|
As a group, Iditarod mushers may be the oldest elite athletes in the world. In any other sport, unless you are George Foreman, Nolan Ryan or George Blanda, having 45 candles on your cake means you are probably shopping for a rocking chair. Not in the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race. If you are 45 and standing on the back of sled runners, you might well be shopping for a victory cigar. When Dick Mackey won the 1978 Iditarod, he was 45. For 21 years, that has stood as the record for oldest champion. But few would bet he'll retain that status long. Many of the front-runners who left Anchorage on Saturday in the ceremonial start of the 27th annual Iditarod are approaching that age. Consider the contenders. Defending champion Jeff King of Denali Park is 43. Three-time winner Martin Buser of Big Lake is 40. Last year's runner-up DeeDee Jonrowe of Willow is 45. Former champ Rick Mackey of Nenana, the 1983 winner, is 45. Former champ Doug Swingley of Lincoln, Mont., the 1995 winner, is 45. And five-time champion Rick Swenson of Two Rivers is 48. This is not exactly the Pepsi generation. It might be the Geritol generation. They're already too old to start imitating perpetually 39 Jack Benny. And they're hardly alone. Those up-and-coming fresh faces who everyone talks about as the "young guns?" Mitch Seavey of Seward is 39. John Baker of Kotzebue is 36. Only Ramey Smyth of Big Lake, sixth last year, is the genuine exception at 23. And as long as Clam Gulch's Tim Osmar has been around - he started racing the Iditarod at 18 - he's still just 31. But Smyth's and Osmar's youth is more than counterbalanced by last year's third-place finisher, Charlie Boulding of Manley, who is 56, and perennial top-20 finisher Bill Cotter of Nenana, who is 53. Boulding and Cotter are probably ready to start keeping track of their ages in dog years. Let's see, seven times what equals 56? No doubt these mushers are old by athletic standards, but there's no evidence to suggest they'll flame out overnight. "I don't think we'll all just keel over," said Jonrowe. "The guys who are there have taken good care of themselves," said Jonrowe. "You don't see just any 50-year-old up there. You see the exceptional 50-year-old." Joe Redington of Knik, the 82-year-old founder of the Iditarod, was 57 when he competed for the first time in 1974, only because he was too busy organizing the inaugural race the previous year. Redington was 71 when he placed fifth in 1988. Certainly, Redington is exceptional - but he also never won. Was Dick Mackey's win a unique triumph over middle age, or are we about to see the age barrier shredded? Jonrowe actually makes getting older sound like an advantage. "The Iditarod is a chess game with a dog team," she said. "The strategy involves wisdom." Meaning experience. Several of these mushers have achieved at a high level for 20 years. They can still hit the curve ball. Of course, the Iditarod is a dog race, not a human-powered race. But the musher matters. The dog driver can save time with efficiency in the checkpoints, with a sharp game plan and with good judgment resting and feeding the dogs at crucial times. But the musher can also be a drag on a good team. Illness can strike. A wrong turn may be taken. "Older guys can stay awake better," said Mackey, who is the same age now as his dad was when he won. "But those young guys run up the hills." Doctors and scientists will tell you nothing can be done to halt the decline of speed and stamina. You can slow the general deterioration of the body, but the well-trained 45-year-old is not going to be as fit as a similarly trained 22-year-old. Seavey, who was fourth last year, said it's obvious why musher careers last so long. "In all humility," he said, "the dogs are the athletes. We ride. I think of us as the silver-haired coach on the sidelines. We're not running 1,000 miles. They are." Maybe so, but most mushers are as limp as a dishrag after the 1,100-mile journey across the state to Nome. They may average less than three hours of sleep a night for nine-plus days. Shoulders, backs, arms, legs ache. Sure everyone looked fresh on Fourth Avenue on Saturday morning, but check out the same mushers' hang-dog look in Nome when they covet a bath, a nap and a cup of hot tea. At the finish line, after long days battling Alaska's rugged terrain and forbidding weather, mushers may well be ready to trade ski poles for canes, as Swingley joked would be appropriate symbols acknowledging their old age. And old age will arrive some day. "We just don't know it yet," said Swingley. "We're still big kids." * This column is the opinion of Daily News sports editor Lew Freedman
|
