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should warn others to wear a cooler version here. Ah, well, I must not give up. It’s a dream. I will race! I can’t let the neighborhood children’s silly taunts stop me. Let them laugh all they want. I will race in the Iditarod one day.

J OURNAL E NTRY
    I’ve given up returning phone calls. I’ve given up my so-called “normal” life. I can’t be bothered. The race is but a month away. I eat, drink, and sleep Iditarod.
    I’ve begun to question aspects of my training. I had heard that carbo loading was good, but now I am not so sure. My dogs have gotten fat and lethargic. I may need to change their diet of spaghetti, potatoes, pound cake, andice cream. Now, when I bring them to the sled, they just roll over and fall asleep. Sometimes, to my eternal shame, I do the same.
    Perhaps I should quit. No, no, no!! I cannot allow a negative thought. My will cannot be broken or bent. I must continue chanting my mantra:
    Icanwarod, Iwillarod, Iwinarod, Iditarod.
    Icanarod, Iwillarod, Iwinarod, Iditarod. Icanarod, Iwill-arod, Iwinarod, Iditarod. If I chant loudly enough, I can barely hear the jeering from the neighborhood children. They are ignorant philistines. No matter how many times I correct them, they get it wrong. I scream to deaf, uncaring ears, “It’s pronounced
Iditarod
, not idiot!”
    I have ended my quest for corporate sponsorship. The only offer came from a place called Uncle Huey’s Dry Cleaning and Donut Shop and only if I wore a vest with their motto: “If you get some jelly donut on your clothes, we’ll clean it before you’re finished with your second cup of coffee.” I have too much pride. I will not look ridiculous, so I turned them down. They can keep their $35.

J OURNAL E NTRY
    I do worry that I will not be ready in time to race the Iditarod after all. It is only two weeks away, and I have made little progress. The dogs sense when we are about to begin training. They watch me get dressed and know that when the big boots come out, we are headed for the sled. It’s 87°, unusually hot for this time of year. I have lost fifteen pounds just from wearing these big bundly clothes and sitting in my sled, but I must get used to the bulkiness.
    I have made some progress, though. Last Thursday, Bootsie, Muffin, and I were out in the street sitting there,same as every morning—we’ve chosen to go out at 3:00 A.M . to avoid both traffic and cruel neighborhood children. Suddenly, Bootsie and Muffin took off with a start that caught me unawares (I had dozed off). I was thrown from the sled and the dogs ran for a half a mile or so. I caught up to them and encouraged them profusely. “Good doggies,” I said. “Good dogs—two good girls.” I’m not sure, but I think they saw a squirrel or something. It’s too bad there wasn’t another squirrel to get us back home. We walked; I carried the sled. I sure hope we’ll be ready. Maybe there are squirrels in Alaska.

J OURNAL E NTRY
    Well, we’re in Alaska and I’ll tell you something, it’s
cold
. It’s so cold it’s snowing—looks like it has been for a while. The dogs are not taking to the snow the way I’d hoped they would. Muffin, the smaller one, is being downright stubborn, refusing to step foot (or paw) in the snow. I can’t really blame her—she sinks into it so far, her ears are barely sticking out.
    I feel we are in trouble with both dogs pulling—and there’s no way to try with only Bootsie. Also, Bootsie has, it seems—and this is terrible timing—just gone into heat. I was debating whether I should neuter her before the race and then I totally forgot. You can imagine the scene she’s causing. I’ve never seen her act this way. I keep apologizing to all of the other contestants.
    So far, no one is talking to me. They’re kind of snobbish folks. And real serious about this race. I think some are cheating, too. Some have as many as eight dogs. They must all know each other—all of the dogs look alike and are well-behaved. They