strategy was simple: run our race. On the drive home, I had lots of time to reflect - and laugh - about some things I lost on the race. Conversely, I had time to reflect on many more things gained.

There were many challenges throughout this training season right up until the last minute leading up to the race. For one, I had to teach until 10 p.m. Wednesday night. The mandatory drivers' (mushers) meeting was in Marquette, Michigan, 11 hours away at 4 p.m. the next day. Doing the math, it's clear that didn't leave a lot of time for things like, say, sleeping. I drove until 2 a.m., stopping to camp near Saginaw, Michigan. I rose about 7 a.m. the next morning, dropped dogs and hit the road again, narrowly making it to Marquette at almost exactly 3 p.m. with just enough time to check into the motel, drop dogs and head into the mushers' meeting.

I was super excited to receive a new-to-me sled that has special meaning. It belonged to one of my best friends, Emily Wade, who handled for me on my very first Midnight Run in 2012.

Me (left) and Emily (right) before my very first Midnight Run in 2012

I hoped it would be a good talisman for the race. Emily moved back home to the west last year after living in Marquette for two.
 

The "new" sled: a Sled Dog Systems K-2, inside the motel after I'd changed the runner plastic

The next morning brought new challenges, as snow fell throughout the night. I got rid of my truck and replaced it with a more fuel-efficient Mazda Tribute last summer. The Tribute was no match for a Marquette snowfall while pulling my 13 foot dog trailer, however, and it became quickly apparent I wouldn't make it to the vet check, let alone the race start in this vehicle.

Thankfully, my good friend, Sharon Curtice's brother, Paul, arrived with an all wheel drive van and pulled us to the vet check. Her friend Carl Hansen would arrive later to handle for the race with a Chevy Tahoe. Miraculously, 15 minutes late, we arrived at the vet checks.

Cinder (black dog) and Perry (brown and white dog) are listened to by the fabulous veterinary team before the Midnight Run

Ruffian gives kisses to the vet at the vet checks before the Midnight Run

All the dogs checked out with flying colors. Now we just had to wait for Carl to arrive and get to the downtown start. Not only did Carl arrive, but friends Krystal Hagstrom and her boyfriend, Josh Hudachek came from Bayfield, Wisconsin to help out, too! Suddenly, things were all falling into place. I began to relax.

We arrived at the downtown start in Marquette with almost two hours to set up and prepare. I had a GoPro to record the downtown start - something I had always wanted to do - but for some reason, it kept shutting off. Unfortunately, I do not have much footage. I am very disappointed about that!

We hit the starting chute at 8:30 p.m. with 750 training miles on the team. I was concerned about the mileage a bit because, even though we had done the Midnight Run twice before, it had never been this long. In years past, it was 70 miles. Before I had time to blink, we were off into the night, past the crowded streets of downtown Marquette, alone with my eight best canine friends - exactly where I like to be. I am always nervous until we pull the hook.

The first leg of the race runs out of town along a snowmobile trail next to Lake Superior for 17 miles, and it is my favorite part. People make bonfires and camp out along the trail on snowmobiles, cheering and clapping for the dog teams; kids hang out of car windows smiling at the dogs as they pass by, and the dogs seem genuinely jazzed by all the attention.

I had trained faster this season, but I never know how the team will gel until we are out there. Our first leg was flawless. After about 10 miles, I breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. The team looked beautiful, loping along in the night. I was so proud of them. I had watched three of these dogs - who are still young two year olds - take their first breath; I had trained all of them from puppyhood with the exception of three. Watching them blossom into such phenomenal athletes loping along the shore was breath taking. I held the drag mat down for the first hour to preserve energy in the dogs, but we still hit speeds of 13 miles per hour and held our place solidly in a totally clean run for the first 30 miles. It was only in the last 15 miles, when the trail steadily climbs a long, slow grade, that we lost some time. We arrived at the checkpoint in Chatham almost exactly when I predicted, at 2:01 a.m.

After caring for the dogs, and getting a few hours of sleep myself, Josh woke me at 6 a.m. by shining a headlamp in my eyes and saying "rise and shine!" Lovely. Thanks, Josh! I rose immediately to prepare for the second leg. We left the Chatham checkpoint at 7:57 a.m. My friend and fellow photographer, Nace Hagemann drove from Minnesota to shoot photos of the teams, and he shot these beautiful photos of my team leaving the Chatham checkpoint. Please visit his web site! He is amazingly talented.

...going

...going

...gone

The second leg was beautiful and clean.  I ran along the trail with my friend, Chad Grentz, who got into this sport right around when I did. Chad and I have grown up the ranks of these races right around the same time, and so it is fitting that we seem to run together often at races. We made conversation along the beautiful trail until I finally stopped to snack my team, and he passed. It was a gorgeous day, and the team was moving well at about 8-9 mph - still a decent pace. I wondered what I had done to be blessed with such a clean moving team of wonderful dogs and such a clean race. Other teams who I considered far stronger had scratched from the race. I beamed with pride. But...I must have jinxed it.

About an hour and a half from the finish, while running along the snowmobile trail, a snowmobile came up behind us. He turned right onto a connecting trail in front of the team, and the dogs instinctively followed. I had my drag mat tied up with a neckline because the bungees were worn and it wouldn't stay up on its own like it should have, despite having worked on it at the Chatham checkpoint. I couldn't react quickly enough before my team was headed down that connector trail. I called my leaders to "come haw" which means to turn the team around to the left, and my best lead dog, Big Brown (BB for short), pulled the entire team around with all of her tiny 38 pound strength.

In dog mushing, things happen in an instant. A perfectly clean run can turn disastrous in the blink of an eye. A large part of the sport is, in fact, dealing with adversity. Cinder, a larger female in my team, hates BB. They had a spat when I first acquired Cinder last year, and neither one of them have ever forgotten it. And as Shakespeare said, hell hath no fury...and this moment was no exception. Though Cinder was two positions back from Big Brown in the team, when BB turned the team around on that narrow stretch of trail, Cinder did not hesitate to seize the opportunity to unleash her wrath upon little BB.

At that time, my friend and fellow musher, Amber Evans, came upon us on the trail. She yelled for my leaders, and eventually they came toward her. But then I realized my sled wasn't hooked down well at all. The team started to surge forward, and I watched in horror as my sled lunged forward without me while my wheel dog, Wailer, was wrapped up in the gangline, head buried in a deep snow drift. As the gangline clamped down on his rear leg, I could hear his muffled screams under the snow. The team kept surging forward, and I admit it: I panicked a bit and said quite a few choice four-letter words. I tried in vain to release Wailer's leg from the gangline. I screamed. I cursed. I started to think I would have to cut the gangline to release him. But that would mean the rest of my team would go charging up the trail. I panicked again.

Then, finally, I stopped for a second and thought clearly. In a flash, I unhooked the tug line of the dogs in front of Wailer, relieving the pressure on the gangline and, subsequently, on his leg. I gently unwrapped it from his leg and he popped up out of the snow drift as though nothing had happened.

We inched forward and I stomped the snow hook more securely into the snow. I wiped the blood from BB and examined her wounds, and stretched Wailer's leg to make sure there were no breaks or injuries. Miraculously, he was completely fine. I walked back to the sled, hupped the dogs, and away we went. I apologized to Amber as we passed her for my four-letter words :)

As we turned the corner back onto the snowmobile trail that runs along the shore and headed for Marquette, I was shocked. What seemed to take so long the night before had taken only three hours. We headed into the last 17 miles of the trail, and I began to see signs of life: people standing along the trail cheering for teams as they passed. I was concerned about BB and considered bagging her; I stopped again to check her wounds. Amazingly, she was moving effortlessly despite the puncture in her cheek. I decided to keep her in the team.

In the last 10 miles, I saw a male musher in the distance behind me. He was far enough back that I couldn't tell who he was, but I could see he was working hard to try to catch me. I was working hard to prevent him from catching me! He was very tall, though, and had a great stride when he was running. Before long, he narrowed the gap between us. He tried to pass, but his leaders clothes-lined me. I pulled the leaders around, and he called one of the dogs names; I immediately recognized the dog. I said, "hey! I know that name! Who are you?" It turned out, he was a musher from Minnesota named Mike Hoff. We chatted from there until the end of the race, leap-frogging with me passing him, and then him passing me again.

Mike Hoff and I chatting through the streets of Marquette at the finish, as captured by Nace Hagemann once again

Mike and I got lots of passing practice for the dogs and talked about all kinds of stuff along the way. It was great running along the last few miles with him. We came across the finish line with two seconds between us.

Mike and I again coming through the streets of downtown Marquette

So, another race is in the books as they say, and we placed 19th (by two seconds) out of 29 teams who started the 2014 Midnight Run with all 8 dogs on the line. One of the mushers at the awards banquet said something to the effect of, "it's taken me 12 years of running dogs to place in the money; it will probably take me another 10 to come in 1st." How true this is. There is so much to learn in this sport, and every season, I fine-tune what I know and learn so much more. I had hoped to place in the money this time, and may have done just that if I hadn't had issues along that second leg. Regardless, I am very proud of how this race went.

On the drive home, I realized I lost something during the race and giggled. Perhaps running up the hills those last 15 miles of the first leg had me grinding my teeth a little too much, for I lost a filling in a very back molar, which now has a hole in it. This caused me to reflect on some other things that I lost along the race trail, but, more importantly, made me reflect on what I've gained.

Things lost on the 2014 Midnight Run
1. A filling
2. A blinking red leader light, which was recovered by my friend, Mike Betz (thanks Mike).
3. Five pounds - of which I do not want back!
4. Considerable amounts of sleep
5. Quite a bit of money
6. My MacBook Pro, which now mysteriously will not launch since I returned to Ohio

Things gained during the 2014 Midnight Run
1. Experience. Running dogs is an exercise in calculated chaos. There are so many potentially unknown variables. Every mile down the trail brings more grace in my abilities as a dog driver and my abilities to handle and almost thrive in the unknown.
2. Poise. The ability to think calmly and clearly under pressure. When mayhem broke loose on the second leg, my first reaction was to panic. I had to deliberately breathe through that panic, calm down and find a solution.
3. Resilience. Despite the challenges this season has presented, I have found the courage to bypass those challenges and remain focused and steadfast in my goals.
4. Countless friends and a renewed faith in the goodness of people.

Much thanks to Chad Schouweiler, Sharon Curtice and Joann Fortier, who, without their countless hours of advice and endearment I would not have gotten this far. Thanks to Krystal Hagstrom and her boyfriend, Josh Hudachek for handling for my team and to Carl Hanson for taking care of my team and me during the race. Thanks to Mike Hoff and Chad Grentz for great trail conversations and to Amber Evans for sticking by me when shit was hitting the fan. Thanks to faithful sponsors, Dennis Waite, Jim and Martha Conway and SueAnn Henry who believe in me, for whatever reason! Thanks to Nace Hagemann for his beautiful photos. Thanks to countless volunteers who devote hours and hours to host these spectacular events and help keep us and our dogs safe. And, mostly, thanks to my parents for raising me to believe in myself and my dreams and thanks, most of all to my amazing, beautiful dogs.

Our next and final race, The Copper Dog, is in two weeks, on March 1 in Calumet, Michigan.

“Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing.” ―Benjamin Franklin

My hands are like fine grit sand paper. Cracks, banged up cuticles and swollen fingers. I am a beautician's nightmare; no hand lotion can penetrate this.

Four months of training culminated this past weekend in the Midnight Run. I'm still processing a lot of what happened this weekend, but felt I owed it to some to publish some of the details of our race, what I learned in the hopes that the information can help other mushers, what went wrong, what worked, and what I would change.

Part One: Marquette to Chatham 

This was our second Midnight Run, and we had trained hard from the cabin in the tiny mushing community of Deer Park in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan since October. The dogs had a solid 850 or so miles under their harnesses, and I felt confident that we could improve our standing from last year's next-to-last finish.

My friend Kathleen drove all the way from Minneapolis to mostly observe and learn as much as she could about a check point race; we met at the banquet and I introduced her to many friends I am proud to call a sort of extended family. As the race committee started the bib draw to decide the starting order for mushers, I said to Kathleen, "I just hope I am not first." Almost on cue, my name was called. I would be bib #1 for the 2013 Midnight Run - the first down the trail! Yikes.

The next morning at the vet check, I was pleased that all the dogs received a perfect score of health from the vets.

Yearling, Tosh, is checked out before the race. All the dogs receive thorough veterinary care before, during and after the race to ensure they are healthy and happy

Despite my nervousness, we had no problems heading down the starting trail in downtown Marquette. I love running along Lake Superior through the city passed the houses. People came out to support the race, camping by little campfires along the trail, wishing us good luck as we passed and it was cold as the temperature dropped and snow began falling.

I held my team back until we were out of the city and into the darkness of night. Once I let them go and took my foot off the drag pad, the Garmin Forerunner on my handlebar told me we were hitting speeds of 14-15 miles per hour. The trail was fast along the lake, and I put my foot back on the drag mat to hold them at a steady and conservative 10 or 11 miles an hour.

When we turned off into the woods to head for Chatham, the snow picked up. I could hardly see with the blinding snow in the beam of my headlamp. I love this part of the race. It's so fun to see all of my favorite people and their teams running in the woods at the same time and we chat as we pass each other. The dogs worked hard that first stretch, and I worked hard to help them, running up the hills and pedaling whenever we slowed.

I am not a "competitive" musher. All I ever strive for is a respectable middle-of-the-pack status. I beamed as we crossed under the arch into the checkpoint at Chatham far sooner than I expected, finishing the 45 mile leg at 1:58 a.m. We achieved the solid middle-of-the-pack standing I wanted. Click here for the checkpoint summary at the Chatham checkpoint.

My friend Mike Betz, Kathleen and I quickly fed the dogs and had our vet check as soon as we came in. The dogs all looked great and ate and drank well. We spread straw out, jacketed the dogs, rubbed feet and muscles and covered each fuzzy member of the team with a blanket for our five hour checkpoint. Then I quickly crawled into my sleeping bag for some rest. It was nearly 3 a.m.

It was very cold that night, and I didn't take my parka or anything off before bedding down. All the snow that fell during the first leg began to melt and drip onto my face and I suddenly shivered in the cold. I could not sleep. It seemed like I finally drifted off when Kathleen woke me at 6:30 a.m.

We walked some of the dogs to warm them before our take off time at 7:54. They again all drank well and we began bootying each foot. Everyone looked perky and ready as we headed for the chute to start the second leg.

My team leaving the Chatham checkpoint as dawn broke Saturday morning

The difference between our first leg of the race and the last are as opposite as black and white. There are many lessons the trail can teach, first and foremost is humility.

Stay tuned for Part Two: Chatham to Munising...

Midnight Run: the arrival

There is something so precious and beautiful about waiting until the perfect moment to arrive at a goal and then meeting that goal.

Every musher thinks their dogs are wonderful. And I'm no different. I'm in awe of my dogs.

Freya freight train hugs a volunteer at the vet check the day before race day

Maybe it's the lack of sleep catching up to me, but I have been an emotional roller coaster this morning, overwhelmed with gratitude and humility about my awesome dogs and our most memorable journey. So I decided to brew a big pot of coffee, sit down, and write about it.

I signed up for the Midnight Run in 2009, but withdrew on the advice of several "elder mushers"who said I wasn't ready. At that time it was a bitter pill to swallow, but in hindsight, they were correct.

A reoccurring thought I had while on the Midnight Run trail this past weekend was how sweet it is to arrive at the perfect moment in time to reach a goal: capable, confident and relaxed. I used to worry and stress about getting to goals, to the point where I almost forced things, and the Universe always had a way of smacking me down and reminding me that the time wasn't right. Similarly, the Universe rose to meet me this weekend with blessings and a clean run. Now the Midnight Run - our first 90 mile checkpoint race - is under our harnesses, and I am savoring with gratitude its arrival.

Here are some thoughts (and photos) from the race trail and the experience.

The Race: "That was pure wild animal craziness!" Mr. Fox
For once, there is no harrowing story to tell. We arrived downtown in Marquette, MI at our designated time of 5 p.m. to prepare for the ceremonial start, set to kick off at 7:10 p.m. We had plenty of time for our bag check, set up, and to mingle and talk with friends. The ceremonial start was an amazing experience that I will never forget, and I was honored to see hundreds of people lined up along the start to watch the teams in their sled dogger procession down Washington Street.

My awesome handler, Emily Wade,  rockin' her infamous sock monkey hat at the ceremonial start

Friends and mentors, Larry and Joann Fortier of Coyote Run Kennel at the ceremonial start

My friend, fellow writer and sister from another mother, Michelle Hogan (right) and me before the ceremonial start

We then had to drive to Chatham for the real start, and this was a bit intense. After the drive, parking, and getting my gear ready and new runner plastic on (thanks to the volunteers who helped), we literally made it to the starting chute in the nick of time! It was quite intense.

We headed out into the night at 10:27 p.m., bib #107 (seventh out of the chute): alone with my eight best friends, and I thought to myself, "okay, this is it."

 I didn't feel nervous like I thought I would, however; I felt completely ready. The trail was super well-marked, fast, but packed enough to hook down, and we had a totally clean run for the most part. I decided to run Yeti, my main leader, and I am sure glad I did: we didn't miss a single turn, and my three-year old female, Big Brown, led with Yeti the entire 90 miles!

The dogs were on fire and held their pace well on the first leg. Larry Fortier, husband to my main mentor Joann, tried once to pass us, but couldn't quite make it. Then about 20 miles in, I slowed a bit and let him pass; then he couldn't shake us! My GPS clocked our fastest speed at 15.9 mph. Around 2:30 a.m. we hit a very slick flat patch, and I was amazed when I called the dogs up, after running for four hours, and they hiked up, all loping beautiful through the night.

Midnight Riders: my team loping along around 2:30 a.m. on the Midnight Run trail

We arrived to the checkpoint back at Chatham at 3:28 a.m. - almost exactly five hours after leaving. The checkpoint summary is here

Emily, my other handler Ron, and I quickly and quietly fed the dogs, checked feet, massaged, rubbed, jacketed and blanketed the dogs. Yeti literally melted in his straw bed, he was so tired. We then all climbed into my truck and I was amazed at how quickly I fell asleep. I had worried the whole time about the lack of sleep more than anything, but after three hours of hard sleep, the alarm went off at 7 a.m. and I awoke feeling surprisingly good!

As we emerged, shaking sleep from our hair, Larry Fortier called me over to his truck.

"Wow, your dogs looked great last night!" he said. "First I couldn't pass you, and then I couldn't shake you!"

I beamed with pride at this compliment from my friend and a musher I admire. "Thank you, Larry! I was as surprised as you were!"

There was only one spot where I had problems that first leg and had to stop the team.  It was a very sharp left turn where the trail began to loop back to Chatham. A musher before me had apparently taken a left turn too soon and cut into the trees just a hair before the actual turn. I saw someone lost their lead dog's blinky light in the deep snow here.

My dogs followed this trail, and it was nearly a 180 degree left turn; I dumped the sled here, and it was a doozy of a dump. I was dragged briefly before landing on my knees and righting the sled, and then I lost time trying to right my hooks, which had flown somehow under the runners and were tangled. It was here that several mushers finally caught up to me and passed me. I was bummed.

It was here I also received my race war wound.

Not the greatest picture, but this is my left knee after the race

Regardless, the dogs came in tired but strong. We were set to depart the next morning at 9:14, and I didn't know what to expect of the dogs since I had never asked them to run a second leg after running 48 miles before.

The first mile of the second leg: a vast white expanse that reminded me of a photo that could have come from the Iditarod

Almost immediately, I noticed they were off. Yeti, my leader, stopped to poop right away, and had awful diarrhea. Then Ruffian, my other leader, stopped and had the same thing. Then Miles, then Freya...

My worst suspicions were confirmed when Yeti stopped dead and promptly projectile vomited his breakfast all over the trail.

My dogs had caught a virus. We struggled on the second leg. Our average speed was only 7.5 mph, and we stopped frequently for the effects of this virus to work itself out. We were down to a march rather than a run; still, we marched on.

Aside from the virus, we had a flawless run. No tangles, chewed necklines or escapees (see the previous post about Aspen's get away here). The last five or six miles of this leg was quite intense and was the most technically challenging of my racing career thus far. Hair-pin turns wound around trees and down moguls left by snowmobiles. I literally saw the imprint of a musher's body and sled in a snow bank along these hills. Still, we had a clean run.

My friend and fabulous photographer and supporter, Dino, shot this photo of us running along the railroad bed. I was munching on a Cliff bar :)

We finished our rookie Midnight Run in 27th place out of an original starting line up of 31 teams. Two people scratched. And we didn't get the red lantern.

Coming over the finish!

I have so much gratitude for everyone that helped to make this season happen. Yesterday, as I walked outside to check the mail, I teared up thinking of what an incredible season we had, and how lucky I am to have such amazing canine athletes to share my life with. My dogs inspire me to reach higher, run stronger, do more. I have an overwhelming amount of love and patience for them - really, I am in awe of them. They are the best bunch of doggers ever!

A special Mush Love Call Out: I want to say a special "mush love" to my sponsors this season, to my parents for helping out with keeping things moving at home while I was away training and racing, and to Chris. Without all of you, this season would not have happened. I also want to recognize my amazing handler, Emily Wade, without whose help during this weekend I would have surely crumbled. I also want to say thank you to Jodi Bailey, David Gill, and Joann Fortier for their friendship and mentoring along the way.