From the Race Directors: "Diane van Deren called from the Puntilla checkpoint. Her and 6 other competitors on foot went up the trail towards the pass for about 12 miles in horrific conditions. Diane described conditions just like I had encountered myself a year ago. The visibility was so bad that the tracks made by a fellow racer 5 feet in front of her disappeared in front of her eyes. It was the right decision to turn around in these life threatening conditions."

Diane should be back in Anchorage by Friday afternoon. I'm sure she'll have some great stories. Way to stick in there Diane, and make a sound, safe decision to come home.

Today it was -71 with wind chill out on the trail. Diane and Marco attempted to go over Rainy Pass - I think they were the first to try. They left Puntilla this morning at 5am, are safely back at Puntilla tonight as of 7pm. Bummer to spend 14 hours out and not get anywhere, but I'm glad they are back and safe.

So I'm back in Bend in the comforts of my house. But it feels wrong. I wish I was still out on the trail, but it was not to be for me. Turning around about 10 miles out of Skweetna was a very hard decision. In fact, on my 3 hour walk back to Skwentna, I turned my sled around about 3 times, thinking I would just gut it out. But each time, my hamstring would tighten up and shut down my stride.

On the flight back, still beating myself up about the decision, I pulled out a sheet of paper and listed the factors that led to the decision:

- Temperature: For the first 100+ miles, I don't think the temps ever rose above zero. In fact, it was well below zero (without wind chill) for the time I was out on the trail. It was minus 15 when we left Skweentna at 7am on Monday morning. In any other race, I would have dropped to the ground and done some stretching and worked on the issue. But doing that in Alaska was inviting immediate frost bite and risking not only my toes and fingers, but those of my fellow travelers. On my walk back, as a neared the lodge, I ran into a friend who put it into perspective for me. He talked to one of the long time residents of Skwentna (25+ years). This resident's perspective was that with the below normal temps, this was the year "someone will die." There are several races done on the Iditarod trail (snow machine, our race, and the dog race), and when things go wrong, help is 24 - 48 hours away.

- Navigation: The "trail" was difficult at best to navigate. The best way to navigate, but not foolproof, was to stay with a veteran who had done the race before. The race director's perspective was something like "the beauty of Alaska is finding yourself when your lost in the wilderness." GREEAATTT. Maybe at +10 degrees on a nice day long stroll, but not at -25 in when you've already traveled 100+ miles.

We stuck with an Italian racer, who was on his fourth or fifth year of racing the Iditarod. He didn't speak English, and we don't speak Italian. So not a lot of trail chatter. We were so thankful our pace was similar, as there were about a dozen decisions every day where the trail would intersect with other trails, and our friend would somehow miraculously lead us in the right direction. Zero markers. Even with the way points marked in my gps, it didn't really help to make a decision at these points. With my hamstring issue, my stride was shortened, I was dragging behind. I couldn't lose sight of Diane and Riccardo.

- Risk of serious injury: My hamstring was not so bad that I couldn't walk, which was the tough part about the decision. But, I felt like every step was leading to a potential tear. Last year, right at about the same time of year, I choose to ignore these signs in a race, and ended up with a torn hamstring on the other leg. It was 8 month recovery process - I don't want to do that again. If I chose to roll the dice and go forward, I could potentially have been fine. Or, I could have had a tear - probably not been able to walk, and had to bivy in the inhospitable conditions. Not to mention probably risking someone else's well being in order to be "rescued". No thanks. I never want to ride the edge to the point where I have to depend on someone else to get me out of a bad, selfish decision.

My goodbye with Diane was short but tearful. Can't stand around and debate the situation in the conditions. Surprisingly, our tears did not freeze. She said she felt like she should accompany me for the 10 miles back to the lodge. I insisted she keep moving forward. Keep going Diane. Stick with the Italian and you'll be fine.

Diane left the Finger Lakes checkpoint this morning at 8:45am with what appears to be a nice 12 hour overnight rest. Looks like the on foot folks are all sticking together - with the exception of the leader - who is alone in front. Steve is on his way to Checkpoint #5 Rohn. The first cyclist has left the last checkpoint - and is on his way to the finish.

Of note is the fact that the normal trail after the next checkpoint for Diane (Puntilla) is not passable. So they have created an extra 30 mile detour thru something called "Hells Gate", before reaching the next checkpoint. Lovely name. This could mean that between Puntilla and Rohn - it could be as much as 80 miles between checkpoints - which could mean a night in the old bivy.

Also - I am leaving in a couple hours to pick up Kami at the airport. She's certainly disapointed that she couldn't be there with Diane - but will make one heck of a cheerleader I'm sure.

I write this somewhat reluctantly. Kami has turned back to the last checkpoint. She has apparently injured her hamstring. Based on what people have said - I'm guessing she is not badly injured - but enough to know that going another 200+ miles isn't prudent. Word has it that she will try and get out to Anchorage tonight - and maybe back to Seattle tomorrow.

For those of you that have sponsored her - thanks a ton. The kids that benefit won't forget it.

Please keep your cheering going on for Diane. This is her 2nd attempt at this race - and she is going strong.

Go Diane go.