At 11 years old, my family made the move from Florida to Alaska so my dad could train for, qualify for, and ultimately race in the Iditarod. At the start of his rookie run in 2016, I proudly drove the tag sled behind him as we mushed through the streets of downtown Anchorage. Ten days later, I was in Nome to witness him finish. Watching him achieve his childhood dream fueled my passion for the Iditarod and deepened my fascination for the dogs, the mushers, and the mushing culture.  
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We went on to pursue many adventures together. At age 13 he took me to Africa to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro, the tallest freestanding mountain in the world. Five years later we would stand on the summit of Mt. Denali together, the tallest mountain in North America. ​​​​​
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After a misguided year of college in 2022, I decided to drop out and train sled dogs full-time. I was without direction and found purpose again in running dogs. My family was supportive as always, even though they wished for me to get an education. Just a year later Mitch Seavey allowed me to get fully qualified for the Iditarod. I had already raced in the Jr. Iditarod, so I just needed two more mid-distance races; the Copper Basin 300, and the Willow 300. In 2024 I was given another incredible opportunity to run a team in the Iditarod. 
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It was such a great group of dogs; nothing would have stopped them from running to Nome, but it was not to be. Ten miles outside of the checkpoint Shaktoolik tragedy struck. We were mushing across a patch of glare blue ice when suddenly, one of my dogs, a three-year-old named Henry, collapsed. I immediately stopped the team to assess his condition. I must admit, initially I was not too concerned, thinking he had merely slipped on the ice. He was a strong and healthy dog and had been running smoothly and steadily since we left the start in Willow. Unlike many of my dogs, he had run the race the previous year. The vets never had anything negative to report on him. 
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I never could have imagined that, by the time I would reach him, he had already passed. Ignoring the glaring reality of the situation, I relentlessly administered CPR, with intermittent mouth-to-mouth breaths. I must've done this for 20 or 30 minutes before finally submitting. Devastated, I loaded him into my sled and continued to the checkpoint, where I withdrew from the race. The gross necropsy later revealed no definitive cause of death. Stu Nelson, the head of the veterinarians, explained that the only possible cause was a cardiac arrhythmia or "heart attack". All dogs entered in the race go through EKG screening to determine if they are at risk of cardiac arrhythmia. Somehow Henry made it through twice showing nothing out of the ordinary. 
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After the race, I wasn't sure if I ever wanted to mush again. I couldn't stop blaming myself for what happened, despite what everyone said to console me. Ultimately, I know I love being on a dog sled. It would not be right for these dogs to stop doing what they love more than anything in the world, so why should I? I've decided to run to Nome this year for Henry.

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This season, I am excited to take on the incredible responsibility of coaching and training Mitch Seavey’s two-year-old puppy team alongside Sadie Lindquist. They are a remarkable group of athletes, and many will be competing in their first Iditarod. 

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