Dallas Seavey turns 30, but it's the drive for 5 that grips his attention

It may have been his birthday, but four-time Iditarod champion Dallas Seavey's attention was on other things Saturday, like winning the Iditarod again.

"I'm just a day older than yesterday," Seavey said as he bent over to velcro a red-colored bootie on a dog's foot on a snowy Anchorage street. "We've got bigger things to focus on right now."

Seavey turned 30 Saturday. He holds the titles of the Iditarod's youngest champion as well as its fastest, setting a new record last year by breaking the one he set in 2014.

"They told me you get older when you turn 30," Seavey said after spending the morning preparing his dog team, signing autographs and posing for photographs. "So I tried to get everything in."

With a March 4 birthday, he's used to turning a year older around the same the time the Iditarod starts. In 2005, he turned 18 the day before the race started and made it to Nome to become the Iditarod's youngest finisher.

When he won his first race in 2012 at age 25, he became the Iditarod's youngest champion. The next year, dad Mitch won the at age 53 to become the Iditarod's oldest champion.

— Tegan Hanlon

Life’s a beach and then you mush

Larry Daugherty had landed his dream job at the Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville, Florida, and was living in a beach house with his young family when he took a business trip to Europe a couple of years ago.

He forgot to bring a book to read during the long flight, and that's why he lives in Alaska now, and that's why he runs the Iditarod.

Long story short: The only thing Daugherty had to read on his long overseas flight was an issue of Outside Magazine. He read it cover to cover, even the fine-print advertisements.

One of the tiny ads was for Fjällräven, an outdoor gear company in Sweden. It was holding a contest to give away a trip to the annual Fjällräven Polar sled dog race — 300 kilometers (186.4 miles) from Norway to Sweden.

Daugherty submitted a video entry, won the trip, went mushing in Scandinavia, went back to Florida and uprooted his wife and kids.

"I came back a changed person," he said. "I was not happy anymore. It was like a re-awakening of myself."

Daugherty, a 41-year-old radiation oncologist from Eagle River, grew up listening to his grandparents tell tales about their polar travels. He had long harbored a dream to run the Iditarod, and his Fjällräven Polar experience kindled those dreams.

A random postcard that arrived in the mail soon after his return made it all seem possible. It came from Alaska Cancer Treatment Center, which was recruiting oncologists.

"It had a picture of a dog team and a sea plane," Daugherty said. "It spoke to my soul."

He landed his new dream job and moved his family moved north. Soon he met Chugiak musher Jim Lanier, a friendship developed, and Lanier let Daugherty run dogs from his kennel in Iditarod qualifying races. Daugherty finished 63rd in his Iditarod debut last year and is back this year racing dogs from Mitch Seavey's kennel.

— Beth Bragg

‘Back into the darn dogs again’

Twenty years have past since Dave Branholm last raced in the Iditarod.

After running five consecutive races in the 1990s without sponsors, he was broke. He had to get a job, one with a retirement plan, one that would help him pay the bills.

So he did, leaving behind the 1,000-mile race — at least briefly. Branholm retired from his job with St. Mary's Native Corporation last summer and Monday, he will begin another race to Nome.

"I'm back into the darn dogs again, imagine that," Branholm said, standing in a bright yellow jacket at the ceremonial start.

Branholm, now a grandfather of four, took over Scott Janssen's sled dog team this year. Janssen, also known as the "Mushing Mortician," dropped out of the Iditarod late last month because of health problems. Branholm said Janssen called asking if he would like to drive his team. Branholm didn't hesitate. He said yes.

"It kind of got thrown in my lap, but I'm very fortunate and very humbled to have this opportunity," he said.

Branholm said he had been running dogs for Ray Redington Jr., but for the past three weeks he has focused on Janssen's team, spending about 16 hours a day with the dogs — feeding them, running them, gaining their trust.

"I've been really building a rapport with the dogs," he said. "I've got to take them 1,000 miles so they're going to really need to be into me."

— Tegan Hanlon

The Iditarod’s star pupil

Twenty-year-old Laura Neese is a student of the Iditarod who began earning her dogtorate in mushing as a 9-year-old homeschool student in Ohio.

"My mom found out about the Iditarod Insider and we did it as a unit," Neese said "I pretty much fell in love with it right away."

Every year until she graduated at age 16, Neese's studies included a unit on the Iditarod. The race taught her math, history, geography, you name it. She learned military time by reading race standings, "and that's all I use now."

Mark Neese, her dad, remembers coming home one day to find his daughter studying a complex spreadsheet analyzing dog food, nutrition and cost.

"I said, 'This is an advanced math problem,' and she said, 'It has purpose,' '' he recalled.

The Iditarod has given Neese a purpose for more than half of her life. She got her first sled dog as a birthday present when she turned 14, and a few months later she bought a couple more, paid for in part with babysitting money.

These days she works as a veterinary technician and lives McMillan, Michigan, where she can pursue her passion for sled dogs.

Neese completed the 2016 Yukon Quest and has 10 dogs from that team in her team bound for Nome. She scratched late in this year's Quest in order to make sure the dogs weren't sore or fatigued for the Iditarod.

She's aiming for the Rookie of the Year Award. To win it, she'll need to school 16 other first-time racers.

— Beth Bragg

For Battle Dawgs, race is a mission

Musher Rick Casillo gets help for his Iditarod race from combat veterans, but they say the help he provides is much more important.

Casillo operates Battle Dawgs, a Big Lake nonprofit that runs camps for combat veterans. In the last three years, he's offered an Iditarod-related camp, with six "warriors" attending his latest one, he said.

Veterans gathered at the Campbell Tract airstrip awaiting Casillo's arrival said the program has helped them deal with trauma and physical disabilities from their service.

Camaraderie with fellow veterans and a support system provided by people who care are critical, they said. So are the tasks associated with preparing a team for the 1,000-mile run from Fairbanks to Nome, such as organizing food drops along the way. The program provides a clear sense of purpose to veterans who feel rudderless after returning to the states.

"A lot of us struggle with suicide and suicidal thoughts," said David Compton of Chapman, Kansas. Compton, who served in Iraq, said he was on the verge of suicide a month ago.

But the trip to Alaska, and the work associated with preparing for the race, gave him a "mission" and a new outlook.

"This saved me," he said.

"It's a life-changing experience," said Mike Murphy, a veteran from California wearing a black jacket with the Battle Dawgs logo. He served in Afghanistan and Iraq.

Being around other veterans he can relate to — brothers, he called them — helped him overcome feelings of isolation, he said.

Murphy said he's headed to Nome to watch Casillo roll in.

"If there's a bucket list, this is at the top," he said.

— Alex DeMarban