The Voyage: Roz Savage
Getting Off My Butt In Butte
20 Jan 2008, Butte, Montana

Road trips are huge fun, but it can be hard to stick to a training program. However, having spent most of yesterday listening to Jon Benson's M-Power series extolling the virtues of a healthy body, there was no way I was going to skip today's workout.

So I paid a bit extra to stay at the Comfort Inn last night, purely because it had a 'Fitness Room'. I got up early this morning to train before I hit the road, but I was TOO early - the fitness room was not due to open until 7am. But I wheedled and cajoled and the receptionist relented.

As we walked along the corridor he commented that it was nice to meet someone who looked after their body - that he used to work in a mortuary, which was full of people who had failed to do so.

This was further motivation, if any were needed, and I breezed through my cardio workout, riding high on a wave of inspiration and enthusiasm for a long and healthy life.

Now it's time for my super-healthy breakfast of oatmeal with nuts and dried fruit, soaked overnight to convert the nuts from acid to alkaline (healthier), plus flax meal, wheatgrass powder and, of course, beansprouts.

I could just about write the book on meals made with no cooking utensils other than a motel room coffee-maker...

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Once (Frost) Bitten, Twice Shy
19 Jan 2008, Ely, Minnesota

Last week's Wintergreen winter camping trip was an absolute joy - and a timely education in the hazards of cold weather camping. A mild case of frostbite (known as frostnip) threatened to halt my polar ambitions in their tracks.

The weather was relatively mild for January - even at its coldest a mere twenty degrees Fahrenheit below freezing - but my fingers and toes fell victim to a combination of factors - poor circulation, taking off my mittens to take photographs with just my liner gloves for protection, ski boots that were just tight enough to stop me wriggling my toes to generate heat, and spending a lot of time face-down in the snow when my sled dog's strength and enthusiasm outstripped my skiing ability.

The upshot of all this was that, although I enjoyed a wonderful 4 nights of camping out under the stars and 5 days of spectacular snow-frosted scenery, I ended the trip with two blistered fingers, a few numb fingertips, and a couple of toes that the team had to tenderly nurse back to warmth and health (Chris, our wonderful Wintergreen guide, bravely cradling one foot between his hands, while Sari, an ER doctor from New York, warmed my other foot in her armpit). For someone who prides herself on her strength and independence, this was a humiliating experience.

But of greater concern than my wounded pride is the long-lasting effects of the tissue damage. My fingers and toes will now be more susceptible to future frostnip, and this is an issue that HAS to be addressed before I can venture back into the cold.

Yesterday, as I headed from Minnesota back towards the West Coast, I was listening to some inspirational podcasts by Jon Benson, from his M-Power series (highly recommended). There was a motto of his that really resonated with me: "I control nothing; I manage everything."

The double entendre is deliberate: manage can mean either you cope with something, or that you influence events to steer them in a particular direction.

So what I took from this is that although I cannot control the cold, I can still manage to deal with it. I can take measures to improve my circulation through nutrition and maybe even acupuncture, and I can get myself some better cold-weather gear to protect my fragile extremities. There will be opportunities to do some rigorous field testing in Minnesota and elsewhere, and I am hopeful that I can come up with a winning cold weather strategy.

I have overcome bigger obstacles than this in the past, and am determined to overcome this one - hopefully without loss of digits.

[photo above: Mark dog-pulking in the beautiful Boundary Waters wilderness. The dog goes in front, then the pulk (sled), then the skier]

[photo below: the wounded finger]

P.S. Thank you for all the lovely comments welcoming me back to the blogosphere. Nice to know I've been missed! And yes, the Pacific row is definitely on track for a departure this year. I will be on standby from mid-May, and Rick my weather guy wants me gone by the end of June. Precise timing will depend, of course, on the weather.

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12 Jan 2008, Ely, Minnesota

Apologies for the prolonged absence, and I will break my blogging silence soon. But not just yet.

For now, here is the quickest of quick updates. I have returned from my Christmas/New Year retreat feeling detoxed, refreshed and rejuvenated. I turned 40 on December 23, but I feel better than ever.

I have spent the last week slaving over a hot keyboard, completing the latest round of revisions to the manuscript of my book about the Atlantic row. The book deal with Simon & Schuster has now been signed, sealed and delivered, and a publication date set for Autumn 2009.

Tomorrow I start the next step in my preparations for a long term project - a trip to a Pole (whether North or South is still to be determined). I will be spending the following week on a group ski/winter camping trip, with dogs pulling small sleds bearing our gear.

The temperatures here in Minnesota are mild for this time of year, but still well below freezing. I've been out cross-country skiing every morning for the last week, trying to avoid being the slowest in the group. I'm still far from proficient (I still manage the occasional embarrassing bum-splat on a perfectly flat bit of snow), but I'm a lot better than I was.

That's all for now, folks. Check in again in a week's time to find out how the camping trip went.

[photo: Minnesota - a skier on the dogsled trip I did in December]

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Sneak Peak Blog: Dogsledding
19 Dec 2007, Ely, Minnesota

One day, I would love to trek to a Pole - North or South, or even both. But like many women I have a tendency to cold hands and feet. And I've read enough polar adventure books to know that frostbite is a very real danger for even warm-blooded males. So in the interests of establishing my chances of coming back with all digits intact, I decided a good first step would be to go on a dog-sledding trip as a hopefully enjoyable introduction to the big chill.

Wintergreen Dogsledding, based in Ely, Northern Minnesota, offers a positively balmy climate compared with the polar regions - only minus 20 degrees Fahrenheit (minus 29 Centigrade) the first night I arrived there - but at least it would be a first dipping of my toe in the waters (ice?) of cold-weather survival.

There were 5 of us in our group, the first of the season. We were split between 3 sleds, the two-man sleds having 5 dogs apiece, and the one-man 'zip ship' being pulled by 3 dogs. I am not a real 'dog' person, never having been remotely tempted to stop and coo over other people's pets in the street, and I had also heard that these sled dogs could be unruly, wild, strong, and very smelly. So I was apprehensive about how I'd handle the canine aspect of the project. But in fact I was surprised by how comfortable I felt with these dignified, powerful Canadian Inuit dogs, in some cases with a bit of husky or labrador thrown into the mix. Like Andrex, they are soft, strong, and run very, very long.

We quickly got to know their individual characters - bold or timid, leader or follower, noisy or quiet - and to respect their outstanding ability to run all day and then sleep out of doors in subzero temperatures. They seemed born to run - as soon as they were hitched to the sled they were raring to go, straining at their harnesses - so although we were taught that 'Hike' was the mushers' word for 'Go' it was usually entirely superfluous. As soon as the sled was unhitched from its post they were off and running as if their lives depended on it - which, of course, in an Inuit environment, was literally true. In a harshly cold environment there is no time to be sentimental about dogs - they had to earn their living by being good sled haulers, so through natural selection the gene lines that have survived are those that can run long and hard.

Having said that, they can't do it all themselves, and dogsledding is far from being a passive activity. We were often breaking trail, being the first sleds to go where only a pair of snowshoes and a snowmobile had been once before, so the terrain was often lumpy and the sled would get snagged on trees. Then we'd jump off and push the sled over the obstacle or haul it out of the undergrowth. It was a good workout, and that plus our cozy Wintergreen gear ensured we all stayed warm.

So what did I take away from the experience? Memories of beautiful Christmas-card scenes of paths winding through the snow-laden trees... the knowledge that if properly clad I can survive in moderately cold temperatures without my extremities freezing off... a set of outdoor clothing on which the unmistakable and probably not socially acceptable scent of husky dog still lingers... and an eagerness to get back there and do it again as soon as possible.

[photo: me mushing]

P.S. I know I was meant to be taking the month off, but just couldn't resist the urge to share this.

All the best for whatever you're celebrating this December, and I'll see you in '08!

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