Countdown

The dog crew organizer hands us pink arm bands and a list of names. "Go find your teams," she says. Our group leader has experience so he knows we have little time to waste. We search first for the marathon racers then the mid- and short distance teams. We introduce ourselves to the mushers, explaining how we help guide the gang line. Without us, the power and enthusiasm that fuel these teams of fourteen, twelve, or eight dogs would lead to chaos in the staging area. Most rest quietly until the time arrives for their handlers to put on their harnesses and booties. Then the dogs bark their hearts out and I want to bark with them. Their excitement ignites me and I forget the bitter cold air brushing my face. Our first marathon team readies. We grab the gang line. "Don't step on any paws," the musher yells as he digs in the brake. My quick, baby steps help me round a tight, slippery curve and stop at the starting line. The teams that finish cover more than three hundred miles. The winner manages this in just over forty hours. A man with a dozen dog sled patches sewn to his parka points for us to exit and get out of the way. The crowd watches the clock. "...six, five, four, three, two, one!" I look back, feeling a burn from the line, and wish them a safe journey.