Lisbet norris biography of michaels
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It’s mushers helping mushers as Alaska wildfire tears through Iditarod country
As the wildfire grew on Sunday, Lisbet Norris did what any third-generation musher in the dog-racing capital of Alaska would do. After seeing if she could help at the fire en plats där en händelse inträffar ofta inom teater eller film up the road, she returned home to pack up her 100 Siberian huskies and bring them to safety.
“Running dogs fryst vatten my life,” Norris, 27, said Wednesday by telephone from Underdog Feeds, the Wasilla, Alaska, supply store run by her family that has given shelter to upward of 500 dogs from the fire burning in nearby Willow.
Norris, who has run the famed Iditarod dog sled race twice, was lucky to have saved her animals — some others were not so fortunate, she said.
“Several mushers have lost everything,” she said. Donations are being taken at the feed store and through the Willow Dog Mushers Association, which represents the community of dog lovers and racers in the sparsely populated chunk of Alaska hit this year by wildfires.
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When it’s twenty degrees out and you’re facing down seven hours behind a dog sled, eating is the last thing on your mind. The first year she ran the thousand-mile race in Alaska called the Iditarod, Kristy Berington made the mistake of packing the exact same calorie rich foods for every day of the race. “Nothing seemed very enticing. I was sick of PB&J, I was sick of beef jerky,” she says. “That’s probably why inom lost so much weight. It’s not unlikely to lose about ten percent of your body weight. And same for the dogs.”
Kristy and her twin sister, Anna Berington have learned a lot in their seven and five years, respectively, running the race. “Last year,” says Kristy, “we mushed in temperatures of 60 below—it’s hard to eat a PowerBar at 60 below.”
“The colder it is, the harder it is to make yourself eat,” says Anna. “When you’re outside in below zero temperatures for any sustained amount of time, you burn a lot of calories. So it’s mainly a battle of making sure you’re getting
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On October 9, the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race announced that several dogs on a single team had tested positive for a prohibited substance last spring. Fans would later learn that the four dogs finished in second place with four-time champion Dallas Seavey, and that the controlled substance was tramadol, an opioid pain medication.
The world of dog sports exploded with speculation, in part because the details of the find were so unlikely: tramadol is a not a known performance-enhancing drug for dogs, and, based on its half-life, it appeared to have been administered at the very end of the race, possibly after the dogs had crossed the finish line and before they were tested six hours later.
The scandal also plays into the public’s fears about canine athletic feats that seem, from a distance, unbelievable. Headlines about an elite musher caught “doping” seemed to confirm doubts—at least among those who have never seen an actual sled dog team in action—that the dogs’ innate athleticis