When the heart says yes, but the body says no

The snow falls effortlessly, slowly gathering on his gray head as he sits on the roof of his house. It's quiet, save for a dog barking in the distance. He appears stately, as almost a statue, until he slowly raises his head skyward, opens his long mouth and howls.

Soon the others emerge from their houses, shaking off sleep and greeting the day. Bright-eyed and eager, they join his lonely song, a cacophony of 16 dogs singing, and they say "let's go." But there is no going for me.  They see me and stop their chorus in unison. They eye me, all looking at me expectantly, waiting. When are we going. There is no going for me, and that is heartbreaking. Heartbreaking beyond what I'm able to convey. Days like today are what mushers - and sled dogs - live for.

I'm not one to let pain stop me. I joke often that my middle name is "tenacious." A very special person once told me that I train and race dogs "against all odds." I pride myself on that.

But sometimes, things happen that force our hand. Like a football player with a sudden injury forced to sit out the season, I now mull over the "should haves" and "if onlys." I should have worn the back brace. Regret is a bitter pill.

A bone density scan showed degenerative disc disease in 2007. I get it honestly. My mother's mother had rheumatoid arthritis, her fingers curved in deformed "S" shapes. Still, she crocheted. My aunt had back surgery when I was young. I remember hearing stories of her in traction. My mother has the tell-tale signs of her mother's genetics as well. And, two years ago, I saw my first rheumatologist.

For the last two years, I've struggled with the glaringly obvious effects of this "disc disease" - what I call the result of a life well-lived. Backpacking, long bouncing rides with my mountain bike, and miles and miles of cross-country running in college undoubtedly jarring tiny fragments into my L5. The last nine years on the back of a dog sled undoubtedly further eroded bone, like water washing away rock. This erosion. Spine turning to dust.

I was in denial. This past spring, I took up trail running again, determined to be stronger for the upcoming dog season. It hurt like hell, but with my back brace - a black nylon support wrapped around my waist - and firmly gritted teeth, I could bite through the pain. I worked up to four mile runs, sweated out sets of crunches to firm my core and stabilize the spine, muscles forming support for bone. I was determined. Tenacious.

Friday, winter finally set in. Excited, I loaded nine dogs in the dog trailer, strapped my sled to the roof, and we headed to Punderson State Park for our first run with the sled. I met my friend Ron there with his dogs. In my haste, I forgot the back brace. I never went without it last season on any sled run.

The trails were gorgeous, and despite the lack of a good base, I hooked six dogs for a 10 mile run, then another.

My six dogs with Ron and his six leading ahead of us

On the second time out, I noticed my sled kept tracking to the right. To compensate, I rode with more weight on my left side. I also noticed during that second run that the area in my back with the herniated disc began to hurt. Our second run was short.

When we returned to the staging area, I hobbled through the pain to unhook, unharness and put the dogs away. I put the rest of my gear away, but mentioned to Ron that I was in a lot of pain. I felt better on the 40 minute drive back home, but as I started to get out of my car once at home, my left leg practically gave out from under me. Breath-taking pain shot through my back and down my leg. I limped inside.

Saturday morning found me in excruciating pain and unable to walk. I ended up at the emergency room where I received injections of morphine and toradol, both powerful pain relievers. I filled scripts for vicodin, two kinds of muscle relaxers and an oral steroid for inflammation, and was on bed rest for the remainder of the weekend.

The best laid plans of mice and men. And mushers.

At the time of this writing, I am still awaiting results from x-rays. But the tech allowed me to take a peek at them after I had them done, and what I saw wasn't pretty. Spinal stenosis - a narrowing of the spine - with a possible fracture on the vertebrae, and undoubtedly, sciatica - a pinched nerve that shoots pain down the leg.

For the safety of my dogs, other mushers' teams and myself, I have withdrawn from my favorite race, the 90-mile Midnight Run. I am able to walk now thanks to medication, and I am still debating on running the IronLine and Copper Dog 40, which are shorter, six-dog class races.

My heart wants to be out there on the trail with them. More than anything. But my body says no. And the argument that has ensued between the two is heartbreaking. 

Where my heart longs to be

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.

Tahquamenon 2014: Keep on Sloggin'

Is there such a thing as too much snow in mushing?

It's difficult to believe as I type this, that last weekend the dogs and I were in a veritable winter wonderland. Today it was 50 degrees and raining.

Driving through a blizzard

Driving up to Michigan Thursday morning, a whopper of a blizzard fell across Ohio and lower Michigan. What normally is about a nine hour drive took 13. The dogs and I arrived at the motel in time for a meal and stretch.

The team from left with ages: Perry (2) stretches, Cinder (2), Fiona (6) and Tosh (2)

The rest of the team with ages from left: Dirk (2), Wailer (2), Yeti (6) and leader Ruffian (6)

As I arrived at the mandatory mushers' meeting Friday night, the wind picked up and snow began to fall. And it just kept falling...and falling...During the two hours I was in the American Legion hall in Newberry for the meeting, about seven inches fell. The wind howled like a freight train all night. Sleep didn't come easily; I was worried about what the trail conditions would be like by race time.

The next morning, it was nearly impossible to get out of the motel parking lot. Many mushers were stuck and running late to the race start. By the time we arrived at the race site at Muskallonge Lake State Park, reports of some 18 inches of snow had accumulated overnight. Mushers' trucks and trailers with dogs were lined up along M-407 in the biggest traffic jam that county highway had ever seen waiting for race volunteers to plow the parking area of the race. Once we all made it inside the staging area, race officials delayed the race start an hour and a half. Only the 8-dog and 6-dog portions of the race trail were opened; volunteers couldn't get to the 12-dog course in time to sweep the trail, so it was decided that the 12-dog teams would run the 8-dog course.

I began to get nervous. For four months, the dogs had been training with the four wheeler on relatively clean ground without much snow accumulation. We completed our final training run Wednesday before the race, still with the four wheeler. Taking them from that type of training to slogging through 18 inches of fresh powder on top of the already two foot base would use entirely different muscle groups. It's akin to a person used to running on a treadmill moving to running on the beach. I knew going into the race I would be running very conservatively so as not to overly exert anyone. Five of the eight dogs are still only two-year-olds. Just like training with young people, giving young dogs lots of positive experiences is crucial to their growth as sled dogs. I decided to make the best of it, but run slowly and conservatively. If nothing else, it would be a good training run for the dogs.

We left the starting chute at 11:44 a.m. Everyone, including myself, brought good working headlamps because we all knew we were going to be out on the trail for awhile, well after dark. We flew down M-407 toward Grand Marais and I had both feet on my drag mat to slow the team. We had 41 miles to go; best to hold 'em back.

We came upon a familiar place where the trail cuts left into the woods from M-407. I slowed the team  nearly to a stop and looked up the trail.  Most who follow this blog know that I lived in a cabin three miles from the race start for almost five months last season. I know these trails and I knew that trail. But the trail markers for the race were not there, and there was a clear trail heading straight ahead toward Grand Marais. I hesitated, knowing instinctively I needed to take that left turn into the woods. But I didn't listen to my instinct and followed the tracks straight ahead toward Lake Superior.

Soon, I saw a musher heading straight for me ahead. She passed, and I saw a cluster of six or so more teams up ahead as well, all turning around. We had all taken the wrong turn, and we all had to turn around. Six or seven teams of dogs and mushers all trying to turn around is not my idea of a good time!

Once we were all on the right trail, things were smooth sailing, but slow. Eight-dog teams typically run a fast pace (between 10-13 mph) compared to distance teams (between 7-9 mph). My team, whose running average is between 10.5-11 mph was slogging along at about 7 mph. Most other teams were no different.

My team moving right along in the deep, deep snow

We finally came to a point where the six-dog trail turned right and the eight-dog trail went straight ahead. I called to my leaders, "Straight ahead!" but Ruffian, who seems to love going gee (right) did just that down the six dog trail. I had my drag mat up and couldn't stop the team in time before the whole team was heading down the six dog trail.

I stomped my snow hook to set it and right the team, but they popped it. I stomped again, this time using my extra snow hook too, but in that top 18 inches of powder, there was nothing for the hooks to grab onto and the team kept popping them. Finally, knowing my hooks weren't going to hold well, I tried to set them again as best as I could, ran up to my leaders and turned them around, grabbing onto the sled handle as quickly as possible so as not to lose the team. The hook which wouldn't hold before, now miraculously held, but as the team turned around, the rope to the snow hook wrapped around my brush bow (the front of the sled) and in a split second, snapped it.

CRUNCH!

The new sled, my little Risdon Euro Sprint sled, that I hadn't even used yet was injured on its maiden voyage! Luckily, I think it's a pretty easy fix.

The dogs kept slogging along at a steady pace, but that pace was about 6 miles per hour with all that snow. Thirty-one miles in, when we came to the dog drop (where you can leave a dog who is too tired to finish the race), I asked Dr. Tom Gustafson, one of the race vets, to have a look at a couple of my dogs who seemed tired. They checked out fine with Tom, but I made a decision I've never made before: I decided rather than to burn my mostly young team out on the first race slogging through all of the really deep, slow snow, I would scratch. I'd had a scary experience at the end of the Midnight Run last year (read about that here), and I just didn't feel like finishing the race was worth demoralizing my team at that snail's pace.

The Luce County Sheriff and another volunteer graciously escorted us up snowmobile trail #8 back to M-407. We finished 37 miles of the race according to my GPS. But more importantly, all of the dogs were wagging and ate heartily at the end.

Here is a video of the team and all that snow!



Our next race might be at the end of the month if I can come up with the funds and a decent vehicle! Stay tuned! Mush love!

November: make it or break it

November is the month in fall dog training where, in my opinion, the most growth occurs. November is when we move from the shorter, fun runs of October into longer mileage. The early days of November can still be mild, but by this time in the season, the runs are long, cold, and sometimes tedious.

I have changed my strategy this season. In the past, I've been most concerned with the number of miles accumulated on the team. This season, I've focused on consistent, quality hook-ups and time on the trail rather than the accumulated total miles.

The biggest challenge this season has been training exclusively from the farm in Ohio. I have to run partially on roads, and though I have trained the dogs to run on the berm, we still have to rely on roadways to cross into trails. This can really take a toll on paws and joints, so on almost every run, I have been double-booting the dogs to protect their feet.

This can take a toll on my purse!

These are dog booties. Image courtesy of Katy and Troy Groeneveld of Ten Squared Racing.  

Booties range from $1.50 - $2.50 per boot. I currently have nine dogs in training, and covering back feet is imperative for seven of the 9 dogs I have. That's 28 boots. For one run. Dollar-wise, that's about  $42 in booties. Most of the time, I re-use booties. But often, the outer most bootie can't be re-used.

Then, there are necklines, snaps and rope.

A handful of fresh, clean necklines 

I happen to have a team of sharks instead of dogs. They think necklines and tuglines - the rope that connects the team to the mainline that pulls the sled - are dental floss. I have to babysit them while I am hooking up to make sure they don't chew threw my necklines while I'm hooking the rest of the team. I've gone through more necklines this season than I care to count.

So I had an idea.

Secret weapon against neckline chewing?

A bottle of hot sauce costs about .59 cents. I doused my lines with the stuff in an attempt to prevent the dogs from chomping through them during hook-ups. I thought it was sure to work.

Turns out, dogs think hot sauce is the cat's meow. They were licking my line - and their lips - more than ever.

So much for that.

I am currently looking for sponsors to help offset the cost of booties, necklines, and all the other costs associated with keeping the team healthy and happy. All sponsors receive a "thank you" calendar of your choice of photos from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, the beautiful land we train and race in or of the dogs.

If you'd like to make a donation to the kennel, click here








Our first race, The Tahquamenon Country Sled Dog Race, is January 4 along the shores of Lake Superior. December will be busy! Stay tuned!

Welcome Fall!

Normally training season kicks off for the Diamond Dogs this weekend, but unfortunately it's been too hot and humid to hook the dogs up. For the health and optimal performance of the dogs, a "rule of thumb" is not to run sled dogs when the temperatures are over 55 degrees. Today had me fantasizing about last season. The dogs and I can't wait to start running! Happy Labor Day and welcome fall! It won't be long before we are back in our favorite place: on sleds in the snow!

“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...

"Adventures are funny things. They offer dark, uncertain times, forks in the road, and choices between comfort and peril. And in such times, heroes can be made or undone."

The dogs and I are about to set off on an adventure. 

We set off on adventures every time we go on a run. But this is a different kind of adventure.  

A few weeks ago, when I was in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan with my most excellent friend Emily Wade, we began planning. Scheming. Plotting.  

Whenever two mushers get together, there is inevitable "dog talk" - discussions of all things dog: diet, training routines, race plans, stories from the past. But aside from the normal dog talk, Emily and I began discussing seriously joining forces this season and becoming kennel partners. 

Emily has 13 racing Alaskan huskies, and I have 12. There are advantages to partnering up - especially for small kennels. If one of our dogs is injured, we can borrow a dog from the other. We will travel the same racing circuits together this season, cutting down on costs because we will share expenses. 

But how will we do this if she is in Skandia, Michigan and I am in Diamond, Ohio? 

Ah, dear reader. You are sharp. I can't pull anything over on you. 

The short answer is: the dogs and I are moving to da U.P.

Thanks to Emily, while I was in the U.P., I connected with a guy who owns a cabin in Chatham, about twenty or so minutes from where Emily is staying. He had used it only as a snowmobile haven, and was casually looking for a renter. He works in construction, and was completely renovating this little cabin.  He has access to fork lifts and backhoes and other heavy machinery and has offered to put a connector trail right off of the cabin onto some of the best dog training trails in the U.P. He's even willing to leave a snow machine for me to break trails with in the snow. 

I certainly hope that this fork in the road doesn't lead to peril. I don't have all the answers, but I have faith in the direction. I am excited, but also scared with a fear I haven't felt in a long time.

But I have learned that when the first few steps of something feel daunting and scary, this is even more reason to embark on those first few steps.

As always 

 

The story of Miles: part deux

Miles quickly grew from that adorable little puppy into a big, leggy young man. He was still a ham and a big baby though. 

Miles sitting in Sophie's lap like a baby

I began harness breaking Miles when he was about nine months old, and he did the usual puppy shenanigans when he was first in harness: trying to turn around, playing with his neighbor while running, being easily distracted, etc.  Before long, though, he was running like a champ. He's never been the most focused dog in the world on the line. And he barks at anything unusual - Oncoming mushers, other dogs, something in the woods - a strange, high-pitched bark that can be startling. But even if he barks, he does not skip a beat.

He had nearly 1,000 miles on him when we hit our first race in January last year, and he did phenomenal. He is a strong, flawless puller who is always happy to please.

Miles at the checkpoint early on the second day of the Midnight Run

Miles has become a cornerstone of my kennel with his amazing personality, his tenacity, great attitude and willingness to please. What's more, he has become the sole education dog for my dog sledding presentations. This is why I named him one of the kennels "MVPs" last season. He also became a semi-famous local celebrity when he was pictured with me in Akron Life and Leisure magazine last January. Smiles might never be a leader, but he is a huge asset to the kennel and my race team.

Photo by Shane Wynn

We are looking for a sponsor for Miles for the 2012/2013 season. Won't you consider sponsoring a dog?

Doomed

In just about 12 hours, nine of my best friends - the Diamond Dogs - and I will pack up and depart for the Upper Peninsula for one last hurray. And what a hurray it will be: the Midnight Run sled dog race, a 90-mile wintry trek from Marquette to Munising, Michigan. This will be my first checkpoint race. I have been building toward this for the last six years.

I am excited and nervous as I corral all of my gear in the corner of my kitchen and make the checklist. Booties: check. Axe: check. Headlamp: check. The list is long and involved and would bore any non-musher.

My slightly ADD mind wanders and I think "I'm probably the only woman in northeast Ohio with an axe in her kitchen..."

No. Must focus. 

My point is, there's so much that goes into this, and this - a 90 mile race - is nothing compared to 200-mile, 300-mile or longer races.

But this is a start. This is my start. Kinda.

My start was long ago, when I first set foot on the grounds of Jackson Hole Iditarod and met those crazy mutts for the first time. They had the same effect on me then as they do now: they ground me, and make it all better.

It started with the purchase of my first sled dogs, Foxie and Mandy.

It started the first time I took a silent ride through a beautiful forest of white on the runners, the dogs' breath like tiny clouds of vapor chugging out of a small locomotive, chugga-chugga-chugga, as their collars move in a rhythmic jingle.

It started with my very first race, the Tahquamenon 28 mile six dog race.

It's started, and my appetite and love for this sport only grows deeper.

I think it's safe to say, I'm hooked.

My friend and fellow musher/writer, Michelle Hogan and I were talking just the other day about what it is that makes us love this so. It's kinda ...um, an odd thing for a 30-something mother to fall in love with.

"Do you ever go out on a run and wonder what a strange fricking thing it is to run dogs?" Michelle asks me. "I mean - how did I get so addicted to such a thing? It's rather odd. Not like a normal mom/40 year old thing to do."

Indeed. And really, sometimes it's rather surreal. We put hundreds of miles on a bunch of dogs over a few months, spend oodles of money and time devoting ourselves to this, only to drive said dogs to a place likely hours away just to put them on the ground and see whose dogs can run the fastest.

Kinda weird, init?

Yup.

I’m doomed to love you, I’ve been rolling through stormy weather
I’m thinking of you and all the places we could roam together    -- Bob Dylan "Can't Wait"


Nonetheless, here we go!

I will try to post updates as much as possible. Until then, as always...

Make it look effortless

Recently, I met a mushing fan. Yes, there are mushing fans, just like there are fans of musicians and fans of basketball.

And this mushing fan said to me, "Wow, you get to race dogs. That must be wonderful!"

I stared at the wall thoughtfully for a moment, bit my lip, and carefully considered how best to respond to that statement.

At the same time, I had been up late studying the archives of past U.P. 200 and Midnight Run races. Looking hard at the run times. Scanning familiar names. In anticipation of our own rookie Midnight Run coming up in a few weeks.

Doing something well usually translates into making it look effortless to outsiders.

My response?

Yea, some days it's wonderful. A good day mushing is the perfect definition of "teamwork." Things run smoothly, we have no tangles or snafus. No one is in heat or goofing off or chewing necklines or slipping harnesses. Everyone eats well and has wagging tails after our runs and we all bed down for a long winter's nap with sweet dreams.

But, with my dogs - the oldest of whom is five and the youngest is 14 months  - most of our days are anything but wonderful! Eventful, maybe...

We have hours and hours under our harnesses: practicing, training, learning; in sleet, snow, rain, mud, ice; through several hundred miles and God knows how many chewed necklines (thanks to Aspen) and lots and lots of shenanigans, tomfoolery, and general mayhem to get to the two races we are competing in this season.

Freya being a goof ball on a muddy training run

And it's not just the dogs who are learning.

The deeper into this sport I immerse myself, the more I realize how much there is to learn. It's the difference, as an example, between playing a simple jingle on a piano to holding your own in a full-on performance of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata.

Honing this craft takes so much work. Physical work. Disciplined work. And sacrifice. And more work. And it takes mistakes - making mistakes and getting back on the runners in order to right those mistakes.

But I wouldn't have it any other way, because at the end of the day, I know the dogs and I have all grown and learned together. Nothing can take that bond away.