Write this Way

This evening the Barnes and Noble store on Peachtree Road in downtown Atlanta hosted an author book-signing event.  I’ve attended several in my life but none like this one.  You see, this time the author was…me. 

For someone who always dreamed about writing a book and having it published, it was literally (has anyone ever used this word more appropriately?) a dream come true.  I felt both honored and humbled to see posters announcing the event…my event throughout the store.  A stack of 20 copies of the book A Few Degrees from Hell—my book were in plain sight on the counter at the front of the store, virtually impossible to miss as you walked inside.

Several rows of chairs were lined up in the corner of the store.  A small wooden desk and a single leather chair were positioned directly in front of them.  A copy of my book and a smaller version of the poster were in the middle of the desk, two black Sharpies lying in wait next to them.  You know, for autographs and personalized messages to any potential future book owners.   

I met with Karen, the store representative who set everything up for the event.  We spoke for 20 minutes or so and she told me that these types of events were ‘hit or miss,’ meaning I just might have an audience or, then again I might not.  Hell, I was still in the honored-and-humbled-to-be-invited stage.  Actual attendees would be a bonus.

About two minutes before the official start of the event, the first attendee showed up.  Karen was excited.  Me?  Not so much; it was my wife Cindy.  After I introduced the two of them, not one but two true attendees showed up and took a seat.  As they sat down in chairs in two different rows, and with Karen and Cindy in seats as well it presented the allusion that there was indeed a crowd forming.  I started informally talking to them when two more people—a young, married couple joined the gathering.  Attention: crowd control!

At this point Karen stood up in front of the audience and officially kicked off the event by introducing me and explaining that copies of my book could be purchased at the front of the store and I would be happy to autograph them at the conclusion of my presentation.  (‘No pressure,’ she added.  I like Karen.  She’s a lot like me: the type of person who couldn’t sell ice water in hell’s millionaire district.)  I have always been humbled by anyone asking for my autograph as well, and the warmth in my cheeks when she mentioned it indicated as much.  Hopefully no one noticed.

The next hour or so passed by in a flash.  I enjoyed telling the story of how I found myself running in the 2003 Badwater Ultramarathon, ‘the toughest footrace on the planet’…how Cindy giving me the video of Running on the Sun was what inspired me to do it in the first place…how my crew and I not only fared but survived running, walking and crawling 135 miles in temperatures exceeding 130 degrees through Death Valley.  Good times. 

There were stories about other runners: eventual winner Pam Reed, runner-up Dean Karnazes and four-time Badwater champion Marshall Ulrich (I mentioned all three had written books but only two of them had their titles on the shelves in the store!).  There were stories about the members of my Badwater support crew: Gary and his melting shoes as he ran next to me through the desert…Crew Chief Paula allowing me a one-minute nap at the brief stop we made at the 72-mile mark…Al venturing into the desert and asking Paula to ‘put him down for a turd’ as she was meticulously recording everyone’s intake and outtake…Eric keeping my spirits up during the 46 miles of steep climbing required of us to conquer three different mountain ranges…my son Josh pacing me to a quick 8:15 mile around the 100-mile mark to overtake the 7^th place runner…how I asked the crew not to tell me anything negative during the event because I needed to focus on all things positive (they honored my request to a fault; they didn’t even tell me they lost my American Express card while I was out in the desert putting my life on the line). 

I found it mildly amusing to find some of the most surprised expressions on the face of my very own wife.  My guess is now she might finally break down and read my book.

There was a brief period of questions and answers, my favorite being a question directed at Cindy: How did she cope with her husband running 135 miles through Death Valley?  Her answer: ‘I know when Scott sets his mind on something he’s going to go for it, but I didn’t go on the trip with them because I knew I wouldn’t be able to stand seeing him suffer, and that in turn might jeopardize his chances of finishing.’  Hmmm; maybe she read the book after all.

The night ended with the privilege of signing copies of my book, each with a personalized message to the recipient.  I was pleasantly surprised to sign more copies of my book than there were people in the audience; quite a few bought more than one copy.  I feel pretty confident stating my book was the top-selling title of the day at the Barnes and Noble on Peachtree Road in Atlanta, Georgia.*

*That last sentence was for Martin, an editor who told me several years ago that my narrative tales of running weren’t what sold, but rather instructional books about training and racing.  Martin, I want you to know three things: (1) A Few Degrees from Hell is a narrative book about running, not a training guide; (2) I didn’t seek a publisher for the book; the publisher sought me; and (3) I didn’t see any titles from your publishing company in this particular Barnes and Noble, but I did see one of mine.

Martin, maybe you were wrong.  Perhaps I have the write stuff after all.