"...and miles to go before I sleep." - Robert Frost

She walks gingerly through the grass, picking her feet up high in a sort of prance, as if the grass contains some substance she detests. She lifts her long slender legs, exposing the shaved ring around her left forearm which betrays her gallant attempt to pretend all is well. That ring tells a story; it hasn't been too long since that horrible night of relentless seizures I thought would kill her. The discharge papers from the hospital said status epilepticus.

That night, as I carried her convulsing body into the hospital, a tech ran toward me.

"Permission to cath?" the tech yelled to me over the chaos. She wanted permission to place an IV line.

Life for Big Brown - B.B. - would change irrevocably that night.

"Yes! Of course!" I yelled back.

We returned home with Keppra, an anti-epileptic medication B.B. would take for the rest of her life, and questions, mainly, why? Why would a 10-year-old dog suddenly have violent grand mal seizures? My suspicions were that things were not good.

Since that night we've returned for more tests and x-rays in a more controlled, less acute and chaotic climate, and my suspicions were confirmed. I've put off writing this post because somehow I thought if I didn't write it, it wouldn't be reality. But it is reality.

B.B. has always been thin, and for a sled dog, a finicky eater. But her weight has held consistent her whole life at 38 pounds. This day, the scales revealed she'd lost five pounds in just 13 days.

Dr. Kaegi met me in the dark x-ray room. 

"Can you see anything?" I asked. 

"Yes," she said as she flipped the lights off "and unfortunately, just as we suspected, it's not good." 

On the screen were two films, one clearly showing B.B.'s ribcage, heart, and trachea illuminated from behind, and the other of her gut. She's had relentless diarrhea since this whole thing started despite my best efforts to alleviate it with over-the-counter remedies, so we elected to take x-rays of her gut to get a clear picture of what's going on inside. 

On the film on the right, in front of the iridescence of florescent light, beside the darkish mass of B.B.'s heart was another, darker mass. This dark mass, a dull cloud in an otherwise normal film, was home to rampant and unchecked cell division. Cells gone to the dark side and run amok. I pictured them as wild, unkempt, unruly children laughing manically. It was undeniable and evident even to an untrained eye.

Cancer.

The film showed three small metastases or "mets" within B.B.'s lungs. About 20 months ago, I discovered a small, quarter-sized lump on her chest. I promptly had it removed within a week of discovery, with clean margins that I'd hoped meant cancer would be gone forever. Breast cancer metastasizes to two places, primarily: the lungs and the brain. 

In the nine days since learning this news, my focus has been on comfort care. We left that office visit with more drugs and probiotics, and I've kept beef, chicken and rice stocked in the kitchen to whet B.B.'s palate. She has good days and not so good days. On good days, she prances in the grass in what's become her trademark high-stepping stride. She eats heartily and goes for car rides. On not-so-good days, she quivers on the sofa, seemingly cold, but simultaneously panting and drooling. On good days, the light is in her eyes and she smiles. On not-so-good days, she seems disoriented, confused, and sleeps a lot.

This last winter, I took B.B. and four other dogs one what would be her last sled run. Of course, I didn't know it at the time. I wonder now if those mutant cells were working to proliferate even then.

As she pranced through the grass today, it struck me that these are the final days of her life. But then I remember what an extraordinary life she's led.

B.B. has become my main education dog, doing presentations and dog sled demos all over Ohio and into Michigan. In March, B.B. attended her biggest school presentation in Logan, Ohio, meeting and greeting about 500 elementary school students as we presented about dog sledding.

B.B. at a library presentation in 2014

With about 500 students of Green Elementary School in Logan, Ohio

My daughter, Sophie, came over from Ohio University to help with the presentation at Green Elementary

I think of all the dogs I've lost over the years for a variety of reasons: Kahlua, Gracie, Foxie, Gwennie, Thelonious, Mojo, Punk, Feist... and all the dogs I've known, trained and worked with - literally hundreds - over the years, and I don't know if I've spent as many solid hours adventuring and working as I have with Big Brown.

She has been with me on almost every single race I've done in my mushing career from triumphs

 and through adversity.

Over the last 10 years, we have spent hundreds and hundreds of hours in the deep recesses of forests in the midwest hiking, camping, running, and racing. She has helped train young leaders...

And shouldered dogs twice her size into turns.

We have grown together, from our humble beginnings...

Punderson Sled Dog Classic. Photo by Nicolas Skidmore

Taquamenon Sled Dog Race. Photo by Sigurd Utych

to larger races...

Midnight Run. Photo by Aladino Mandoli

Tahquamenon Sled Dog Race. Photo by Aladino Mandoli

Midnight Run. Photo by Nace Hagemann

We've run along the shores of Lake Superior...

in fierce blizzards and storms...

And magical places that look like something out of Narnia.

We've run at night...

Copper Dog. Photo by Brockit

We've run alone in the silence only winter can bring.

We've camped out...

And stayed in...

B.B. has met many people, from tiny ones...

To grown ups ...

To people who cared for her...

With one of our favorite members of the Copper Dog veterinary team

We've loved...

And in the end, that's all that matters, right?

Thinking about losing B.B. is so painful I haven't wanted to write about it. I intermittently become emotional at the strangest times. I think of all the adventures I still wanted with her. I owe my entire racing career to this dog... and she is so much more than "just a dog." Mushers spend more one-on-one hours with their dogs than anyone I know. The bond that develops is so, so deep from those hours spent in the woods.

For now, B.B. sleeps contentedly on the sofa as I type. And we wait, cherishing every moment.

"You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed." - Antoine de Saint-Exupery, The Little Prince

Friday evening, I finished evening chores and was looking forward to relaxing. I showered early and slipped into new pajamas I recently bought when the dog yard erupted.

I ran outside to find my beloved Big Brown - B.B. - in the midst of a grand mal seizure. A mean-looking storm was brewing on the horizon. It was exactly seven years ago that she had one isolated seizure, at this same time of year in the same weather conditions. Otherwise B.B. has lived a healthy happy life. She has been my main gee haw leader and run every race with me since 2009. This month, she and her sister, Ruffian, turn 10.

B.B. (driver's right, spots) and her sister Ruffian (driver's left, white) leading the team during the Tahquamenon Country Sled Dog Race

The other dogs barked incessantly as she writhed and convulsed on the ground. I knelt down beside her, talking quietly. Even though those afflicted with grand mal seizures lose consciousness during the seizure, I still hoped my voice would calm her. Finally she came out of it. Once the clarity of recognition and consciousness came back in her eyes, I picked her up, carrying her slowly into the house.

The team returning from a training run

Once inside, I hoped the seizure would be an isolated incident, but almost as quickly as I put her on the sofa, her legs began paddling again as if swimming, her face twitched and her mouth bared teeth in an eerie grimace. Drool foamed into a white froth from her mouth, and she urinated on herself. Her head turned involuntarily to the side and looked like it would spin completely around. This time, the seizure lasted longer.

Once it stopped, B.B. looked mildly surprised to find me cradling her on the sofa. She drank some water and shivered slightly; she looked exhausted. I hoped for a reprieve, but like waves, another seizure crashed in on us, and I held her so she wouldn't hurt herself from thrashing. Again, I hoped this was the last.

B.B. had eight seizures in 30 minutes.

On the ninth, when she hadn't come out of it in a few solid minutes, I gathered her up, still in my pajamas, and began the 40 minute drive to Metropolitan Veterinary Hospital, the 24 hour emergency vet clinic. In the car, she seized violently, continuously for the entire ride. This is called a status epilepticus, and requires immediate emergency care.

If you have not seen a grand mal seizure, let me tell you, it's terrifying. It's easy to understand why, during Medieval and Renaissance times, those afflicted by epilepsy were thought to be possessed by demons. B.B. writhed, the demon that gripped her forcing her mouth open, showing her impressive canine teeth. Drool frothed from her mouth, her eyes twitched back and forth; she urinated on herself again. I felt helpless and honestly feared she might die before we made it to the ER.

Finally, I zoomed into the driveway, picking her up into my arms and ran through the doorway of the animal hospital. It was 10:30 p.m. A code was called and a team of medical professionals rushed toward me from different doorways and took B.B. from me. I ran after and one of them said "Permission to cath?"

"Of course!" I said. They told me I wasn't allowed into the ICU. I stood even more helpless in the hospital and finally broke down in tears.

B.B. greets a participant at one of our presentations this past March at Green Elementary in Logan Ohio

I purchased B.B. in April of 2009. She was nine months old, and I had no clue that she would blossom into the best lead dog I've had the pleasure of growing with. B.B. is also my education dog. She travels to schools and libraries across the state talking about dog sledding and the history of the Iditarod, meeting hundreds of children in her lifetime. Kids are B.B.'s favorite humans.

B.B. looks out over the entire student body of Green Elementary this past March

Because of their athleticism, most Alaskan huskies live extraordinarily long lives for larger dogs. A dog who was my original education dog and came from Eagle, Alaska lived two months shy of her 18th birthday! Although B.B. is retired now from racing at 10 years, she still had a lot of years left for puppy training, education with kids, and as a hiking buddy. I couldn't imagine life without her.

All of these things scanned through my mind as I waited in the small exam room at the emergency vet. I watched the clock close in on midnight, when finally, Dr. Fox entered the room. She said the medical team managed to stabilize B.B. with Valium and some I.V. fluids.

"Did you happen to take her temperature when you were at home?" she asked.

"No," I responded. To be honest, I didn't even think about that.

Dr. Fox's face looked serious. "B.B.'s temperature on admittance was 103.8. 105 is the cut off where we start to get concerned about brain damage from fever."

That explained the shivering.

Turns out, fever is a symptom of persistent seizures according to Dr. Fox. Unfortunately, the fever is an indication of brain inflammation. I was so relieved I decided to bring her in when I did.

Dr. Fox went on to say that it's uncommon for older dogs to have acute "cluster" seizures without a serious underlying cause, like liver or kidney disease or even brain cancer. Despite having one seizure in 2011, Dr. Fox felt she did not have a history of seizure activity. She wanted to do an MRI, but that would cost $5,000 or more, and to what end? If I discovered B.B. had a brain tumor, I wouldn't elect to do chemotherapy.

We decided on a conservative medical plan that included an overnight stay for observation, lots of blood work to check liver and kidney function and, if there were no more seizures, I could pick her up by 10 the next morning.

I asked if I could see B.B. before leaving, and a vet tech led me through a series of doors into the ICU. Six cats sat in separate cages, and several dogs, including B.B. were along the back wall. B.B. was slumped in a stall covered in a blanket. I crawled into her enclosure and sat cross-legged on the floor with her. Her eyes brightened for a second and she lifted her head to look at me, then dropped it again, doped up on Valium.

"Hi, B.B." I said, trying to sound cheerful. "This is just like a checkpoint camp out. You even have a blankie!"

She raised her eyes to look up at me through her lids, then fell away again in repose. I felt so scared for her, but didn't want to let her know, so I kept my voice as cheery and up beat as possible.

This is all new territory for me. For having dogs all my life from the show ring to the starting chute of races, my dogs have all been relatively low maintenance and healthy. Navigating this terrain left me feeling helpless and ignorant to dealing with real health issues.

The next morning, I called the vet and was relieved to hear she didn't have anymore seizure activity overnight. I arrived at 9:45 to pick B.B. up, and as a tech walked her out into the lobby, I could see she wasn't quite herself. She was "wobbly" and seemed almost a bit drunk. She ran into the glass of the door as we attempted to leave. Apparently this "drunk-like" state is normal after a seizure. All of B.B.'s labs and blood work came back completely normal, however - a good sign. We left the hospital with a script for an anti-seizure medication called Keppra (Levetiracetam), which is also commonly used to treat seizure disorders in humans.

My daughter, Sophie, and B.B. at Green Elementary for our dogsledding presentation in March

Here's what I've learned so far.

There are three main phases of a tonic-clonic or "grand mal" (a term that's not frequently used anymore) seizure: the aura, ictus, and postictal state.

In the aura phase, there are marked behavioral changes in a dog, and the dog may become aware that something isn't right. They may act lethargic or nervous, may hide, whine, cling to the owner, shiver or salivate.

In the ictus phase, the actual seizure takes place. All of the muscles of the body contract, and the dog loses consciousness. Other symptoms include violent paddling of the legs as if swimming, grimacing or showing teeth, dilated pupils with a fixed stare, drooling, urinating, defecating and, in B.B.'s case, turning her head in an owl-like attempt at a 180 turn, and involuntary biting anything that approached her mouth.

In the postictal phase, there is often confusion, lethargy, disorientation, restlessness, and can even include temporary blindness.

When we returned home, unfortunately, B.B. had three more seizures that afternoon and one in the middle of Saturday night. Apparently it takes awhile for the proper amount of medication to build up in her system to effectively stop the seizures. So far, there were no seizures for Sunday and as of this writing.

B.B. resting in bed with me on Sunday

If you have experience with canine seizures and know of any homeopathic remedies or any other information that might be beneficial, I am reading voraciously about anything I can and would love for you to reach out. Please send your ideas, links or helpful tips to the comments section below! Thank you!

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! 

We're Expecting!

It's been a hot summer, and the dogs have been enjoying their time off with lots of free runs, play time and romps in the kitty pool at the Ranch. We are counting down the days until fall training starts (only about six weeks now!) but before training starts, we are counting the days for something even more exciting: puppies!

It has been three years since Diamond Dogs have had babies, and I decided it was time to expand the kennel once again. I am super excited about the gene pool chosen! 

Cinder, who is 4 years old, came to Diamond Dogs late in the 2012 season but quickly proved herself an amazing athlete. Though she had been off training for about six weeks when I acquired her, she jumped right in with the team, started running and never looked back. She ran lead with my gee/haw leader, Yeti and ran the Midnight Run that season. Last season she ran in the Tahquamenon Sled Dog Race and The Midnight Run. She is a beauty to watch run: smooth, straight gait, and light on her feet, she makes loping look effortless. What's more, she always has a smile on her face and gives everything she has on the line.

Cinder this past spring

Cinder's bloodlines are pretty sweet. Her dad, Hobo, is out of Iditarod and Yukon Quest champ, Lance Mackey's kennel. And her mom, Bruny, is out of Beargrease Marathon veteran, John Stetson's kennel. 

I put a lot of thought into choosing a stud. Despite Cinder's bloodlines, which are primarily distance dogs, she is fast. But I wanted a male who could contribute an added element of speed, preferably one who was a lead dog. After talking with a few mushers, I decided to add the speed of Swingley into Cinder's solid endurance lines. The natural choice was Pete and Sharon Curtice's Elrond. 

Elrond has been a natural leader for the Curtice's kennel since he was a yearling. He was on their winning Midnight Run team in 2006 as a yearling, and ran lead on their 2nd place Beargrease 150 race. And his genetics are impressive. Elrond's mom is leader, Hurricane; his dad is  Ceasar who was also a leader (both Swingley origins). It is interesting to note Elrond is also the grandfather to my last litter, the Reggae Litter. 

I made a quick trip up to visit the Curtice's over Memorial Day weekend where Cinder had a date with Elrond. She should be due around July 26th. She is starting to show, and Elise is super excited to help with puppy socialization. 

Elise helping pose Cinder for a photo

We will be at the Green Branch Library tomorrow, July 9, at 1 and 3 p.m. for a presentation of Backyard Iditarod. If you're in the area, stop by! Hopefully my next post will be about tiny little toes!

True Grit: Copper Dog 2014

Merriam-Webster
grit   noun
    : a hard sharp granule (as of sand);
    : firmness of mind or spirit: unyielding courage in the face of hardship or danger

To me
    : having goals and sticking to them against all odds; follow through; perseverance

In Malcolm Gladwell's bestselling book, Outliers: the Story of Success, the thesis is simple: we put too much stock into what success looks like and not where it comes from. Gladwell argues that successful people have certain traits and qualities that help shape them to become successful.

Gladwell also asserts that one has to spend about 10,000 hours at anything to become truly gifted at it. "Achievement," writes Gladwell, "is talent plus preparation. The problem with this view is that the closer psychologists look at the careers of the gifted, the smaller the role innate talent seems to play and the bigger the role preparation seems to play."

You gotta love something an awful lot to spend 10,000 hours doing it. As I drove up I-75 north toward Michigan's Upper Peninsula this past Thursday for the second time in two weeks, I tried to calculate how many hours I have spent behind dog butts in the last eight years. I've certainly spent 10,000 hours in the last 8 years driving hundreds of miles up I-75. But how many hours have I spent driving dogs?

Michigan is a blur of snow and rest stops. Lake Michigan fades into Lake Superior. Miles go by and eventually I arrive at Keweenaw Bay. I've gotten so good at these road trips up I-75, I can practically do them in my sleep.

It has taken me eight years to even know how to begin to get serious about this sport and how to train competitively. A rookie erroneously puts too much stock into simply hooking dogs, running them and accumulating training miles. This vastly over-simplified way of training dogs is inadequate. This season, I changed my way of thinking about training dogs, focusing on not quantity of runs/miles/hook ups, but quality. While training, I focused on speed bursts later in the season; while racing, I focused on keeping our speeds consistent throughout an entire leg. Sometimes, my training runs might have been short, but I consistently hooked up at least four days a week, and sometimes five. I was more consistent in my training than ever this season.

My dogs are talented athletes. But without the proper preparation, that foundation would fall short. It is my job as trainer and musher to provide them with the best preparation.

The Race

Many have said I'm crazy for driving as far as I do just to jump on a sled for a race. And maybe I am. But, back to those qualities that make successful people, I come from a family of grit, and I think sheer determination is a backbone to success.

I was nervous at the start of the race, I admit. I had never run the Copper Dog 40 and I knew, among other things, that there were 20-some road crossings along the way and the last 10 - 15 miles was full of hills. At the last minute, I changed my dog choices because my main leader was coming into heat. I left the chute with Big Brown and Ruffian in lead; Tosh and Fiona in point behind the leaders and Perry and Wailer bringing up the rear in wheel.

But right away, I began having issues. About two miles out of the start, Ruffian kept looking back at Tosh, balking and slowing the team way down. I'm not sure what she was thinking, but after stopping and trying to get her to focus several times, I decided about three miles into the race to hook down and switch leaders out.

This was risky. Tosh, who is two years old, has only led a handful of times on shorter training runs and never on a race, where there is far more pressure. It was risky also because Big Brown was coming into heat.

As soon as I put Tosh in lead, however, we flew. He kept his head despite the many road crossings staffed with people and the girl in heat next to him. It was the best decision I could have made.

I really have nothing else to report about the race! The trail was fast and beautiful. I saw more stars than I've ever seen in that part of the country. It was very cold this weekend. I turned off my headlamp at one point, hoping to see the Northern Lights, but did not. On the drive up Thursday night, my dashboard thermometer hit -25.

We finished the 42.6 miles from Calumet to Eagle River in 4 hours, 31 minutes and 30 seconds.

I am told by several people that I have grit. My Marine father was more tenacious than anyone I knew growing up, and his legacy has certainly carried forward with me. And, although my mother was a home maker until I was 13, she also cared for seven kids. She could put her feet firmly in the sand and not budge an inch if she chose to. I had no choice but to have grit.

I want to harness this feeling. There is nothing more rewarding than working so hard for something and watching it come to fruition. Success is less about intelligence as it is about perseverance, less about status as it is about culture.

I am not saying I am successful, but I have grown more this season as a musher - and I think as a person - than any other season prior. Mushing has taught me what I am made of, shown me that I am stronger than I think I am. I had a feeling the team could place in the top 10 in this last race of the season, and they did. And I am in love with my dogs. They run for the joy of running and pull their hearts out, all for me and for love of the trail and what's around the next corner. I have no idea how many hours we have spent at this, but I put more miles (we hit just over 900) on the team this year than ever. That's a lot of hours shared between my furry friends and I.

Here is a video I made of the race start and switching leaders 3 miles in. What a fabulous way to end a season. Our best season yet.

"We all have our time machines. Some take us back, they're called memories. Some take us forward, they're called dreams." Jeremy Irons

We leave Thursday for our final race of the season, the Copper Dog, in Calumet, Michigan - a gorgeous part of Michigan known as "Copper Country." It was once a hub for copper mining; at one time, this area produced over half of the nation's copper. It is part of the Keweenaw Peninsula, which is a beautiful and remote area of Michigan that juts out into Lake Superior.

It is the longest distance we travel for a race at over 750 miles away. There are two races: a 10-dog, 150 mile race in three stages, and a 6-dog, 40-some mile race in one stage. We are doing the 40 mile race. Both races start at night.

Sometimes, I think I am crazy. I train these dogs for hours and hours (we have 850 miles on the team as of this writing), only to drive for hundreds of miles to races to put the dogs on the ground and drive them for several more miles. But, dreams can make us crazy, and sometimes we do crazy things in pursuit of dreams. Part of being free is having the ability to pursue "crazy" dreams - even if they don't entirely make sense. "Freedom is just another word for nothin' left to lose" said the late great Janis Joplin...

This morning I spent some time thinking about which dogs will race on the Copper Dog team. Here is the line up:

As always, my trusted leaders, sisters Big Brown and Ruffian will lead the way through the darkness.

Big Brown, only 38 pounds but the best little lead dog anyone could ask for

Big Brown's intense sister, Ruffian. She is the get-up-and-go. If we go too slow, she barks at the team to "Giddy up!"

In point position behind the lead dogs, I have chosen Fiona and Dirk. 

Two-year-old Dirk is an up-and-coming leader with a ton of drive and potential. All the boys hate him because he is handsome and all the girls adore him. His nickname is "Dirk the Jerk" because of it

Sweet Fiona has run such legendary races as the John Beargrease Marathon. She is tireless and just getting warmed up after 20 miles 

And rounding out our six dog team, in wheel position are brothers, Tosh and Perry.

Tosh after the Midnight Run last week. Tosh is a super sweet, sensitive two-year-old boy who is  also an up-and-coming leader

Tosh's brother, Perry, is also super sweet and sensitive and is my biggest dog on the team. At about 58 pounds, Perry is a very hard worker who brings a lot of muscle and power to the team

And I am bringing one extra dog, Cinder, just so I have an extra dog in case I change my mind for whatever reason come race time.

Cinder is also only three, but has a lot of drive and is whip-smart

We leave on Thursday after a Skype session I have scheduled for an elementary school in Roaring Brook, New York. It's hard to believe this will be our last race of the season! Our race will end sometime late Friday night/early Saturday morning. We have trained harder this season than ever before. I hate to see it end, but hope we end on a happy note! I plan to spend the weekend helping out other teams at the race and shooting photos of beautiful Copper Harbor. Stay tuned and you can follow our results on the Copper Dog site or on our Facebook page.

Mush love!
Shannon and the Diamond Dogs

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.