Behind The Final Months of Atreyu, The Beloved Austin Running Shoe Brand

When, exactly, is the right time to give up something you love? Is it when you’re pressured? Or when you’re content? Do you always have a choice? It’s an existential question we all face, and perhaps fear, at some point in our lives. Often, it’s a moment that challenges us emotionally, tests us physically, and in time forces us to ask hard questions about what we need.

Michael Krajicek never thought he’d stare down this very question with Atreyu, the company he founded from next to nothing in 2020.

Five years ago, the 38-year-old unveiled a pioneering concept usually reserved for tech start-ups: a subscription model for running shoes. In time, that idea shifted to a direct-to-consumer model, one that he headquartered out of Austin. On some days, Krajicek would lace up his shoes and swing by the trail at Lady Bird Lake. He’d meet up with a group of close-knit friends and head off for a couple miles.

It was, like all other things he had created in the past, a project built around his own image, because Krajicek always put his heart and soul into the things he loved.  Over five years and various shoes — including The Base Model, The Race Model, The Artist and The Daily Trainer, among others — he earned a devout following. And Atreyu kept building.

But of course, it was never traditional. And that’s what he loved about it, too.

“If you want to know how green I was to the industry, ask yourself, ‘Why didn’t I start with a daily trainer?’” Krajicek said recently of his fourth shoe in the Atreyu rotation. “Most people would have made a daily trainer. Why did you go with something that was super odd? It was awesome, but it was definitely different.”

To some, Atreyu became a staple in Austin, the shoe that insiders wore. It wasn’t Nike, HOKA, Asics or Under Armor. It was buy local for people who just got it. Then, of course, everything changed in 2025 when the word “tariff” began giving small business owners nightmares, namely because import taxes started to directly impact companies like Atreyu, which produced its products in China.

In March, Krajicek welcomed his final order, a few thousand pairs of the The Daily Trainer 1.2, not quite knowing it would his last. On a chilly morning in East Austin, volunteers arrived and unloaded the last official shipment off a box truck, carrying those loads into a storage facility.

At times, Krajicek smiled. Other times, he wondered. Was this fleeting moment of celebration his last with Atreyu? About a month later, with tariff discussions raging in Washington, he canceled a purchase order when the tax line jumped to 125%. The move ultimately axed a brand new shoe design.

And things didn’t exactly get better. In fact, they got much worse. By June, Krajicek was forced to make the hardest choice of his life. He announced his decision to wind down operations and sell his remaining inventory. By then, though, he knew his brand wouldn’t survive without another order.

“I couldn’t mentally hold on to this game,” he said. “I don’t have all the cards, and I don’t play with fire like that. You know the saying, ‘fly close to the sun?’ This made it even closer. Mentally, I was burning up. I told my wife, ‘I’m tired of putting things before my health.’”

Atreyu founder Michael Krajicek began his company in 2020. It originated as a direct-to-consumer subscription model. Photo Credit: Cory Mull

Getting to Know The Atreyu Founder

It’s important to understand a little bit about Krajicek. He’s both a builder of things and a dreamer of ideas. Which is he more of? Spend enough time with him, and he’ll probably remind you of Carmy, the protagonist on the hit FX show ‘The Bear,’ if not for the tattoos on his arms — like the one that says “The Battle Lies Within” — then for the wild hair and the bold mustache.

People have often likened him to a philosopher, because he often thinks of problems as riddles meant to be solved. But he’s a natural builder, too. Growing up, his parents used to ask him and his brother and his sister, “What are your big ideas?”

A decade earlier in his hometown of Lake Charles, Louisiana, he constructed a successful artisan hot dog restaurant named Botsky’s. It operated out of a renovated garage with 10 to 20 tables and served dishes like a Kobe beef frank with avocado slices. He was named ‘Restauranteur of the Year’ by his local travel association.

When he sold that business, Krajicek leaned back on the chair and started to sing. In his early 20s, before he became sober and changed his life in other ways, he graduated from the Berklee College of Music in Boston. And for a couple years after his restaurant exit, he earned gigs by playing covers in bars and restaurants and casinos in Louisiana, like some character in a Jack Kerouac novel.

“I probably played over 500 shows in two years,” he said. “I was playing every night. And the whole idea was, for a few 100 bucks, I could play everyone’s favorite song.”

Moving to Austin hinged, really, on his relationship with his brother Gabriel, who also lives in Central Texas. Nine years older, his brother became an important figure in Krajicek’s life when their father died in 2000.

Krajicek moved to Austin in 2018 and started working the floor at Rogue Running, learning the ins and outs of the running industry and its shoes and its products—technical jargon like neutral cushioning and EVA foam and synthetic uppers. He spent mornings in Starbucks and drafted designs of his own shoes on napkins. And after about a year or two, during which time he ran a personal best 2:52 marathon in California, he finally put it all together. Atreyu was born.

Krajicek’s company received an onslaught of praise for innovative thinking. Runner’s World compared the subscription model idea to “Dollar Shave Club for your feet.” Outside called his company the “most curious running shoe brand in the world.”

“We were trailblazers of a small boutique brand in the running shoe space,” Krajicek said.

The Harsh Realities for Atreyu

Behind the scenes, however, what it took to fund and sustain Atreyu required precision. And Krajicek was largely a one-man band with a few key contributors. Gabriel, a co-founder of the company, was his biggest confidante.

He was also the CEO of Austin-based Kasasa, a financial technology and marketing services company, and provided some cash flow support outside of Krajicek’s proceeds from selling his restaurant in Louisiana.

However, without massive investment and millions of endowments, Atreyu was always a small fish looking to swim upstream. That’s one reason why Krajicek tended to rely on creative thinking, rather than economies of scale. “Atreyu offers this idea of underdog simplicity,” he said.

It also meant that he was relying on margins. His purchase orders in China tended to fulfill his current needs and Minimum Order Quantities, while sales from those proceeds would go into an escrow that would fund his next order. “Everything I do, the victory is what I call landing the shoe,” he said.

Without major ebbs and flows in the financial market, Krajicek could survive. But as the tariffs began offering complex problems, things began to shift. He contemplated, for a moment, on sending his production equipment to Indonesia, but then he later realized the time it would take to accomplish that goal (along with the money) and realized the math didn’t work. He also never really considered a major investment, he said, because “I’m a conservative person. I don’t want to waste your money. I also don’t want to lose your money.”

He turned to YouTube and began speaking directly to his audience, offering his genuine thoughts and fears on what was happening. “I was this underdog,” he said. “And I said to myself, ‘When was the last time I decided not to be transparent about what I’m doing? I can’t stop now.’ The video came from that.”

His “tariff talk” on Twitter earned 203,000 impressions, while his YouTube video gained 191 comments, mainly from customers offering their thanks for bringing an innovative brand to the market. At one point, a representative from the United States House reached out to Krajicek as a potential witness for legislation on small businesses.

Eventually, he was racking his brain and coming up empty. He knew the moment was testing him.

“The money got hard, the tariffs got hard, and the supply chain got complicated,” Krajicek said. “And then I just need to put myself first. And that’s all there was to it.”

A Final Realization

Which brings us back to 2025, and maybe that fateful day in March shuffling the last Atreyu order into the East Austin storage facility.

It was the end of something. But it also signaled the type of community Krajicek had envisioned and built. Every volunteer working the line had run with him in some way or another over the last months or years. Everyone was on a first name basis.

Many had met in the dark of morning between the P Terrys and Carpenter’s Hall off of Lamar Boulevard, huddling together before a procession of five to seven miles. They all realized what community meant in a time of need. “I’m a small business owner myself, and I know what it takes to succeed,” said Oren Mitzner, an architect based in Austin who runs his own firm. “I know you can’t do it alone. There are days when you need no employees and days when you need 15. And so, the days when you need 15, we’re here to help.”

In many ways, Krajicek had accomplished what he set forth. This was his community.

“If you were to ask me today, ‘What do you think? Was it a success?’” he said. “I’d say everything we’ve done is a success. There is no failure. I don’t believe there is any failure, period.”

Krajicek still isn’t quite sure if he’s done with Atreyu. He remains in control of the Atreyu trademark and the website. Someday down the line, he says, there may be a moment when he can bring it back. After all, he’s heard from some industry veterans in the time since his announcement, offering him kudos for the business he built. Maybe Atreyu will return as a nostalgic piece of Austin lore?

For right now, he’s left with a feeling that he gave this company his best effort. And that’s what the whole point was in the first place.

“If you have a dream, you have a little bit of cash and you have some great support, then you might as well go for it,” Krajicek said. “Hey, you got this far. That to me is the spirit I’m talking about.”

Michael Krajicek sits on the bed of his car, a Tacoma Toyota he’s outfitted with Atreyu branding. Photo Credit: Cory Mull

For More on the Atreyu Running Company

For more information on the Atreyu Running Company, check out its inventory and shoe selection at Atreyu.com. Limited quantities remain.