Nome Arm Wrestling
/It’s pouring rain outside, and I’m procrastinating and apparently feeling nostalgic. So here’s a fun story.
March 2015
That February, I had raced in my first 1000 mile race with my own dog team. That March, I traveled to Nome to see Aliy and Allen arrive. For the SP Kennel followers, this was in the days of Waylon and Scout. Scooter and Schmoe. Mac and Izzy. Nacho. Quito. I snowmachined out to White Mountain, where Aliy told me that she would like to participate in the arm wrestling competition in Nome after the race. Fast forward several hours, and Aliy had crossed the finish line in Nome in the afternoon. I looked it up in the Iditarod Archives- 2:44 PM to be exact. Even though she had just raced to a 5th place finish and was by normal human standards exhausted, she enthusiastically said- wake me up from my nap. Let’s go to the arm wrestling competition. Yes, who needs sleep after a 1000-mile race when there’s an arm wrestling competition scheduled.
We headed to the Breakers Bar. Now, I actually have a terrible memory. I think it’s what allows me to race 1000-mile races- I forget specifics and decide I need to race again. So in regards to the arm wrestling competition, I don’t remember all the details, but I’ll share what I do remember. I remember the bar being packed with men and women cheering and jostling around. I remember one of the first matches, where a woman from Anchorage who had flown to Nome for this specific event strutted in wearing a silky robe like a boxer. She pulled the robe off, flexing her insanely large and defined biceps. This woman is going to win- I thought. She was matched up against a lanky woman from Bethel. Boom. The lady from Bethel slammed the Anchorage woman’s fist to the table like it was a mosquito in need of squashing. Alrighty… so it’s not just about big muscles. Technique must matter.
It was my friend Tamara’s turn. Thwack. Tamara slammed the woman’s hand against the table. Tamara’s eyes widen and she bared her teeth and growled a battle cry, a big grin spreading across her face. Ear-to-ear smiles all around.
It was Aliy’s turn. She was matched against a woman from California. The battle began, and as Aliy methodically pressed the woman’s arm to the table, CRACK. The once rowdy and cheering bar went silent. Everyone’s eyes widened as we realized… the woman’s arm was broken. I don’t really remember what exactly happened after that. There was a buzz of activity. Profanities whispered in disbelief. Shocked expressions. The woman was taken to the hospital. Seeing as she was a lawyer from California, it was lucky that the woman was more star-struck rather than angry. And for most news articles about the event, the story ended there. Google more about it if you’re interested. But since this is my nostalgic blog post, the story continued.
Regardless of broken bones, the competition went on. And it ended with Aliy and I being paired for the championship match. Perhaps Aliy was holding back to keep from breaking my arm. Or perhaps she was giving it her all because Aliy Zirkle isn’t known for half-assing anything. But somehow, I walked away with the first place plaque. And I was ECSTATIC.
I called Derek to tell him of my victory. Of how I was the Nome Arm Wrestling Champion. His response- you know you’re not my first girlfriend to have won the Nome arm wrestling competition. I used to date a girl nicknamed Tattoo… Ha WHAT?
Ok, in reality that wasn’t the first thing he said. He first showered me with congratulations, and it wasn’t until later he mentioned Tattoo. But it’s more fun to tell the story with his first response being I’m not his first girlfriend to have won the Nome arm wrestling competition.
To this day I still have the plaque. Not because a first place in a weird, remote arm wrestling competition is necessarily an accomplishment. But because of all the memories around that moment. Tamara’s fierce grin. Aliy’s intensity and energy even after crossing the finish line of a 1000-mile race just a few hours prior. It’s a moment in time that spiderwebs into so many other Nome memories over the years- snowmachining to White Mountain. Eating crab boils. The Safety Bar. Spending time in Nome with SPK. My family in Nome, cheering me on, dancing in bars. My friends in Nome. It’s this weird place where we can ignore the real world just a bit longer while celebrating the exceptional partnership of human and canine in a far-reaching town in remote Alaska.
And sidenote- I’ve never entered another arm wrestling competition. And I doubt I ever will.
