Hi friends,

These past weeks have been heavy in Tahoe. The Castle Peak avalanche. The multiple resort deaths. The texts that start with, “Did you hear…?” If you live here long enough, you know this truth: the mountains give us so much. And sometimes, they take.

I’m not writing to debate decisions. I’m not writing to speculate about what someone should or shouldn’t have done. And I’m definitely not interested in adding to the noise of armchair experts who have never stood in a whiteout, never felt the pull of a slope beneath their skis or board, never made a split-second call in dynamic terrain.

Living in a mountain community means accepting risk as part of the landscape. We recreate in it. We work in it. We build our lives around it. And when tragedy happens, it doesn’t just affect “those people.” It ripples through all of us. In small towns, grief is not abstract. It’s personal. It’s your kid’s coach. Your barista. Your ski buddy. Your friend’s spouse. And when loss hits a tight-knit mountain town, the mental health impact is real. Grief in a small community is different.

When I was a teenager, my best friend died. Suddenly I wasn’t just grieving, I was navigating everyone else’s reaction to the grief. High school became a strange theater. People acted differently around me. Some avoided me. Some were overly intense. Some made it about themselves. Rumors swirled. Opinions flew. Drama layered on top of devastation. It was confusing. Isolating. Exhausting. That was my first lesson in this: Grief makes people weird.

Not because they’re bad. But because most people don’t know what to do with death. In mountain towns, that weirdness can amplify. Social media dissects timelines. Comment sections speculate. Strangers analyze decisions with the confidence of hindsight and none of the context. Speculation and armchair expertise don’t help. They don’t bring anyone back. They don’t support the families. They don’t strengthen the community. They just inflame. And when you’re already grieving, or even just shaken, that extra noise hits your nervous system whether you realize it or not.

Here’s what people outside of mountain towns often don’t understand:

When tragedy happens here, it challenges our identity. We pride ourselves on skill. On preparation. On respect for nature. On calculated risk. So when something goes wrong, it shakes more than emotions, it shakes confidence. It shakes our sense of safety in the place we love. Even if you didn’t know the person. Even if you weren’t there. Even if you “weren’t that close.” Your body still registers it.

You might notice:

Low-grade anxiety you can’t quite name

Irritability

Trouble sleeping

Obsessively checking for updates

Or, the opposite, shutting it all out

That’s your nervous system trying to make sense of something that feels both random and personal. Grief isn’t just tears. Sometimes it’s tension. Sometimes it’s anger. Sometimes it’s silence. So What Can We Do? We can’t control the mountains. But we can control how we show up for ourselves and each other.

Here are a few grounded things that actually help:

1. Stop feeding the speculation machine. If a post makes your heart race or your jaw clench, pause. You don’t have to engage. You don’t have to comment. You don’t have to prove anything.
2. Reach out directly. If you know someone impacted, a simple “I’m thinking of you. No need to respond.” goes a long way. You don’t need the perfect words.
3. Move your body. Not as punishment. Not to escape. But to discharge stress. A walk. A lift. A skin up a mellow trail. Gentle movement helps your nervous system metabolize shock.
4. Stay connected in real life. Have coffee. Hug your people. Sit in the same room. In-person connection regulates us in ways online debate never will.
5. Let grief look the way it looks. There is no “right” way to process this. If you feel steady, that’s okay. If you feel shaken, that’s okay. If it hits you days later, that’s okay too.

Mountain towns survive because we take care of each other. That doesn’t mean avoiding hard conversations. It means having them with humility. With context. With respect. Before posting, ask: Is this helping? Or am I just trying to relieve my own discomfort?

We are strong communities. But strength isn’t bravado. It’s compassion. It’s restraint. It’s showing up when it matters. The mountains are still beautiful. They are still worth loving. And loving them means respecting both their gifts and their power.

If this week feels heavy for you, that’s normal. Take a breath. Text a friend. Step outside. Move your body. And if you need support, ask for it. That’s not weakness. That’s wisdom.

Holding our Tahoe community close this week.

NBC-HWC | ACSM-CPT

⛰️Training PEAKS: Move Your Body, Steady Your Mind

When stress hits a mountain town, it doesn’t just live in our thoughts. It lives in our bodies. After tragedy, your nervous system can stay “on.” Elevated cortisol. Shallow breathing. Tight shoulders. Restless sleep. That low hum of vigilance.

Movement is one of the most accessible, evidence-based ways to help your system recalibrate. Not as distraction. Not as punishment. But as regulation. Let’s talk about why it works, and how to begin when it feels like the last thing you want to do.

Why Movement Helps.

It metabolizes stress hormones. When something scary or tragic happens, your body releases stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline. Those chemicals are designed to prepare you for action. If you don’t physically move, they linger.

​Moderate physical activity helps reduce circulating stress hormones and brings the nervous system back toward baseline.​

It increases mood-regulating neurotransmitters. Exercise increases serotonin, dopamine, and endorphins, chemicals involved in mood stability and emotional resilience.

​A large meta-analysis in the British Journal of Sports Medicine (2023) found that physical activity significantly reduced symptoms of depression, anxiety, and psychological distress across populations.

It improves nervous system flexibility. Regular movement improves heart rate variability (HRV), a marker of your nervous system’s ability to shift between activation and recovery. Higher HRV is associated with greater emotional regulation and resilience.​

(You don’t need to track HRV obsessively to benefit, just know that consistent movement builds adaptability.)

It improves sleep, which improves everything. Grief and stress often disrupt sleep. Movement, especially earlier in the day, improves sleep quality and duration, which supports mood regulation and cognitive processing.

Sleep Foundation: How Exercise Affects Sleep https://www.sleepfoundation.org/physical-activity/exercise-and-sleep​

It restores a sense of agency. This one isn’t biochemical, it’s psychological.

In moments when we cannot control outcomes, taking small physical action reminds us: I can still do something. I can still care for this body. I am not powerless. That matters more than we realize.

What Kind of Movement Is Best?

Here’s the good news:

You do not need intensity to get the benefit. Research shows even light to moderate activity can reduce stress and improve mood. Walking, cycling, strength training, yoga, all count.

After heavy weeks like this, I often recommend:

Brisk walking outdoors

Moderate strength training (not max effort)

Mobility work with steady breathing

Zone 2 aerobic work (you can hold a conversation)

If your nervous system already feels overloaded, this is not the week to chase exhaustion. Regulate. Don’t annihilate.

“But I Don’t Feel Like Moving.”

This is normal.

Stress and grief can make motivation drop. Executive function dips. Energy feels flat.

Here’s how to start when it feels hard:

1. Shrink the entry point. Tell yourself you’re moving for five minutes. That’s it. Most people continue once they begin.
2. Remove friction. Lay clothes out. Choose a simple plan. No decision fatigue.
3. Lower the bar. Today’s goal is not performance. It’s circulation.
4. Pair it with something comforting. A favorite playlist. A familiar trail. A friend.
5. Let it count even if it’s small. Ten minutes is not “nothing.” Two sets is not “pointless.” A walk around the block still shifts chemistry.

Consistency regulates more effectively than occasional intensity.

Movement as Community Care

In mountain towns, we process stress together, even when we don’t talk about it directly. Train together. Walk together. Show up to class. Invite someone along. Connection + movement is a powerful nervous system reset.

Social connection itself is protective. Research shows that strong social support buffers the physiological stress response — lowering cortisol, reducing perceived stress, and improving resilience in the face of adversity (Ozbay et al., 2007). When you combine connection with physical movement, the regulatory effects compound.

Movement does not erase grief. It does not solve tragedy. But it helps your body process what your mind is carrying. And resilience isn’t built in heroic moments. It’s built in small, repeated acts of regulation.

If this week feels heavy:

Move gently. Breathe deeply. Stay connected. Your nervous system is listening.

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