Nonsense after the Start!

Finally, we're sitting in the hotel room (sans Tim), weak as kittens, trying to order dinner and flipping between Mexican, Chinese or the Doritos left in the truck. And it appears we're getting a team hot-n-sour and a lot of lo mein. We've spent the day avoiding wind, squinting, and dodging the questions of men with long gray hair and expensive cowboy hats who we've nicknamed "Durangos." These men, who look like western Ted Nugents after an intensive bout with charm school, are to be avoided at all costs for no other reason than one or the other of us said their hair was attached to their hats and we would bust out laughing when one went by.

My son Tom and his wife Emily flew into Anchorage EARLY Friday morning and sleep has been sketchy ever since, except for Tim, who continued with the narcolepsy; who knew the preparation for the start would be so exhausting? Just dropping, feeding, and navigating Anchorage for last minute items has taken it's toll, and all kidding aside, I heard the Cymbalta theme song in the hotel lobby as I slogged out to the truck for the umpteenth time, chapped and miserable. Nevermind that Tim lost his wallet (found it), had misplaced critical phone numbers, couldn't find his favorite balaclava, packed and repacked and unpacked and packed his sled 20 times and so on; frankly, it's been a big, giant pregnancy, compete with birth on a frozen lake and thousands of people watching. And now the baby is headed toward the Arctic Circle.