1,128 miles

You can only do things for the first time once. There is no rewind or erasing the memories of what happened. In the time leading up to [insert your big life event here], everything in the future is a hazy guess. How you will feel, how your brain will respond in crisis or in joy, how unpredictable outside forces will change the course of [sed event]. The pre-planning is as important as the ability to adjust and change on the fly.

This year's Iditarod had even the most veteran mushers changed their original plans due to a last-minute re-route. Instead of heading over the Alaska range, we were sent down the Tanana River to the Yukon River for over 700 miles. One could think that a flat river would be much easier than mountain climbing. They wouldn't be wrong in some ways: it's flat terrain with no technical driving. Yet, hundreds of miles of river with no clear trail is tough on the musher's brain as well as the lead dogs. Iditarod 2025 was the biggest mental challenge of my life.

Highlights:

We had beautiful weather. I experienced a couple of -30° nights, but without wind, there's not much to complain about. We had bluebird days, which proved to be pretty hot at the beginning. We watched endless nights of the Aurora. I had to set aside the "racing" aspect often to stop the team and watch the sky dance above my dogs.

We ended up in a wild silt storm! I have never experienced anything like this in my life. I felt like Lawrence of Arabia meets Iron Will! A strange squall formed and blew beach sand around with snow. I thought I was caught in a regular ground storm until my eyes started stinging from the sand in my contacts. My dogs are fearless in storms these days! I realized that we were off the marked trail; I wasn't seeing any reflectors in the distance. We were screaming along on glare ice with driftwood haphazardly frozen in when my left runner caught a piece of frozen driftwood, flipping my sled on its side. Of course, I obeyed the first rule of mushing, "never let go" and called my team to stop. With my sled on its side and my team at a halt, I shone my Lupine headlamp in every direction and happened to catch the tiniest glint of a reflective on an Iditarod stake. With my sled down, I took off my teams' front booties so they had better grip with their nature-given claws, called my team "haw" and found the trail again. From there, my lead dogs tracked the trail to the Tanana checkpoint. We ended up losing the trail several times on the race, and every time, my lead dogs were patient with me, listened to their commands, and took the team in the correct direction. Every time I was swelling with pride.

A perk of Iditarod is that you can camp with your dogs so much. The word camp may bring different images to your mind that what mushers experience. The dogs bed down on straw that we bring with us and sleep in the sun or I put their jackets on if it's a bit chilly. I simply lay my sleeping bag on a thin Thermarest and doze off for an hour or so. It's not glamorous camping, but there is something about the feeling of sleeping on the snow with the dogs that cannot be replaced.

Lowlights:

Asking for help is not my forte. If you have met me in person, you may have gotten that sense. If you know me well, you know that asking for help is always last on my to-do list. And if you're related to me, ikyk. I imagined finishing Iditarod under the power of my dogs with little to no help from anyone. But then the brains of my leaders started to get tired. Their bodies weren't tired, just the trail finding, wind enduring brains of my sweet sweet leaders. If you followed my tracker, there are three notable pauses.

The first was in a wind storm. I had a tired leader, and I missed all of the signs, and he decided to take matters into his own paws and tried to turn the team around. Once the rest of the team understood his mission, they were on board. I was messaging Anna on the InReach, and she encouraged me to camp and wait. Lauro was an hour behind me, and the dogs would surely follow him into the checkpoint that was only 4 miles away. We camped, he came by, we followed. I was embarrassed, but it was what was best for my dogs. They were strong and fast into the checkpoint.

The second was on a long stretch on the Yukon. I should have only been running 40-mile stretches, but I asked my team to do 50s. That was the plan. I wanted the plan to work! We camped after 50 miles, but the cold weather made the ice grow in only a matter of hours. The ice popped beneath my team, and once again, the mind of one dog changed everything. Before I knew it, my whole team was sprinting towards the bank. The thundering cracks spooked two of my females. We had made it only 3 miles in 2 hours! I should have camped sooner or have bagged my scared girls sooner, but I didn't. I spent nearly 21 hours on the ice. I camped, bagged my spooked dogs, and made it into the checkpoint with ease.

The third and final time was outside of the Safety checkpoint. This is where most people outside of my little pack became certain that I wouldn't finish Iditarod. It is over 70 miles from White Mountain to Nome. In most years, that is a fine distance for most mushers, but I knew that I had to break up that run into two, 40-mile stretches. I wanted to make it to Safety, camp, and then run to Nome. 1 mile from Safety, my team stopped. I tried to convince them that we were only a mile away from our last checkpoint, but no convincing worked. We camped outside of the checkpoint for several hours. When I got the team ready to go, no one wanted to lead. The team was barking to run, but no leaders were found. I saw Keaton coming in behind me. I knew my team was faster than his and stronger, but I also knew that his team was having more fun. I asked him if we could follow him into Nome, giving up my 17th position. He was awesome and said yes. Along the way, Keaton continued to tell me that I didn't need his team. My team would have done fine without him. I disagreed, so we ran together. When we got close to Nome, my leaders finally understood and wanted to pass his team, but Keaton showed great sportsmanship, and he deserved the 17th spot! We made it into town and I stopped on the road to give Keaton and his team time beneath the burled Arch. My dogs were happy to hang out with adoring fans, knowing that soon they would be home in their houses.

I can tell you that this is not how I saw my rookie Iditarod ending. Now, over a week removed from the race, I have so much more empathy and grace for my rookie Iditarod self. I did all that was best for the dogs to get them to Nome, and they got me there all the same. I recognize that over 1/3 of the field did not make it to the Burled Arch, and we did.

Thank you to all of you who supported me through this crazy adventure. I spent well over $50k this season due to some unforeseen changes at our kennel, and you all made that possible. The dogs had nearly perfect feet at the end of Iditarod thanks to all of the booties you bought for their feet. Their new jackets kept them warm through the coldest nights. The vets were thoroughly impressed with the weights of the dogs throughout the race, thanks to all of the food that you all sponsored. I could not have done this without you.

I may see the Iditarod trail again some day, but for now, Anna and I are planning a few other adventures. My website will probably hold the "donation" button for a while. We hope to keep dogs in our lives in a racing capacity, but our location and race life will change quite a bit. If you wish to be a long-term sponsor of our future Minnesota kennel, please stay in touch. If you wish to continue to be updated on our adventures, please stick around, no pressure to be a part of the financial process. I want to continue to live a life that creates stories to share.

Until next time.