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Negotiating with My Body: Finding Energy in the Summer Heat

Written July 22, 2025

Hello, Dear Readers,

I don’t know if it’s the sweltering summer sun or if I’m just hitting a wall, but lately, I’ve felt like I’ve got nothing left in the tank. After a tiring mowing session—where I had to fuel up with cantaloupe instead of my usual pastry-bites—I found myself too zapped to follow through with my weekly pushups. So, in a bold act of self-compassion, I struck a deal with myself: “No pushups before breakfast. We’ll do them before supper instead.”

Summer in Nashville is a true test of endurance. Between two days a week of working outside (and yes, still doing battle with that steep backyard), it feels like my energy reserves are running on fumes. Thankfully, this year’s summer hasn’t yet thrown us into a brutal 100°F heatwave, though I won’t lie: the humidity here still knows how to knock you out.

Despite the sluggishness, I try to push through. The last time I attempted this, though, my wife was not thrilled. I had a gout flare-up, but did I take it easy? Of course not. I kept mowing and marching around like nothing was wrong. I didn’t tell her about the gout—partly because I didn’t want to worry her and partly because, well, I didn’t want to admit my body was starting to rebel. It’s a tough pill to swallow, realizing that I need rest when I’d rather keep pushing forward like the good old days.

But, here’s the twist: my wife insists I’ve got more stamina and energy than before. Go figure. She’s always been the outdoor adventurer—hiking, canoeing, camping, you name it—while I’m the homebody, cozy with my books, video games, and board games. She enjoys the outdoors but doesn’t really do the whole “movie-watching” thing unless there’s a notepad and pen involved. No judgment there; we all have our quirks.

The truth is, I’ve got more energy than I did before—but it still doesn’t last as long as I’d like. One culprit? My diet (or lack thereof). My protein intake is a bit on the low side, and I’ve noticed that my muscles just don’t bounce back the way they used to. So, I’ve had to learn how to negotiate with my body—compromise when I need to and push myself only when it’s truly necessary.

One trick that’s working for me is setting specific times to make up for missed tasks. As long as I know I’ve scheduled something for later, I’m far more likely to follow through than if I just say, “I’ll do it later” and leave it at that.

Take today, for example. I managed to knock out my pushups before dinner, even though I had postponed them earlier. My wife’s concern about my health is valid, especially after the last gout episode and the fact that my lab results weren’t as stellar as we hoped. So, yeah, I need to be smarter about listening to my body, knowing when to rest and when to power through—without ignoring those signals.

Negotiating with myself is key. If I’m wiped out, I rest. If I think I might regain my energy by the end of the day, I’ll save the pushups for later. The important part is making sure I follow through. If I tell myself, “I’ll do it later,” I’ve got to remember to actually do it later—not let it slip off the radar.

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How a Pastry Mistake Led to Creative Snack Solutions

Written July 20, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

While preparing my usual batch of pastry-bite snacks for the week, I made a classic mix-up. Instead of grabbing my trusty puff pastry sheets, I ended up with puff pastry shells. Whoops! In the frenzy of snack prep, I wasn’t paying attention to what I grabbed.

Now, with these pre-formed shells in hand, I had to get creative. Normally, I whip up tiny, 3-bite-sized snacks to snack on throughout the day—perfect for popping in my mouth during moments of weakness (or mowing the lawn). But these shells? Well, they’re already shaped, leaving me with no room for a creative bite-sized spin.

Why do I like my snacks tiny? Because they’re easy to consume, especially when I’m doing something like lawn mowing. On running days, I can throw a couple back at once and head out the door, but with lawn mowing, I like to spread out my snack breaks, nibbling between laps like a true lawn-mowing connoisseur. Occasionally, I even toss in some cantaloupe—gotta keep the energy up, right?

So, why am I constantly so hungry? It’s probably the sheer amount of physical activity I do, plus the fact that I’ve been building muscle. (Surprise, surprise—turns out, muscle-building works up an appetite!)

A few years ago, I asked my wife for an abdominal exercise machine for Christmas. After my brain stroke, I focused on improving my leg mobility, and as my endurance grew, I realized my body could handle muscle workouts. So, I dove into daily strength training. But here’s the catch: I couldn’t eat protein like a regular adult, which slowed down the muscle-building process. Slow and steady, though, I managed to gain muscle and, funnily enough, start putting on weight a little too easily. So now, with my food restrictions, managing my weight is an ongoing challenge—it’s like juggling, but with less grace and more snacks.

This pastry blunder also made me think of a similar moment with my wife. One time, she accidentally bought green Jasmine tea for our homemade kombucha instead of our usual roasted tea. Initially, we thought it was a mistake, but after some research, she found that green Jasmine tea actually works better for kombucha. So, voila! A happy accident turned into our new favorite tea.

Mistakes, huh? Sometimes they lead to pleasant surprises. Just like with my pastry shells—while I can’t break them into bite-sized pieces (sigh), there’s no use crying over it. The key is figuring out how to work with what I’ve got. Who knows? Maybe I’ll stumble upon a new way to enjoy these not-so-bite-sized bites. The important part is adapting, not obsessing over what went wrong.

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Stormy Skies, Jedi Robes, and a Surprisingly Cool 80 Degrees:

Written July 19, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

After days of heat so intense it felt like we were living inside a convection oven, the skies finally cracked open—dramatically, as if someone upstairs decided enough was enough. About an hour before bedtime, the long-threatened storm rolled in with theatrical flair, dumping buckets of rain and dropping the temperature like a mic.

My wife had been watching the brooding sky all evening, eyeing those dark gray clouds like they owed her money. And when the rain came, it brought with it that earthy, nostalgic smell—part petrichor, part soggy forest floor. The little wooded patch behind our house soaked it all in, sending up the scent of wet leaves and wood.

The temperature drop was swift and sweet. By sunset, it had dipped to a breezy 80°F. That may not sound like sweater weather, but after multiple days of 90+ degree punishment, it felt practically alpine. What’s wild is how 80°F now feels cool to me—a reminder of how my body has changed since my stroke and kidney issues. I used to roast like a lizard under a heat lamp. Now I’m grateful to feel any kind of comfort at all.

Meanwhile, my wife was feeling chilly, which brought back a funny memory: last Independence Day at my mother’s place. She had the thermostat at 78°F, and we were both huddling like penguins in a wind tunnel. I ended up donning my emergency Jedi robe—the one my sister gifted me for my birthday, complete with big sleeves and dramatic flair. It’s followed me across states and seasons, now upgraded to a thicker version for maximum cozy defense.

Before my stroke, I was a walking contradiction—loved the cold but couldn’t regulate it well. I’d fling open windows in the dead of Canadian winter, much to my wife’s horror. She, ever the voice of reason, kept our homes in balance—never too warm, never too cold. Her temperature philosophy? Let nature do its thing, and open the windows at night. It’s worked well in Nashville’s climate, where summer nights still offer a break from the scorch.

So, yes, the weather was finally nicer. I still didn’t hit my personal best pace on my run, but I got it done. According to my app, it was my 11th fastest 10k. Not too shabby for a guy in a heatwave who once wore a Jedi robe to survive a 78°F living room.

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Mowing at Dawn: How I Outsmarted the Heat and (Hopefully) Didn’t Annoy the Neighbors

Written Jul 17, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

This morning, I did the unthinkable—I woke up an hour and a half before my alarm. Normally, that’s just a cue for my body to roll over and say, “Nice try.” But today? I actually stayed up. Why? Because the Tennessee sun had plans to scorch anything that dared move after 10 a.m.—and I had a date with a lawnmower.

I had a long to-do list of outdoor chores, and mowing the lawn was at the top. Doing it before the heat kicked in seemed like a genius move—until I remembered the potential wrath of sleepy neighbors. But here’s the twist: we own an electric mower. Whisper-quiet compared to the gas-powered roaring dinosaurs most people use. It’s practically the ninja of lawn care equipment.

By the time I tiptoed out with the mower, my wife had already checked off her own morning triumphs. She wakes up nearly two hours before I do (yes, voluntarily). She had exercised, completed her German lesson, and probably solved a few global crises before I even found my socks.

She once told me—back when I was recovering from my brain stroke—that the key to keeping up with life isn’t speed, it’s consistency. And that’s been our mantra ever since. I never used to be a morning person. I never used to have a schedule, either. But when life body-checks you, you either lie there… or you get up. Preferably early, before the sun decides to cook you.

Since then, I’ve gradually taken over more of the chores she used to shoulder alone. My wife has always juggled a full-time job and the never-ending circus act known as housework. Between trimming back Nashville’s botanical ambitions (Virginia creeper, anyone?) and trying to squeeze in a little reading or piano practice, she never really had much downtime.

She did worry a bit about whether the mower would wake the neighborhood. But honestly, it purrs more than it growls. Our block is so quiet, even her early-morning piano practice barely escapes the walls. And let’s be real—if someone’s running a 5K before sunrise, my little lawn session probably doesn’t register as noise pollution.

Turns out, she was right: people here are early risers. Fit, sun-loving, health-conscious neighbors who believe in happiness via cardio. No pitchforks or noise complaints yet—so I’ll take that as a win. And if I bump into anyone later today or tomorrow, I’ll do the neighborly thing and apologize just in case I mowed too close to their dreams.

And now? It’s not even noon, and I’ve already tackled my main task for the day. The lawn is trimmed, my conscience is clear, and the AC is calling my name. Morning chores: conquered. Productivity: unlocked. Neighbors: hopefully still friendly.

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A Birthday, a Power Washer, and a Very Muddy Celebration

Written July 15, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Today is my wife’s birthday—but don’t expect balloons or a mariachi band. We actually spread the festivities out like butter on warm toast. Sushi night happened yesterday, and cake plus presents were tackled the weekend before. So today? Just some extra kisses and heartfelt birthday wishes. Low-key, high affection.

Her company gives employees a birthday off—pretty cool perk, right? You can use it two weeks before or after your actual day. This year, she cashed it in right on her birthday. That’s rare, especially since it’s quarter-end season, aka Finance Thunderdome. She’d already wrapped up the closing work, but the quarterly audit is still looming like a Monday morning.

Despite all that, she spent her day… helping me with yard work. Why? Because my kidney function isn’t at its best these days, and she didn’t want me overdoing it. I handled the mowing, and she tackled the driveway with our new power washer and a little garden knife/trowel combo my dad gave us. She wielded that trowel like a woman on a mission—despite having absolutely no prior trowel experience.

Turns out, she loved it.

She cleared out every weed hiding in the driveway cracks and expansion gaps like a champ. She looked up at me, mud-splattered and smiling, and said the weeds had grown nearly an inch into the concrete. She even used the edger to trim what the trowel couldn’t reach. Honestly, the driveway hasn’t looked this good since… well, ever.

We’ve been gradually collecting yard tools like Pokémon—slow and steady. Last year, we rented a power washer, which wasn’t exactly a bargain. She did the math and figured out that two rentals would basically pay for our own low-end washer. So we waited. And pounced on a Prime Day deal.

Best purchase ever, according to her.

She’s already planning to power wash the deck and the sides of the house next. She even schedules 1 to 1.5 hours of yard work into every holiday and weekend. Not because she has to. Because she likes it.

Yup, my wife enjoys yard work. Even when she ends up muddy, sweaty, and sore, she says it relaxes her. So today, on her birthday, she didn’t sip mimosas or unwrap spa vouchers. She ripped weeds out of cracks and blasted dirt off the driveway.

And you know what? She was happy.

That’s all the celebration she needed.

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My Wife, the Silent Yard Ninja (and I’m Just the Pastry Chef)

Written July 13, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Just like yesterday, I meant to help my wife. Truly. But by the time I even stirred from beneath the covers, she had already conquered the yard like a stealthy ninja with a Fitbit.

She’s a morning person—like, Olympic-level. She wakes up two hours before me with the discipline of a monk and the energy of a toddler after cake. Her weekend routine? Exercise first, then silent-but-deadly yard chores (no machines until a decent hour, of course). Only after that does the noisy machinery roar to life like a polite suburban Godzilla.

Apparently, she’s been blocking off yard work time on Saturdays and Sundays like it’s a strategic military campaign. And why? Because she knows I’ve been wrestling with food restrictions and fluctuating weight. So in true hero fashion, she’s lightening my load—literally and figuratively.

Now, I did feel a sprinkle of guilt for not helping… until I realized she never woke me up. No alarm nudges, no “Hey, come outside.” Which means—I was off the hook. Delegation by omission! And to be fair, she always leaves me a chore or two like a benevolent taskmaster. Today’s mission? Yard debris cleanup. I handled the post-battle cleanup like a pro.

Thanks to our teamwork (her initiative and my… eventual contribution), the yard is looking sharp this summer. We’re not worried about the HOA—we’re the couple they wish would enter the neighborhood yard contest. No weeds staging coups in the front yard, no ivy uprising on the fence line. Just tidy suburban excellence.

Although… I do need to start dealing more proactively with that pesky Virginia Creeper. It’s like the Hydra—cut one vine and five more pop up. My wife slays it every season, and it keeps coming back like it’s got a subscription to our yard.

The rest of our Sunday was blissfully uneventful. I brewed our traditional fancy coffee (yes, we are that couple), whipped up a fresh batch of pastry bites, and carved a cantaloupe like a melon maestro. The kitchen may not be the jungle, but I do my part in our domestic ecosystem.

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How to Make A Kidney-Friendly Summer Reset

Written July 16, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Another scorcher in Nashville. Since the end of last summer, I’ve been trying to outsmart the heat by waking up earlier and starting my runs before the sun fully clocks in. My wife’s been doing this from the get-go—she actually likes it. For her, that early run is like nature’s espresso shot. She has low blood pressure, so getting her heart pumping first thing in the morning helps set the rhythm for her day.

I, on the other hand, started my run at 7 a.m., thinking I was ahead of the heat. Nope. It was already warming up, and the rising temperature slowed me down halfway through my 5K. My wife had taken yesterday off to help me with extra chores, so today she was back at the office, while I was sweating it out solo.

Last June, I had a minor gout flare-up, which led to a check-up with my nephrologist. That’s when I got the disappointing news: my kidney function had slipped into stage 4. I’d held steady at stage 3 for so long that the sudden drop felt like a punch in the gut. But these things usually have a culprit, so my doctor and I retraced my steps.

Everything else checked out fine—heart rate, blood pressure, diet—all good. But then I admitted something: I’d been struggling to maintain my weight and had started leaning a little too hard on sugary comforts. Ice cream, specifically. Guilty.

Turns out, that was likely the culprit. So I made a switch—out with the ice cream, in with homemade yogurt and cantaloupe. The result? My weight stayed stable, and my kidneys got a break. With my doctor’s approval, I also upped my protein intake slightly, which has helped too.

Exercise remains a must. My doctor emphasized it again, especially after my rehab. But hydration is key—especially in a Nashville summer, where the humidity hugs you like a damp wool blanket. Changing my run time has made a world of difference. At 7 a.m., it’s still a bearable 73–74°F (23–24°C), though it climbs quickly once the sun kicks into high gear.

I’m counting the days until fall. Cooler mornings mean faster runs and less sweating just from tying my shoes. Honestly, summer running feels like training with a weighted vest—once autumn hits, I expect to feel lighter, quicker, and a whole lot happier out there.

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Early Birds and Overgrown Vines: A Weekend Yard Tale

Written July 12, 2025

Hello, Dear Readers,

When I woke up this morning, my wife was already outside, hard at work tackling the yard tasks she had planned for the day. Lately, she’s been taking on more of the yard work to help me out—especially since I’ve had some pain in my foot from a minor gout flare-up. She was worried it might make things harder for me, so she quietly stepped in.

She can’t do everything, of course, but she consistently puts in about an hour to an hour and a half on weekends and holidays. And let me tell you—it makes a big difference.

When you’re dealing with kidney issues, you really have to be mindful of your body. Gout can make even walking feel like a medieval punishment. Thankfully, this time the attack was small and short-lived. But my wife, ever the vigilant one, is still concerned—about the gout, my kidneys, and probably the rest of me too.

Back when we lived in Portland, yard work wasn’t such a big deal. The summers were dry, and not much grew. Most of our neighbors had waved the white flag on green lawns long ago—watering restrictions and parched earth will do that to a community.

Now that we’re in Nashville, it’s a whole different story. We get regular summer rain, and the humidity makes everything grow like it’s auditioning for Jumanji. If you don’t stay on top of it, the yard gets wild fast.

I always want to help with the yard, but my wife is an early bird with a running start. By the time I rolled out of bed, she’d already worked out, practiced her German, and was knee-deep in hedge trimming. Since she started helping, it’s become way easier to keep things under control. She’s trimmed back the overgrown bushes so they now look neat and intentional, not like they’re plotting to take over the driveway.

There were some vines sneaking up the back of the house—beautiful, but potentially damaging. She caught them just in time, yanking most of them before they could strangle the siding. We hadn’t gotten around to the back section yet, though, and those had already grown about two feet. I’d planned to run a 5K and then help her with the vines, but by the time I was laced up and ready, she was already heading back inside. Apparently, she’d gotten up way earlier than me and knocked out her to-do list like a one-woman landscaping crew.

We picked up a power washer last weekend, and she’s got her sights set on the driveway, the deck, and the siding next. After that, it’s gutter-cleaning season. (Lucky us.) Homeownership is not for the faint of heart—or for people who like sitting still.

She’s also been pulling weeds from the front yard like it’s a personal mission. Thanks to her, the house is looking pretty sharp—no wild grass, no messy vines, no rogue weeds. We’ve still got more to tackle tomorrow and next weekend if we don’t get through it all, but hey, one trimmed bush at a time.

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The Great 10K Redemption Run (a.k.a. Oops, I Forgot—Again)

Written July 9, 2025

Reviewed 7/26

Hello Dear Readers,

Ah, Saturday. The day I had grand 10K ambitions… that ended halfway through. I was determined to make up for it on Monday. But here’s the plot twist: I completely forgot. I mean, the kind of forgetfulness where you only remember after you’re cooling down, patting yourself on the back like you nailed it. Spoiler: I did not nail it.

So, Wednesday became the new redemption day. This time, no forgetting, no excuses. I tied my shoes like a warrior preparing for battle and hit the pavement early—like, pre-sunrise early—because in Nashville, once that sun is up, you’re basically jogging through a sauna.

Last year, I used to run around lunchtime. Which sounds bold until you realize I was just marinating in humidity with each step. But I’ve since evolved. These days, I run before the cicadas even start singing, and I must say—it’s a game-changer. Cooler temps, fewer bugs, and I get to feel smugly accomplished before most people even finish their first cup of coffee.

Now, Nashville weather has been acting like a moody teenager this year—storms, rain, sudden downpours that cancel both my runs and my yard work. My schedule’s been bouncing around like a squirrel on caffeine.

Still, there’s something magical about running in bearable weather. I used to crawl through summer runs, but now I glide (okay, maybe “glide” is generous—let’s go with “lumber efficiently”). It also helps that I finish my workout early enough to make the rest of my day feel productive instead of… sweaty and sluggish. My wife’s been team Morning Everything for years—turns out she was right. Again.

Did I hit my target pace today? Nope. But let’s be honest, trying to increase speed and distance at the same time is like trying to cook a five-course meal while juggling flaming swords. A noble idea, but not exactly sustainable.

I’ve also been doing a ton of yard work lately, so my legs are staging a silent protest. I’m learning to listen to my body—well, mostly. Sometimes I still push it to the edge of “nap-or-collapse” territory. But I remind myself: even if my pace isn’t perfect, I’m still out there. Still moving. Still logging the miles.

Running is a fickle friend—affected by the weather, your sleep, your breakfast, and even your mood. One off-day doesn’t mean failure. When I zoom out and look at the big picture, I am getting better. And that’s what really matters.So here’s to Wednesday’s redemption run: a full 10K in the books, a slight smile on my face, and hopeful legs for Friday. Who knows? Maybe next time I’ll remember my plan before the run. Stranger things have happened.

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One Scoop at a Time: My Flax Seed Gamble with Kidney Disease

Written Jul 23, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

In response to some late-night research my wife did (because she’s amazing like that), I’ve started sprinkling a tablespoon of crushed flax seed into my cereal each morning. Not because I love the taste—it’s somewhere between “neutral” and “wood shavings lite”—but because apparently, these little seeds are nutrient ninjas.

Flax seeds come packed with Omega-3 fatty acids (hello, inflammation fighters), lignans (antioxidants with attitude), and enough fiber to keep both my gut and cholesterol on their toes. That’s a big nutritional resume for something so small it could hide in my keyboard.

All these goodies are beneficial for folks like me who are trying to:

  • lower blood pressure,
  • manage cholesterol,
  • boost heart health, and
  • keep blood sugar levels from acting like a toddler on a sugar rush.

But—there’s always a “but” when you have kidney disease.

Flax seeds also contain moderate amounts of potassium, phosphorus, and a bit of protein. For many individuals with kidney issues, these minerals can be troublesome. That said, my nephrologist recently encouraged me to eat more protein, which feels like a plot twist. Flax also contains oxalates, which can be party crashers in the form of kidney stones.

Because I’m not in the habit of making dietary changes based on random internet advice (even the kind delivered by my loving research assistant/wife), I called my nephrologist to double-check if this new flax habit is a smart move. Of course, I had to leave a voicemail. So for now, I’m playing the waiting game—and hoping they give me the green light to keep scooping.

In the meantime, I’m keeping it to 1 tablespoon (7g) per day. It doesn’t jazz up the cereal, but it doesn’t ruin it either. So, unless I hear otherwise, my breakfast will continue to have a flax-forward flourish.

With kidney disease, you learn quickly that “healthy” is not a one-size-fits-all label. A food might be packed with benefits, but if your kidneys can’t handle it, those benefits can turn into problems faster than you can say “pass the potassium.”

Alongside this, I’ve cut back on sugary foods and upped my protein intake with homemade yogurt and generous daily servings of cantaloupe. I still get puffy feet by evening, but they’re less balloon-like than before—so, progress!

Fingers crossed this new routine helps. And fingers extra-crossed, the nephrologist doesn’t call back, saying, “Please, step away from the seeds.”