Tuesday, March 10, 1998
Copyright 1998 Anchorage Daily News
Lead dogs deal with a difference kind of endurance
By CRAIG MEDRED
Thought is a heavy burden to carry.
Few people understand this better than a handful of mushers vying to win this year's Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race.
They know about the heft of thought because their success depends on the ability of a couple key dogs to carry the burden.
Those dogs are lead dogs, and without strong ones no one wins the Iditarod.
When Rick Swenson dominated the race, it was Andy up there in front. When Andy retired, Swenson faded.
When Susan Butcher of Eureka dominated the race, it was Granite up in front. Shortly after Granite retired, so did Butcher.
For Martin Buser, there has been D2. For Jeff King, there has been Jake. There have been other good leaders, too, but to name these is to illustrate the point.
These dogs are special, though it's hard to spot the reason why.
To look at them, they look like other good dogs. To watch them run, they run like other dogs. But they have a capacity that most mushers will see in only a handful of dogs in a lifetime.
These dogs have the mental toughness to forge away at the front of a string of other dogs. Not many dogs can do this reliably over long distances. Why is hard to explain.
Marathon runners, long-distance skiers and long-distance bicycle racers face the same problem as lead dogs, and they haven't figured out precisely why it is easier to run in a group than at the front.
Physiologically, they talk about reductions in wind resistance and the boost from the draft. But the real benefit, the one that seems to make the difference, is probably something deep in the psyche.
Psychologically, it is easier to follow than to lead.
Ask anyone who has been there. It is a lot easier to latch onto someone in front and just hang on than to try to push the pace to stay ahead of everyone.
The difference might not be huge, but it is significant. And at the top levels of athletic performance, whether human or canine, that's all it takes.
Consider that over the course of a 10-day Iditarod, a team that travels even 1 percent faster than the competition wins by almost 21/2 hours.
To pace a team to victory, the musher must have a unique lead dog or two. Good leaders won't necessarily win the race, but no one will ever win without them.
Finding or developing dogs with the right frame of mind to lead might be 60 percent of the game. Providing them and their teammates the proper cardiovascular training and then coaching them all through a 1,000-mile ultramarathon is the other 40 percent.
Fresh off a Tour of Anchorage disaster on Sunday, I am acutely aware of the influence of coaching. Physiologically, canines and humans have some similarities. How far they can go is linked to how fast they go.
This rule applies equally at the elite levels and the amateur levels. It applies to both well-trained athletes and poorly-trained athletes. All that differs between them is speed.
Skier Adam Verrier can cruise at a speed of 21/2 minutes per kilometer for 50 kilometers. Most of us can't. The dog teams of Jeff King, Martin Buser, Doug Swingley and a handful of others can cruise for 12 hours per day at almost 10 mph. Most can't.
But just like the rest of us, they also risk going too fast, especially going too fast too soon. The price for this is always paid farther down the race course.
Push a dog team too hard early in the Iditarod, and it will wilt along the Bering Sea Coast. The best mushers guard against that.
Push yourself too hard in the Tour of Anchorage, and you will wilt along the Coastal Trail. It's a judgment thing.
To do well in the Iditarod, a musher has to have the judgment to control the team early on. To do well in the Tour, a skier has to have the judgment to control himself or herself early on.
Here's what happens if you don't: You violate your own pledge to make the first 10 kilometers the easiest 10 kilometers of the race. You recognize you've made a big mistake and try to back off and recover in the second 10-K.
You hit the third 10-K knowing you're hanging on while trying to reassure yourself that age and the experience can pull you through. That's good for another 10-K.
This gets you to 40-K, where reality kicks you in the head. The rest is a death march. Instead of cruising at 12 mph, you plod at 7 or 8 mph and struggle to pass little kids on the last hills.
You'll see the same sort of thing when the Iditarod dog teams hit the coast. A few, including the winner, will cruise to Nome. A bunch of the rest will start plodding due to weak lead dogs, lousy coaching or some combination of both.
Craig Medred is the Daily News outdoors editor. His opinion column appears Tuesday.