I'm trying to be brave. Really trying. But I'm scared. Not scared, nervous. My first 100-mile race is tomorrow. I worked on my sled until 11 last night. New runner plastic, tighter brake, more secure drag, clean sled bag. All my gear is packed. In the sled, which is not yet loaded on the truck. My sled weighs a ton. I've got all my mandatory gear: an axe, snowshoes, cold-weather sleeping bad, cooker, fuel, dog booties. I've got three different kinds of meat for the dogs: liver, beef fat and race mix. I've got kibble, both dry and soaked. There's some food for me and extra clothes and boot liners (there's open water, I hear). I've got extra lines and harnesses and dog coats, even though it's supposed to be warm this weekend. I've got a vet kit and a sled-repair kit. A knife and multi-tool.
The lineup is as follows: Bully and Capiche in lead. Kat and Strider in swing. Sister and Sally. Summer and Hitchcock. And Happy and Hazel in wheel.
I plan to stop after the first 25 miles and give out some liver. Then it's 27 miles to the checkpoint for a mandatory four-hour layover. Depending on how the dogs look coming in, and how well they eat and rest, I might stay longer. Then it's 50 miles to the finish.
I feel like I'm forgetting something. God, I need to calm down. I have to work for a few hours tonight. I guess it's better than sitting around worrying.
I just want to finish, I don't care if I'm last. Just finish with happy dogs. That's my goal.
OK, I'm going out to recheck everything.