I usually write a poem or two during the race. This is my first one of 2008, a free verse from a musher's point of view, touching on the hallucinations that start to occur about this time, from the lack of sleep:
The frosted fingers of cold pinch my skin.
False images dance before me like ghosts.
I dodge terrifying trees where there are none,
Call out to friends who disappear
Into the snowy veils that surround me.
Of the whoosh of my runners
The panting of my dog team
Running across the icy expanse.
Alone with creation,
We are victors,
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