A Vet’s Perspective: Why Dogs Don’t Belong in Human Endurance Races

By Krista Halling DVM DACVS

There are many ways to joyfully and responsibly adventure outdoors with our dogs. A human endurance race is not one of them.

As a veterinarian with a background in canine sports medicine and the human–animal bond—and as someone who celebrates and encourages the bond that forms through shared outdoor activity and the creator of a brand centred on “how to safely adventure with your dog”—I feel compelled to speak up based on recent observations of a growing trend in the outdoor recreation space. I invite all of us—individuals, media platforms, and outdoor communities—to pause and reflect before celebrating stories of dogs being made to accompany their owners in human endurance races. Here’s why.

It’s easy to get swept up in the excitement and romance of a dog participating in an extreme event with their human. I totally get that—it’s a compelling narrative that on the surface looks like a beautiful story of immense stamina and bonding. But is it really? I invite us to take a closer look at what is likely happening just below the surface—physically, emotionally, and ethically—when a dog is made to keep up with a human for hundreds, or even thousands, of kilometers.

A race designed for humans is not structured with a dog’s wellbeing and capabilities at the forefront, or even at all. And therein is a huge and critical distinction. In sanctioned canine sports, such as the Iditarod and canicross, the race is designed squarely around a dog’s mental, physical and physiological abilities and limits. As such there are pre-race conditioning screenings, medical exams, EKGs and bloodwork evaluations, intra-race veterinary checks, mandatory rest periods, mandatory medical assessment if the dog becomes unwell, and other guidelines in place—entirely to ensure the dog’s wellbeing is first and foremost. 

But when a dog is brought into a human race, there are no such safeguards. There’s no vet team. No pre-race medical check. No mandatory rest periods. No enforcement of fit-to-race standards, no expectation of transparency, and no accountability. It is a free-for-all, where the dog’s wellbeing relies entirely on their human’s judgment and agenda. This isn’t a theoretical concern—harm to a dog has already repeatedly occurred under this kind of unregulated model.

There is a crucial difference between a system built around a dog’s needs and preferences, and a system that makes a dog fit into a human’s personal goals. And when these latter events—especially high-profile ones—garner increasing glory, coverage, public applause, and even unofficial “dogpacking” categories, it creates a slippery slope and a potentially very harmful situation for the dogs involved. This should not be what inspiration looks like.

This kind of visibility can create a perception of legitimacy. When something is done publicly, receives applause, and looks celebrated, it can give the false impression that it must be safe for the dog.

In fact, mandatory safeguards and transparency about health precautions exist in dog-sanctioned events to mitigate the risk of a dog being harmed. There are many ways a dog can develop serious health issues during an endurance event—far beyond simply surpassing their mental limits or appearing “fatigued.” Even apparently fit dogs are at risk of daily caloric deficits, dehydration, electrolyte imbalances, overheating, Addisonian crisis, repetitive muscle or tendon injury, footpad damage, gastrointestinal stress (including bloating), heart arrhythmia or failure, rhabdomyolysis, sleep deprivation, immune suppression, and emotional shutdown or depressive coping mechanisms such as learned helplessness, to name just a few. The longer and harder the event—or the fewer precautions that are taken—the more these risks escalate, both in likelihood and in severity.

Dogs are not four-legged human teammates. They are sentient animals with their own mental and physiological needs, preferences, and thresholds; many of which are very different from those of humans. And unlike human participants, they don’t get to opt in or opt out of the race experience. They can’t raise their paw and say, “This is too much.” They may appear to tolerate the experience. But that’s not the same as tolerating it—and it’s not the same as enjoying it.

What’s even more concerning is when animal welfare questions are received as unwelcome—when raising valid and ethical concerns about a dog’s race preparation and their well-being is met not with transparency, accountability and reflection, but with deflection and discrediting.

Caring for our dog is not setting a race pace based on one’s own personal race goals. Caring is not glorifying the ‘dog racing in the event’ for the sake of brand promotion. Caring isn’t stopping only when our dog becomes unwell. Caring means creating an experience from the get-go that’s designed around our dog’s actual and proven needs and enjoyment—not our own goals or our assumptions of their thresholds.

I’ll be honest: I don’t know how this essay will land. But I just have to say that as a dog lover, an outdoor enthusiast, and a veterinarian, I can’t sit here and watch ‘dogpacking in human endurance races’ be applauded in our outdoor recreation world—and not raise my hand and say something about a growing pattern that I believe deserves more scrutiny and care, certainly in 2025, rather than blind no-questions-asked celebration. Adventuring with our dogs can be a wonderful experience of wellness and bonding for both us and our dogs. Let’s please collectively ensure it remains that way. 

So I invite all of us to please begin looking at dog-in-human-race stories through a more compassionate and critical lens—one that puts the dog’s experience at the centre. If you’re a follower, please consider pausing before blindly liking or sharing content that features a dog being exposed to human limits. If you’re a media platform or a corporation, I encourage you to please think carefully about whether amplifying these events sends the right message. And if something doesn’t sit quite right—if there’s no clear sign of preventive measures or veterinary oversight—I encourage you to ask why not. It’s through curiosity, compassion and accountability that we shape our culture.

We must do better. And we can. From our dogs, thank you 🐶💕

About the author

Krista Halling is a veterinarian board-certified with the American College of Veterinary Surgeons and creator of Dogpacking.com. She is also certified in the Human-Animal Bond and in Canine Physical Rehabilitation. Krista loves travelling and adventuring with River, her mini goldendoodle sidekick, in activities of River’s choosing.

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