Three years ago today, I was making a fool of myself right around this time. I was out on the trail attempting to pee privately and failing with something less than style. Needless to say, I survived, and so did the dogs, and so did the guy who ran over me while I was mid-try.
It was the beginning of one of my favorite mushing experiences (not the peeing part). The Copper Basin 300, a race some have called the toughest mid distance race on the books. It was my first race over 150 miles, coming on the heels of a long and tough season of handling at mushing at the Seavey kennel. We had been training so hard that a race felt like a relief. I was exhausted and not at all sure I could do it or that afterwords I would ever want to do it again. My dreams of running Iditarod seemed nebulous and doubtful-- I didn't know if it was something I wanted or something I had convinced myself to want.
I went on the Copper Basin in part because the kennel told me too (I was a good little cog!), but in part because I needed to find something out.
Sitting bare-assed on the trail in the brief hours of sunlight at the beginning of that race, I was pretty sure I knew what my answer would be.
Screaming wind, glare ice, a little open water, crashing northern lights, and true extreme cold later, I really had the final tally.
I loved it. Don't get me wrong... When I was out on the flat lakes in the middle of no where, snow caving down with closing fists and feeling like I was in a tiny suffocating room and promptly fell asleep and my sled and I tipped right over on flat trail... Walking up and down the long torturous hill at Sourdough to retrieve a drop bag that had opened and spilled in all directions... Feeling cold, cold down to bones and past... I hated it. But something about mushing either attracts the crazies or makes them. Because when I finally saw the lights in Tolsona, pulled quietly up across the lonely finish line with a checker and my fellow handler to greet me... After the dogs were cared for and put up into their warm safe boxes, and after we went into the lodge... There was a quiet congratulation, a nod, a well-done given here and there from the people waiting up for the other racers. I ate a hamburger which was probably the most delicious thing I'd ever tasted, and I sat, just sat, exhausted. And I wanted more. I was ready. Just an hour of sleep, maybe, and I could go on. I wanted to mush back into the dark.
So I knew then.
I knew I wanted Iditarod. And I knew I could do it.
Sometimes, maybe, to go towards something you have to go away from it first. I'm doing something so antithetical, in some ways, to mushing that it seems odd or off. It's not. It's a quiet foundation. I'm building my base. It's hard, it's the toughest part of mushing I've ever done-- to not mush. I want to be out with dogs. I want to be at the start line on Saturday.
The Copper Basin begins Saturday, and I won't be there. I'm half glad I won't be. I don't want to be a spectator, I don't even want to be a filmer. I want to be there, I want to be in it. Making stupid mistakes with peeing routines, feeling the complete roller coaster of defeat and victory that is mushing. And being with the dogs.
Someday I will be. Meanwhile, I'll remember. And follow closely to the race.
The Copper Basin 300 website is www.cb300.com
You can read my blog posts from that racing time here.
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