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Misguided Conceptions of the Novice Racer

December 21, 2025
Editor and/or Contributors

This article was originally published in a 1982 issue of Team & Trail. To get access to our full digital library, become a member today.

Based on an honest reflection of your racing experiences, how many of you present-day “pros” made these mistakes as beginners? Did you ever have these kinds of thoughts?

Imagined that real dog sled racing could be done seriously as a mere pastime.
Assumed the Iditarod was just a glorified sprint race.
Started your racing career with only “pretty” dogs. Built your dog kennel just big enough to accommodate maybe a five and a three-dog team.
Said to yourself and your family (and naively believed it): “We will never have more than ten dogs.” Thought that you could supply proper nutrition and still maintain the winter racing pace, using just straight commercial dog food.
Figured to yourself that no animal was worth more than $200.00.
Told your bemused friends: “I’ll be happy if I can just finish in the Top Ten in most races.” Run your newly acquired yearling in single lead… and thought you were cheated when she sat down.
Paid $400.00 for an eight-year-old dog that would have much preferred being an overweight house pet. Actually believed that you could get through an entire racing season with one sled and one gig.
Thought you’d need to drive a mere two hours to get to a good snow race.
Believed your 1961 Volkswagen bus would be sufficient to carry all your dogs, equipment, and, as an afterthought, your family.
Were overwhelmed when two-tier dog trucks entered the staging area.
Were impressed with teams that were still running when they crossed the finish line.
Envisioned yourself in the Top Ten at a certain race — then came in 27th.
Ran your dogs mostly downhill when training, because that’s the only time you could go faster than 12 m.p.h.
Ran your dogs too fat, because that’s what most pets looked like.
Ran your dogs too thin, since you were advised the year before that they were too heavy and did not perform like athletes.
Talked to top drivers who realized you didn’t know a thing — and actually expected them to give you the correct time of day.
Used a whip like you were piloting a Roman galley at ram ming speed.
Felt guilty that one of your dogs had worms when the more experienced racers peered down their noses at you.
Thought that you should run with your team on all the flats, and pedal on all the downhills.
Coveted the neighbor’s Malamute, and projected him as the answer to speed on the uphills.
Thought you’d found the answer to sled runner treatment, then found you had trouble pushing the sled across the staging area.
Dreamt that your experimental breeding program would revolutionize sled dog racing.
Were really impressed with yourself the first time you passed an opponent’s team — even if it was an experimental team of beagles.
Hoped that your friends and relatives would have a real interest in your newly found “hobby” and later hoped that they wouldn’t commit you to the nearest sanitarium.
Realized, years later, that you couldn’t have handled a “good dog” your first year, even if you would have recognized one.
Thought that snow would cancel work after you’d just got ten home Monday morning at 5:00 a.m., from a race some 300 miles away.
Known that you had been wrong for several years — and admitted the fact.