Category: Brian’s Journey

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Post-Storm Yard Cleanup After the Ice Storm and Running Comeback

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today felt like a small but meaningful return to normal life. I was able to run again—and even more impressively, I did it without gloves. That alone felt like a seasonal milestone. Winter is clearly loosening its grip, even if only slightly.

The run itself went well. I reached my target pace, which was satisfying not just physically but psychologically. After days of icy hesitation and cautious movement, it felt good to move forward at a steady rhythm instead of tiptoeing across frozen uncertainty.

But the real workout began after the run.

Armed with a wheelbarrow and a sense of responsibility, I turned my attention to the yard, which still looks like it lost an argument with the last storm. Branches are scattered everywhere, as if the trees held a dramatic meeting and collectively decided to shed their limbs all at once.

We have a forest behind our house, which is usually peaceful and beautiful—until a storm arrives and rearranges everything. One particularly strong storm even uprooted a tree, leaving behind a noticeable pit where the roots once lived. Since then, that pit has unofficially become my natural disposal zone for branches and yard debris. Not elegant, but undeniably efficient.

So, after my run, I filled a wheelbarrow with fallen branches and hauled them down to the pit. One trip later, the yard looked slightly less chaotic. Slightly. There are still plenty of sticks scattered across the ground, quietly reminding me that nature always leaves follow-up tasks.

Our neighbor’s tree suffered a far worse fate during the ice storm—it split in half and still stands there looking tragically frozen in time. Compared to that, our damage was relatively mild, though we still have several large branches from the front trees that needed dragging and tossing into the ever-growing branch pit. Smaller sticks are everywhere, hiding in the grass like tiny obstacles waiting for lawn mower season.

And yes, lawn mowing season is approaching… eventually.
The weather this month has been extraordinarily fickle—one day icy, the next day mild, then back to unpredictable again. It makes planning yard work feel less like scheduling and more like guessing.

My goal is to clear as many branches as possible before mowing season begins, even if that is still a few weeks away. I suspect at least one more wheelbarrow trip is in my future. Possibly several. The yard, unfortunately, has a long memory after storms.

Around the neighborhood, signs of recovery are visible but incomplete. Broken branches still line some roads, like quiet evidence of the storm’s passing. The good news is that power has finally been restored to the houses nearby, and with electricity comes something that feels almost symbolic—people are outside again. Movement, conversation, normalcy.

However, I have heard that some households are still without power, which is especially concerning in the middle of winter. Cold weather without electricity is not merely inconvenient; it is genuinely difficult and sometimes dangerous.

So today felt like a day of small victories:
a successful run, a partially cleared yard, restored power nearby, and the gradual sense that life is piecing itself back together after the storm’s disruption.

There is still work to do, of course—more branches, more cleanup, and more unpredictable weather—but at least progress is visible, one wheelbarrow at a time.

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Running in Ice and Snow: Saving My 100-Week Streak Against the Weather

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today, my running app delivered a quiet but deeply threatening message:
“Two more days to log a run before your 100+ week streak is interrupted.”

Nothing motivates quite like the possibility of digital judgment.

Normally, I would not panic. My plan was simple—run tomorrow, maintain the streak, and continue life as a responsible and consistent human being. However, winter had other narrative ambitions.

A quick glance at tomorrow’s forecast revealed snow, thunder, and temperatures about ten degrees colder. In other words, the weather equivalent of saying, “Perhaps stay inside and reconsider your life choices.”

The recent bad weather has already disrupted my running schedule. After the ice storm just a few days ago, the ground is still suspiciously slippery in places. I had hoped tomorrow would be my triumphant return, but the forecast strongly suggested otherwise.

So, in a rare plot twist, I chose to run today—an unusual running day—purely out of strategic necessity. When the weather becomes unpredictable, flexibility becomes a survival skill.

Meanwhile, my wife continues exercising as if icy conditions are merely a mild inconvenience. She owns an extreme cold-weather running jacket imported from Canada, where winters apparently function as advanced training environments. Compared to that, Tennessee’s ice probably feels like a beginner level.

Inspired (and slightly pressured by my own running streak), I prepared for battle:
new warm pants, gloves, a hat, and a cautious mindset.

Road conditions after the ice storm persists

Stepping outside felt like entering a carefully disguised obstacle course. Some areas were clear, others were icy traps waiting patiently for overconfidence. I slowed down in several spots, prioritizing dignity and bone preservation over speed. Falling would have been memorable, but not in a good way.

Surprisingly, the run went exceptionally well.
Not only did I avoid falling, but I also completed my third-fastest 5K.

At that moment, victory felt less like athletic excellence and more like a successful negotiation with winter. The streak remains intact, which is perhaps the most satisfying outcome of all. Consistency, after all, is built on small decisions made under inconvenient conditions.

I do hope the ice disappears soon. These lingering icy patches have been quietly restricting our outdoor activities and daily plans. Even appointments have surrendered to the weather. The recent operation was postponed due to storm-related issues, possibly including power concerns, and rescheduled for Presidents’ Day.

My wife’s dentist appointment was also moved to the same day. Fortunately, she is off that day, which means no PTO required—a rare administrative win courtesy of bad weather.

So while the ice has delayed routines, altered schedules, and turned sidewalks into tactical zones, it has not defeated the running streak. For now, I will consider that a successful week: no falls, a fast 5K, a preserved streak, and a respectful truce with winter.

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After the Ice Storm: Melting Roads, Returning Power, and a Careful Return to Routine

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

At last, the ice has begun its slow and reluctant retreat.

Today’s temperature rose about fifteen degrees compared to yesterday, which in winter logic qualifies as “practically tropical.” It is still cold, of course, but no longer the kind of cold that feels personally offended by your existence. Instead, it has settled into something far more reasonable—if winter can ever truly be called reasonable.

My wife, meanwhile, has taken it upon herself to conduct unofficial neighborhood inspections. While most people cautiously peer out from their windows, she ventures outside like a field researcher documenting the aftermath of a frozen experiment. She reports that although our power returned after several hours, many of our neighbors are still living in the candlelight era.

Our area is densely wooded, which is wonderful in spring, poetic in autumn, and deeply problematic during ice storms. Ice accumulates, branches snap, cables fall, and electricity quietly exits the conversation. Nature, it seems, prefers dramatic chain reactions.

According to her morning observations, the neighborhood at dawn is almost pitch dark. With no street lights functioning in several sections, it looks less like a suburban street and more like the setting of a philosophical novel about resilience. Curiously, if you walk just a few houses north, power returns as if nothing happened. Entire rows remain powerless, except for two mysteriously fortunate houses whose power lines are connected to a different street. Fate, it appears, also plays favorites in infrastructure.

To be fair, this is not a matter of incompetence. Tennessee rarely experiences this kind of ice storm, and the crews have been working long shifts to restore power under genuinely difficult conditions. Extreme weather does not politely follow regional expectations. It simply arrives, unannounced and unapologetic.

We still remember when a tornado hit north of Nashville several years ago and we lost power for days. Back then, it was near spring, so the cold was manageable. This time, however, the cold is far less forgiving. When the power went out, the temperature inside the house dropped noticeably, reminding us very quickly that electricity is not just convenience—it is survival. Shelters opened the very day the outages began, which speaks volumes about how serious prolonged cold can be.

My wife also discovered the most obvious culprit: fallen trees. In one section of the road, nearly a third of the path is occupied by broken branches and debris, with power lines dragged down alongside them. It is less a mystery and more a very visible cause-and-effect demonstration courtesy of physics and ice.

Thankfully, progress is visible. Roads are gradually being cleared, which is especially encouraging since my wife is planning to drive to the office tomorrow. Civilization, one cleared road at a time.

As for me, I may finally return to my running schedule tomorrow—assuming the road visible from our front window passes the safety inspection. It will still be cold, naturally, but no longer the extreme, bone-chilling cold of yesterday. In winter recovery, expectations are simple:
melting ice, stable power, clear roads, and perhaps—if fortune is especially generous—a fully normal routine returning without further dramatic weather plot twists.

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Muscle Pain to Strong Run from Consistency and Small Wins

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

From Muscle Pain to Strong Run

This morning began… uncomfortably early.

I woke up needing to use the bathroom, but as I walked there, I realized my abdominal muscles had filed a formal complaint. They were so sore that walking in a straight line felt like an optional feature rather than a guarantee.

Recovery is not always straightforward for me. Because of my kidney condition, I cannot rely on high protein intake to support muscle repair. So when I push myself, soreness tends to linger longer than I would prefer.

Fortunately, rest remains a reliable strategy.

I went back to bed and fell asleep easily. When I woke again—just before my alarm—my muscles had improved noticeably. Not perfect, but functional. I had worried about my planking session, but surprisingly, it felt easier than the day before. Either recovery worked overnight, or my muscles decided to cooperate out of courtesy.

A few hours later, I headed out for my run.

The results were unexpectedly good. I reached my target pace and kept my split times consistent throughout. I set a steady rhythm early and managed to hold it to the end—a small but satisfying victory.

Days like this remind me how much my running has improved over the years.

In the beginning, it was difficult. I actually run more now than I did before my brain stroke. At first, I ran because my wife encouraged me. Exercise supports both my kidney health and brain recovery, and I wanted to show her that I was trying.

Ironically, telling her that would only make her sad. She prefers that I do these things for myself.

Over time, that shift happened naturally. Running stopped being something I did “for someone else” and became part of my life. Along the way, I added other exercises almost without thinking.

Consistency quietly turned into identity.

Meanwhile, at home, our cat continues her own version of restricted training. While I can run freely outside, she remains confined to my office for recovery. My wife briefly tried moving her to the bedroom, but the moment she gained access, she immediately planned a full return to her usual routine—kitchen exploration, counter patrol, and likely a trip up to the catwalk.

Given her enthusiasm, we decided that “freedom” might come a little too soon for her incision’s comfort.

So, back to the office she went.

Now I find myself wondering: after ten days of limited movement, will she experience muscle soreness too? Or will she simply resume full-speed chaos as if nothing ever happened?

Knowing her, I suspect the latter.

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Icy Roads and Missed Runs: Choosing Safety Over Winter Ambition

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Icy Roads and missed Runs

The icy road conditions remain undefeated, and today’s strategic decision is simple: cancel the run, preserve the bones. We had ice roads, and I missed Runs.

With the temperature stubbornly parked at 32°F, the ice has no intention of melting. It is merely existing—quietly, confidently, and dangerously. Our area is also quite hilly, which transforms every frozen surface into a potential skating rink with consequences.

The road in front of our house, however, is a rare exception. My wife salted it early, well before the ice storm reached its dramatic peak. She remembers, quite vividly, that during severe conditions, no delivery vehicles—not even the garbage truck—will dare descend our steep road. Apparently, gravity plus ice is a combination that logistics companies respectfully decline.

The irony?

The main road was cleared rather quickly, yet the smaller neighborhood roads remain untouched. As a result, no garbage truck, no deliveries, and no signs of modern convenience bravely approaching our hill. Civilization stops at the flat parts, it seems.

Ice Storm Preparation

My wife, ever vigilant, has been obsessively ensuring that no one slips on our property. During the storm, she kept the driveway and entryway almost entirely ice-free. She insists there is a “method” to it, which I suspect is the result of over twenty years of Canadian winter survival experience. That kind of knowledge may look excessive in Tennessee—until an ice storm arrives and suddenly she becomes the neighborhood’s unofficial winter strategist.

She continues to wander outside occasionally, fully equipped in a winter outfit imported from Canada. Where she used to live, temperatures could drop to -35°C (-31°F), so Tennessee’s icy chill likely feels like a mild inconvenience rather than a threat. Still, she moves carefully, because even seasoned cold-weather veterans respect ice. Confidence does not cancel physics.

Fortunately, the steep hill in front of our house is now mostly safe, thanks to her early salting efforts. A preventative mindset, it turns out, is far more effective than reactive panic.

As for my running routine, it has been temporarily suspended. My wife has strongly advised against going outside, describing the conditions as “deceptively slippery,” which is winter’s polite way of saying “you will fall with dignity but also with bruises.”

Unlike her, I do not own a jacket built for extreme cold. She bought hers as a teenager and is still using it—a testament to both quality craftsmanship and long-term winter planning. I also struggle with body temperature regulation, so extreme weather is less of a challenge and more of a negotiation I prefer to avoid. In this case, skipping the run is not laziness. It is risk management.

Surprisingly, there has been one unexpected benefit to missing my last three runs: recovery. My weight has returned to my target range, and I even regained a pound of muscle since yesterday’s weigh-in. Not exactly the result one expects from inactivity, but winter seems to enforce its own training philosophy—rest, adapt, and resume wisely.

Now that the temperature has finally crept slightly above freezing, there is cautious optimism. If the gradual thaw continues, Friday may mark the triumphant return of my running schedule.Until then, the plan remains clear:
avoid ice, maintain balance (literally and metaphorically), and respect winter’s quiet but very persuasive authority.

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Power Outage Diaries: Ice Storm, Cold House, and Unexpected Reading Time

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

This morning began with an unexpected plot twist: no electricity.

I woke up to the quiet kind of silence that feels suspicious—no hum, no lights, no reassuring background noise of modern life pretending to be stable. My wife informed me, with remarkable calm, that the power had gone out around 7:30 a.m. She had already been deep into her morning writing session, racing against time like a scholar battling an invisible clock.

Apparently, she managed about thirty minutes of focused work before the power surrendered mid-task. Ever practical, she shut everything down immediately to conserve energy, as if we had suddenly entered a survival documentary titled Writers in the Wild: The Ice Storm Edition.

Last night, we could hear trees snapping in the distance as ice slowly claimed them, branch by branch. This morning confirmed it—broken limbs scattered in the forest behind the house like nature’s quiet evidence file. The downstairs, especially, felt dim and cave-like, as though the house itself had decided to conserve mood as well as heat.

And yet, while I was assessing the situation with mild concern, my wife looked… delighted.

“This will be a good excuse to read,” she declared, with the serene joy of someone handed an unexpected holiday by the universe.

Power outage? Inconvenient.
Forced reading time? Excellent.

She read one book, finished it, casually picked up another, and even played the piano in between—apparently thriving in the pre-electric lifestyle. If the 19th century ever needs a volunteer, she is fully prepared.

Outside, the world looks exactly as cold as it feels. Ice continues to fall, coating branches until they surrender and collapse onto power lines like dominoes of frozen inevitability. It is hardly surprising that the electricity gave up. I would, too, frankly, under those working conditions.

Meanwhile, the outage has already claimed its first casualty: our usual Sunday fancy coffee. No electricity means no milk frother, which means no luxurious foam, which, as we all know, is a deeply tragic development.

There is also the looming threat to pizza supper, which elevates the situation from “mild inconvenience” to “serious strategic concern.”

The electric company assures us they are working on the issue, though their timetable remains as mysterious as the storm itself. Until then, the house grows steadily colder, and our cat has made a very rational decision—she is now permanently attached to my lap for warmth. A wise creature.

My wife has instructed me to conserve PC power.
And yet, here I am. Writing.

She can happily read books for hours, but my eyes do not always cooperate with long reading sessions. Audiobooks are an option, of course, but even that feels like an unnecessary luxury during a power crisis. Every percentage of battery now feels like a strategic resource.So we wait.
In the cold.
With books, a piano, a concerned cat, and the faint hope that electricity—and possibly pizza—will return before the house turns into an ice-themed meditation retreat.

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Managing Pet Appointments and Weather Uncertainty

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today, we took our cat to the vet right after my wife finished work. She left about fifteen minutes early—with her boss’s permission—so we could get there before the weather potentially turned messy. The lab work was originally set for Saturday, but after checking the forecast, my wife rescheduled it. If the weather plans to be dramatic, we prefer to be strategic.

Our cat, however, strongly disagreed with this strategy.

The moment we placed her in the carrier, she protested as if we had personally betrayed her trust. In her ideal world, the day should involve toys, admiration, and uninterrupted play—not a trip to the vet. Instead, she traveled like a very vocal, very fluffy prisoner of circumstance.

At the clinic, the lab assistant gently took her inside while we waited. A short time later, the technician returned with an amusing observation: our kitten willingly went back into her carrier during the lab work. Apparently, medical tests rank higher on her list of displeasure than the carrier itself. When she saw us again through the mesh, her mood improved instantly, as if we had heroically rescued her from a grave injustice.

Much of the conversation at the clinic revolved around the incoming weekend weather. My wife has been especially mindful of it. She even took a day off to manage the appointment.

We asked the receptionist whether the schedule might change because of the weather, and she said they would monitor conditions. The uncertainty grows because the main road near our home still has a barricade. If it stays closed, we will have to use the back roads, which are hilly and far less comforting in snow or ice.

The moment we got home, our kitten returned to her cheerful self, as if she had forgotten the entire veterinary visit. Freedom, it seems, fixes most grievances.

At least the lab work is done, which removes one major concern. Now we watch the forecast and hope the weather behaves so her surgery can proceed as planned.

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Snowstorm Grocery Preparation and Smart Grocery Run: A Cozy Winter Survival Story

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

I was peacefully negotiating with my pillow when my wife—clearly operating on a higher level of meteorological awareness—declared that we needed to go grocery shopping immediately. Not later. Not “after coffee.” Now.

According to her internal weather radar (which, frankly, has an impressive accuracy rate after 20+ years in Canada), a snowstorm was approaching within one to two hours. She had already gone out for her morning exercise, assessed the atmospheric mood, and preemptively prepared the driveway like a seasoned general before battle. Snow shovels? Strategically placed. Access? Efficient. Husband? Still half asleep.

Naturally, I complied.

Still blinking like a confused owl, I grabbed the grocery list and collected our two empty gallon water bottles—because nothing says “adult responsibility” quite like remembering hydration logistics before a snowstorm. We usually shop in the evening, but venturing out in the morning felt oddly peaceful. To my surprise, the store was much quieter than expected. Either we were exceptionally early… or everyone else had already sensed the coming snow apocalypse.

My wife, ever the planner, had finalized the weekly menu by Thursday. This meant our grocery mission was less “wandering and wondering” and more “strategic acquisition.” We secured everything for the week, plus two fresh gallons of water—barely. The shelf was already looking suspiciously empty, a silent sign that others had also received the same snowy premonition.

We were, quite honestly, lucky.

The last time a major snowstorm visited, we were effectively trapped in our house for a week. Our home sits behind a steep hill that transforms into an icy boss-level obstacle the moment snow accumulates. Climbing it becomes less “going out” and more “mountaineering with groceries.”

When we returned home, our cat was stationed at the window like a tiny, furry security officer on duty. Her head popped up the moment she spotted us, eyes wide with the dramatic concern of someone who clearly believed we had been gone for years rather than minutes. She often waits there whenever we leave, supervising our life choices from behind the glass.

By then, the snow had already begun—light at first, almost polite. But as we settled back inside, it quickly grew more confident, blanketing the area with over an inch of snow.

In retrospect, our early grocery expedition was not just productive. It was heroic. Or at least strategically wise.

Now the real question is Monday.

Artemis has her spay surgery scheduled, and we are quietly hoping the roads will cooperate. If not, we may once again find ourselves negotiating with snow, hills, and fate. But for now, we are stocked, prepared, and safely indoors—exactly where one should be when winter decides to make an entrance.

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How a Winter Storm Disrupted Our Vet Plans and Daily Schedule

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Nashville is preparing for an unusually dramatic ice rain storm, and, like any good plot twist, it has immediately begun rearranging our carefully planned schedule.

Today, we rescheduled Artemis’s vet appointment. She has a screening examination before her spaying surgery on Monday, which is already stressful enough without adding meteorological chaos into the mix. The original appointment was set for Saturday, but unfortunately.

Tennessee, charming as it is, is not exactly famous for its snow-handling infrastructure. A single hint of ice and the entire transportation system behaves like a startled cat. To make matters more complicated, the main road near our house is currently barricaded, leaving us with the scenic (and alarmingly hilly) back road as our only route to the vet. My wife mentioned that one of her colleagues had an accident on that very road years ago due to slippery conditions. Comforting information, truly.

Snow Preparation

We were originally expecting snow on Friday, so my wife—who approaches weather like a seasoned general—asked me on Thursday afternoon if I could take her after work. She even negotiated leaving fifteen minutes early with her boss, who agreed immediately.

Now, the real uncertainty lies with Monday. Artemis’s surgery may or may not proceed depending on how severe the weather becomes. Snow in Nashville is not just snow; it is an existential logistical challenge. A few years ago, a storm trapped us at home for over a week because the steep hill in front of our house turned into a skating rink.

Naturally, my wife—being from Canada—has already taken preventative measures. She salted our driveway and even lightly salted the road in front of the house.

We are also planning a grocery trip on Saturday morning, just in case the storm decides to overachieve. Meanwhile, my sister, who lives an hour away, has purchased a sled in preparation, which feels both practical and slightly theatrical.

Interestingly, while my wife is perfectly comfortable driving in snow due to her Canadian background, she insists that the real danger here is not the snow itself—but the roads and the drivers.

So, for now, we wait, we prepare, and we politely negotiate with the weather—because in Nashville, a winter storm does not just change the forecast. It rewrites the entire weekly schedule.

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The Snack Experiment: Kidney Friendly Snacks

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Lately, I’ve been rotating my snacks like a cautious scientist running a very personal experiment. The goal is simple: keep my weight steady. The execution, unfortunately, is not.

Because I run regularly, exercise, and even mow the lawn during warmer months, my activity level is fairly high. That sounds healthy in theory. In practice, it makes maintaining weight surprisingly difficult. My body burns energy enthusiastically, while my dietary options remain… diplomatically restricted.

Kidney conditions come with a long list of nutritional negotiations. I cannot rely on protein shakes like a typical active adult, since compromised kidneys struggle to filter metabolic waste such as urea. Potassium, phosphorus, and excess sodium also require careful monitoring. Suddenly, many “healthy snacks” become suspicious characters.

Bananas? Too much potassium.
Melons? Also potassium.
Convenient snacks? Usually salty.

At this point, even the snack aisle feels like a minefield disguised as a grocery store.

Naturally, I tried switching to melons as a safer alternative—only to discover they also contain a fair amount of potassium. That plan was quietly retired. I then pivoted to berries, which are much more kidney-friendly. The only problem? They are good… and aggressively sour.

So, I introduced a diplomatic solution: homemade yogurt.

My wife makes yogurt at home, which is both versatile and practical. It works in smoothies, cooking, and even as a substitute for sour cream. Recently, I suspect she has been making more of it simply because I keep eating it. I am now seriously considering taking over yogurt production myself. Not because it is difficult, but because it requires careful temperature control when adding the culture—something my wife has been handling with quiet precision.

Today brought an encouraging result. I finally regained some of the weight I had been missing: 1.2 pounds, with 0.8 pounds recorded as muscle mass. I am still slightly under my target range, but less so than yesterday, which counts as meaningful progress.

Yesterday’s snack experiment consisted of a small bowl of yogurt paired with blackberries. It is entirely possible that this combination helped reverse the downward trend. Of course, one data point does not make a scientific conclusion—but it does make a promising hypothesis.

Therefore, in the spirit of disciplined experimentation (and cautious optimism), I will repeat the yogurt-and-berries protocol again this evening.

I hope this will solve my problem.

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