Category: Brian’s Journey

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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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Running In Cold Weather Because Goals Don’t Care About Temperature)

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

The chilly morning didn’t deter my wife from her early exercise routine. It also didn’t deter her from running errands. She planned a trip to the UPS Store to return an Amazon package and invited me along. I happily agreed. Marriage sometimes means love; sometimes it means carrying the return receipt.

Because the morning air was brutally cold, I decided to delay my run until later in the day. Ever since my brain stroke, temperature regulation hasn’t exactly been my body’s strong suit. My neurologist explained that my autonomic nervous system took a hit. In practical terms, that means my body takes longer to warm up—and running in freezing air feels like negotiating with winter while already tired.

When it’s cold, my body spends energy heating itself before it even starts running. It’s like paying an entrance fee before the workout even begins.

Still, cold weather does not cancel Saturday’s 10K.

Goals don’t reschedule themselves.

Starting the run was the hardest part. My muscles felt stiff, and the air felt unfriendly. But once I got moving, rhythm returned. The first half of the run went surprisingly well—I actually hit my target pace. I briefly entertained the idea of conquering the entire distance at that speed.

The second half had other ideas.

I couldn’t quite maintain the pace, but the overall result was still strong enough to earn my third-fastest 10K ever. That’s not perfection, but it’s progress—and progress is what counts.

What encourages me most is the trajectory. I’m slowly getting faster. Not dramatically. Not magically. But steadily.

There’s still plenty of work ahead if I want to hit this year’s goal. But it’s early in the year. Improvement doesn’t require heroics; it requires repetition. As long as I keep showing up, struggling a little, and pushing just past comfort, I’ll keep improving.

Winter can complain all it wants.

I’ll keep running.

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Cold Weather Survival: Hoodies, Habits, and a Mischievous Kitten

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Temperatures continue their dramatic plunge, but at least today I had the privilege of staying indoors. Unfortunately, it was laundry day—which means for several tragic hours, I was deprived of my robe and my properly functioning hoodie.

Yes, I do have a backup hoodie.
No, its broken zipper does not inspire confidence.
Wearing it feels like wearing a coat that refuses to commit.

So, for a few chilly hours each week, I endure mild suffering while the dryer does its heroic work. It’s temporary discomfort. I’ve decided not to engineer a complex solution. I can survive three hours of inconvenience without launching a research project.

We were spoiled by an unusually warm Christmas, so these low-20°F days feel especially rude. Meanwhile, my wife still goes outside for her morning exercise as if she personally signed a treaty with winter. She has Canadian credentials and a winter jacket that appears to be indestructible. I suspect it could survive the next ice age.

I now own warm running pants, which has significantly reduced my outdoor complaints. Oddly enough, I feel colder inside the house. My wife keeps it at 65°F. It’s not unbearable—just motivational. Since last year, I’ve adopted a simple solution: if I feel cold, I plank.

It’s efficient.

  • I get stronger.
  • I get warmer.
  • I stop whining.

Exercise as central heating. Highly recommend.

Our cat, meanwhile, has discovered that I radiate heat. According to my wife, I am apparently a “portable furnace.” The kitten agrees. She camps on my lap while I work, converting me into a heated workstation.

However, this same angel becomes chaos incarnate at night. She developed the charming habit of attacking her toy mouse at 2:00 AM directly on our bed. Nothing says deep sleep like sudden feline warfare.

My solution: confiscate the mouse before bedtime.

Her solution: hide the mouse somewhere I can’t find it.

She’s entering what my wife calls “cat adolescence”—a stage characterized by selective hearing and bold experimentation. Recently, she’s decided that kitchen counters are now part of her sovereign territory. She’s stronger and more muscular than our older cat and enjoys launching herself onto elevated surfaces like a tiny Olympic gymnast.

The problem arises when I’m cooking.

There is something mildly alarming about a cat leaping toward the counter while I’m holding a knife. I gently relocate her to the floor. She complains loudly, as if I’ve unjustly exiled her from culinary greatness.

Between the cold house, strategic planking, and a counter-climbing kitten, winter remains lively.

At least I’m never bored.

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How Not to Miss a Nephrologist Appointment and Routine

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today, I’m doing something slightly less athletic but arguably just as important: planning tomorrow.

I have a nephrologist appointment in the early afternoon, which means tomorrow’s run is officially cancelled. When your kidneys are less than cooperative, you don’t negotiate with specialists—you show up. I see my nephrologist four times a year to make sure my kidneys are still doing their job and haven’t quietly decided to go on strike.

I was supposed to see him in December. That appointment? Completely forgotten.
The lab work, at least, got done—my wife made sure of that—but the results weren’t great. My kidney function had dipped back into Stage 4 territory, which understandably worried her. When numbers go down, her stress level goes up.

Missing that appointment was not something I wanted to repeat.

So this time, I’ve deployed redundancy like a NASA launch:
  • Phone alarm 
  • Calendar reminder 
  • Morning check-in alert 
  • Uber is scheduled in advance 

If I miss this appointment, it won’t be due to a lack of safeguards. If this system works, it may become the standard operating procedure for all future medical visits.

I don’t want to miss these appointments for three reasons:

  1. I need to understand what’s happening with my kidneys.
  2. I’ve accumulated a respectable list of questions.
  3. Uncertainty scares my wife far more than bad news with context.

On the positive side, my other biometrics look solid. My weight is stable. Blood pressure has been well-behaved. Heart rate is calm and cooperative. So while the kidneys demand attention, the rest of the system seems content.

Yes, I’m a little annoyed about skipping my run—but these appointments are rare enough that missing one workout won’t derail anything. And, conveniently, tomorrow’s forecast is rainy, which takes some of the sting out of it.

Sometimes progress isn’t about doing more—it’s about showing up where it matters most, even if that means trading running shoes for a waiting room chair.

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