Back Home: The Other End of the Craftsbury Relays

by Sara

Hello to all of you JNT Blog readers, for those of you who don’t know me, my name is Dasche. Those crazy Spencers are my well trained humans and today I will be taking over Sara’s job of writing commentary on the Vermont Republic National Nordic Championships. It seems kind of wrong to have Sara write about herself, she talks about herself enough already. Now, as we continue onto the real story, let’s all agree that the following commentary is pure “fact.”

Originally Sara was going to head up to the Spring Fling in Craftsbury for some fun relay racing, however, the Gods of March were strongly against this notion. As she drove down the road they forced the car into a 360 on the ice. Since the relays were a botch, I decided to host the VRNNC, paw selecting the racers from the two local teams present. The competitors were Stan the Man, representing team DAD (Disabled and Dying) and Sara of the Native Vermonters. The racers marched out of the house in style…the less the better.

Today’s start was Lemans style with both contestants running to a random pile of skis and poles; don’t worry FIS, they were both complying the 126% rule. It was a rough start for both as they ran to their skis and poles attempting to put on the equipment while avoiding the competitive scrum. Soon the race was underway and Stan the Man made his way up the first hill of the sprint course, leaving Sara to pick ice chunks from her eyes after an inglorious fall into a snowbank. The Man was doing perfect technique up the first climb, getting the most out of his extra green with a bit of spittle kick wax. Soon he realized he really was an old man as his heart rate monitor (drool measuring device) began going into overdrive, and the young and spry Sara was able to close the formidable distance. Reaching the Morderbachen the two racers went up and over the hill wheezing. Soon hitting the epic slopes where Stanley promptly fell off the trail and Sara said Adios!

This continued for another 5 laps, beating back and forth as some highly illegal moves were made, but quickly overlooked as a doggy treat was thrown my way. Clearly the race would be decided by which racer gave me the most treats and pats while enduring the horrific pain of racing their number one nemesis. As they came back around the stadium for the finish, another competitor of team MOM (Mature and Obviously Magnificent) arrived. Stepping out of the car in a highly dignified and powerful way she ended the race abruptly, calling all hands on deck or face risk of disqualification. The racers quickly forfeited the race to the dominant MOMs and I herded them inside, doing my day’s chores.

This has been a wonderful winter full of great races and maturing skiers. Hope to see you next year at the annual VRNNC’s!! And now a quick public service message to the Gods of March: Get moving!!! It’s high time I’ve moved from my perch on Sara’s bed to the front porch so I can chase deer around right off the bat rather than having to order my humans to open the door for me! Come on! I should be dreaming of biting the mail man’s ankles.

Bribery works very well.

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