I hit my deadline.
There is no pretending it was easy. Perhaps you missed last week's blog post — the one that never occurred. April was a whirlwind, as all deadlines must be. No matter your business, hitting a deadline means hyperfocus and sacrifice. And it's not just working fast. It has to be the best, which means not just writing, but editing (and more editing), and research (and still more research).
But now it's done. Taking London is off to the publisher, where we will commence rounds of editing and copy editing and fact-checking, then the addition of photos and maps, then printing, publicity, and publication right around this time next May. For those of you keeping score at home, the paperback of Taking Berlin comes out June 6 (nice D-Day pub date).
The fourth book in my Taking series doesn't come out until 2025 but is currently the answer to the question I seem to be hearing a lot from friends lately. My wife asks, too, though with some trepidation. Simply:
Are you taking any time off between books?
And what does that look like?
The answer to the first question is yes. In fact, I've already taken six days, as of this writing. I give my runners two weeks off between seasons (track to cross country and vice-versa) to let their bodies rest and get their heads straight. So two weeks seems like a good number. I'll probably take another week of doing this and that in the office before I start researching something new.
But the second question is tougher. For two decades I've balanced writing books and coaching distance runners at the local high school. I actually changed to a school closer to my home three years ago, a move which revitalized me in so many ways. The environment is just nicer — something I didn't think I needed in my life until the vibe dropped itself into my day so neatly, making me wonder where it had been all along. We had a big track meet yesterday and my runners all validated the season training plan by looking so incredibly strong and smooth as they powered around the track. They might talk a little smack on Strava but they sure do back it up when it counts.
I've got a fantastic balance in life right now, this combination of writing in the morning and coaching in the afternoon — creativity and chess, introversion and extraversion, indoors and out.
But track season is coming to an end, perhaps this weekend, or perhaps as far off as Memorial Day. This is the time of year when I wonder what it might be like to have those afternoons free. I've been having this discussion since all the way back when I began coaching, as those reading this space for decades will remember. (Hello, Susie B.) I travel plenty but parts of me wonder what it might be like to do longer journeys: hike the Santiago, write a book from a cottage somewhere remote, train for a fall marathon (which fall, I'm not certain), maybe follow the E Street Band around Australia. Lord knows I obsess about the setlist each and every time the Boss performs. Might as well get on a plane and find another show or two.
Or maybe just spend more time with Calene — though that would drive her crazy.
That's what the next few weeks will look like: planning the future. I've definitely committed to cross country in autumn. And I'll be working on a new book. But at what point in life do you say goodbye to a very good thing and wander in search of another? Do I stick around high school coaching and risk getting stale? Or worse: irrelevant. Coaching is a drug, a massive hit of positivity and endorphins and that nonstop jolt of good karma when you take an athlete new to the sport and make them a champion. Or even just the best they can be.
I love the plotting and word play of writing.
I love the physiology and personal connection of coaching — banter, exhortation, a simple high five.
Both are daily. Neither is a grind.
I'm sixty-two in a month, young in writer years but getting on for a distance coach — though I am really enjoying this "wisdom" phase of life, where I know when a runner needs more or less of some workout at a certain time in the season. My runners made me feel pretty good about those years of accumulated knowledge yesterday, beating flashy teams taking shortcuts and talking smack. I'm a long way from being tired of seeing a young athlete accomplish something they once believed impossible.
So, should I stay or should I go?
That's what the next few weeks look like.