Letting Go

On steep descents and book launches

A few weeks ago, I did something I’ve never done before.

I looked at my race splits, so I could see where I did well at Hardrock and where there’s room for improvement.

I’m currently training for my third straight Hardrock, a 100-mile run around Colorado’s San Juan Mountains that’s known for its wild and rugged terrain, and bonkers amount of elevation gain (and loss).

And I want to build on my last two years at the run, so it made sense to take a peek at my foundation, to see what I’m working with this summer.  

The data confirmed what I’ve felt in my legs.

I’m pretty decent at the parts of the course that travel in the up direction.

I’m less great at the sections that go down. Especially, the parts that plummet down steep, loose terrain.

Nothing about this surprised me. Last year, I felt like I was traveling down the steepest descents at the speed of a slug anchored to a 70-pound dumbbell.

I hate steep, loose descents because I feel like they’re actually trying to physically harm me. Like the hill wants my feet to slip out from beneath me so I fall flat on my ass and slam my body into the earth. And sometimes, I don’t just feel like that might happen, I end up rump-on-ground, scraping pebbles off my butt cheeks.

I know the secret to moving better on this terrain, but I resist it. Because the key is to give up a little control to the hill. Instead of meticulously planting each foot and gripping the ground like it will guarantee I stay upright, I need to release my death grip and let my body flow. Instead of stressing about the exact best position of each and every step, I need to let my feet grace the earth and bounce into the next landing. Like a dance with the mountain.

It’s terrifying to do this, because if I hate anything in life with every cell in my being, it’s the feeling of being out of control.

But when I move this way, I do feel freer – and so much better. I feel like I’m working with the mountain, instead of fighting it in a dark alley.

Instead of poisoning each thought with anxiety and stress, I can take a deep breath and relax. Instead of spending every step fretting about all the things that could go wrong, I can feel grateful for all of the things around me that are good. The landscape. The strength of my legs. The people I’m dancing down the trail with. The gift of moving my body through the mountains.

Releasing control allows me to let go of the all-consuming stress and anxiety, so there’s space for other things. For better things.

It’s been about two weeks since my book came out.  

I did a podcast interview a couple of weeks before my pub date and the first question the host asked me was: “How’s the state of your nervous system.”

“It’s shit, Michael,” I answered.

I was drowning in stress and anxiety in the days and weeks leading up to my book release. I told my friends it was because I had so much to do before my official book launch. The length of my to-do list was a recipe for living in a pressure cooker with a metric butt-ton of stress.

But, if I was being really honest about my reality, a big reason I was so wound up was because I wanted to control my book’s fate. And it felt like the more I did, the more I could control how my deeply vulnerable book was received.

Which, spoiler alert: is not how it works.

The night before my book came out, I did an author event at Powell’s Books in Portland.

It was an incredible evening. Over 100 people turned out. We had a beautiful conversation about running, life, my mom, and grief.  

And at the end of the event, I signed dozens of copies of my book and watched people walk out of the room, holding it tucked in their arms, bringing it home to read, through the lens of their own lived experience.  

As I watched all kinds of people walk out of Powell’s holding my book, I knew no to-do list, or pile of stress, could change how they read it.  

I had to let go.  

If I sat down with that same podcast host today, two weeks after my book release, I would have a different answer to his question. I certainly still feel some stress and anxiety about publishing a deeply personal and vulnerable memoir. I feel like that’s just part of the deal with this kind of writing.

But, I’ve released that death grip over my book’s fate. I’ve accepted that I don’t have control over how my book is received and that trying to hold onto it just makes everything feel way harder and way, way more stressful.

Letting go of control over my book has been as freeing as letting go on a steep descent. It’s allowing me to shed the all-consuming stress and anxiety so I can feel some of the joy and gratitude wrapped up in the experience of publishing this book. It lets me celebrate the huge thing I did - and the gift of sharing this story. It lets me sleep at night (dear god, I needed sleep, I still need so much sleep). And most importantly, it lets me connect with people who are reading it and enables me to actually hear the beautiful things they are taking from the story.

I feel like To the Gorge is doing so much of what I wanted it to do in the ways its reaching and moving people who read it. And I don’t know if I would be able to see that if I was still face down and flailing in my sea of stress.

Letting go can be terrifying, on steep descents and in book publishing, but I’m feeling how it can also be a beautiful thing, that creates space for what actually serves me.

Publishing a book is a wild ride. Thank you, from the very bottom of my heart, to everyone who’s bought my book, read my book, gifted my book, posted it on social media, requested it from their library, shared it, rated or reviewed it, sent me a note about how you’ve connected with it. It’s so wonderful to be able to see and receive all of that, after drowning in so much stress for so many weeks.

A few fun book updates:

To the Gorge became an instant national bestseller (as they say in the publishing business) when it hit the USA Today Best-selling Booklist (that’s one of the big deal lists to hit as an author and holy shit, I screamed a positively feral scream when I found out). The biggest thank you for all of your preorders and early orders, they make a huge difference with this kind of thing and I am so grateful for all of you.

And thank you to everyone who still wants to read it or get it or is even a little bit thinking about it. I know a lot of people don’t get books as soon as they’re out (myself very much included) and it’s so fun to think about people still finding it and putting it on their to-read lists and wandering into local bookshops to look for it.

To the Gorge was also covered by Outside Magazine/Outside Run in this lovely piece that gets at so much of what’s at the heart of the book. And by POPSUGAR in this thoughtful dive into lessons about grief from the book and run.

Lastly, To the Gorge is still on sale through Amazon. And you can get signed copies through one of my great local bookshops, if either of those options speaks to you.

To the Gorge is available everywhere books are sold. If you’ve already read it (THANK YOU), I would love if you recommended it to a friend, shared it on social media, or rated and reviewed it (on Goodreads or Amazon). Thank you thank you thank you for all of the ways you’ve supported this book and helped it find its readers.