Category: Brian’s Journey

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Nashville Weather Changes: Spring Yesterday, Winter Today

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

True to the forecast, the temperature dropped 40 degrees since yesterday. This is classic Nashville behavior. Our weather doesn’t transition—it teleports. One day you’re contemplating spring allergies, the next you’re questioning your glove choices.

Just yesterday, it felt so warm that we spotted early spring flowers on the trees. My wife’s allergies immediately noticed. Apparently, pollen doesn’t wait for official permission. Spring showed up briefly, caused chaos, and left.

The shift happened fast. It stayed warm through the evening, but around 10 p.m., the wind started howling like it had a personal vendetta. The temperature plunged, and for a while, I was mildly concerned about losing electricity. My wife, meanwhile, slept soundly through it all—completely unaware of the weather drama unfolding outside.

To be fair, she had already checked today’s temperature before bed. She always does. Her running clothes are selected and staged based on the forecast, prepared calmly in advance like a seasoned field commander.

This morning, I waited for the day to reach its warmest point—which was still just below freezing—then reluctantly pulled on my gloves and headed out for my run. I was annoyed, but annoyance is practically a Tennessee weather survival skill.

Sometime overnight, a large branch snapped off a tree behind our house. I’m fairly certain I heard it crack. The tree itself survived, thankfully—it chose to sacrifice an arm rather than topple over onto our deck or house. Strategic, if unfortunate.

In the daylight, the damage was clear. The tree lost its largest limb and now looks thoroughly defeated. It was already struggling against neighboring trees, and since the one next to it fell last year, the ground may be too disturbed for it to stay upright much longer. This is likely a conversation I’ll need to have with my wife later.

On a brighter note, her Christmas present finally arrived today. I wrapped it up so it’ll be ready when she gets home—a small victory amid the wind, cold, and fallen branches.

So yes:
  • Yesterday: spring
  • Today: winter
  • Tomorrow: who knows

That’s Nashville. And somehow, we keep running anyway.

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Running After Poor Sleep and Even Less Patience

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Some days, sleep simply refuses to cooperate. Last night was one of them.

I woke up around 1 a.m. and stayed awake for hours, staring into the darkness while my brain ran its own unsolicited marathon. By morning, my body made it very clear that it had not signed up for this level of sleep deprivation.

Fridays come with their own fixed set of chores, and today was no exception. My wife took the day off—strategically—because she needs to work an extra day next week. She had already been up for hours, moving briskly through chores she scheduled a month ago. That’s just how she operates. Planning is her superpower.

Despite feeling tired down to my bones, I got up at my normal time. Routine has a way of carrying you when energy doesn’t. After breakfast, I felt marginally more human and decided to go for my run. This was not enthusiasm—it was willpower.

My wife, already finished with her morning exercise, cheerfully reported how wonderful it was outside. And she was right. By the time I stepped out, it was already above 65°F—shockingly warm for winter in Tennessee. She’s thoroughly enjoying this mild American winter, having lived in Canada long enough to expect a white Christmas.

I remember Canadian winters vividly. One year, we shoveled nearly a foot of snow. If you live in the snow belt, snow removal becomes a lifestyle choice.

Today’s run felt great weather-wise. Shorts made another appearance. Speed, however, did not. I didn’t hit my target pace, and I’m placing full responsibility on poor sleep and lingering exhaustion.

My wife mentioned the other day—backed by her usual deep dive into nearly 100 academic journals—that sleep quality has a direct impact on cardio and resistance training performance. She doesn’t repeat common wisdom; she verifies it. That level of professional skepticism likely comes from her accounting background. Admirable? Yes. Exhausting? Also yes.

Despite the fatigue, I managed to complete everything on today’s to-do list. Still, there was a quiet sense of dread hovering over the day—the kind that only poor sleep can bring.

Now that it’s early evening, I’m nearly caught up. Once I finish my pullovers, I’ll officially be in the clear. The hope is simple: better sleep tonight, a stronger run tomorrow, and fewer arguments with my pillow.

One tired day down. Tomorrow gets another shot.

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Running in Shorts on Warm Christmas Eve (and Other Seasonal Confusions)

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

It’s eerily warm this Christmas Eve—warm enough that I ran in shorts. Seasonally inappropriate, yes. Thermodynamically accurate, also yes.

When I woke up, my nose felt congested. After one decisive blow, it started bleeding. Festive. I’m blaming the unusually low humidity we’ve had over the past few weeks. My skin has also been itchy enough to qualify as a minor distraction, though lotion keeps things from escalating.

This Christmas in Nashville has been strange. One day we hit the high 60s Fahrenheit, which immediately reminded me of Vancouver, where we lived briefly. Vancouver summers rarely go above 72–73°F, so a nearly 70-degree day there feels like a heatwave. Today had that same confused energy—winter pretending to be spring.

I did pause to worry about the nosebleed. These days, anything involving blood earns a moment of concern. Nosebleeds can signal high blood pressure, but after checking, mine was fine. Dryness seems to be the real culprit.

My wife, ever the source of oddly specific medical trivia, once told me she used to get nosebleeds from eating too much chocolate. She also had frequent nosebleeds during sudden temperature or pressure changes—so frequent, in fact, that she had the nasal veins cauterized in her teens. She hasn’t had a nosebleed since, though she remains cautious around chocolate and rapid weather shifts.

I worry more than I used to. Knowledge does that to you. Once you know what could be wrong, your brain insists on checking every possibility.

Unfortunately, my run didn’t go particularly well either. I felt distracted and held back, partly because I was worried my nose might start bleeding again if I pushed too hard. Running in shorts usually feels like an automatic speed boost, but not today.

Still, it wasn’t a total loss. I matched Monday’s pace, which means there’s at least some improvement from earlier this week. And with three more runs before the week ends, I still have chances to hit my target pace.

So:

  • Warm Christmas Eve ✔️
  • Shorts in December ✔️
  • Festive nosebleed ✖️
  • Perfect run ❌

Not ideal—but manageable. And on Christmas Eve, that’s good enough.

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Holiday Baking for Family, and the Quiet Joy of Making Pie

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today’s most important task wasn’t glamorous—but it was meaningful:
I peeled, sliced, and macerated apples for tomorrow’s apple pie.

We’re heading to my sister’s house for a Christmas party, and my official contribution is two pies: one apple, one pumpkin. Sadly, my mother won’t be able to come this year because she has the flu and doesn’t want to share it with the rest of us. That’s disappointing—but also considerate. Germs are not festive.

I was still excited, though. I used this same apple-pie process for Thanksgiving, and my brother-in-law—a genuinely excellent cook—complimented it. That is high praise. When someone who regularly feeds everyone beautifully enjoys something you made, it hits differently.

So yes, I’m happily attempting a repeat performance.

I always prep pies two days ahead. Pies, like good ideas, improve with a little patience. The day before baking, I macerate the apples—letting sugar and spices pull out their juices and soften them overnight. Tomorrow, all I have to do is assemble and bake.

The pumpkin pie required a small compromise this year. We didn’t make our own pumpkin purée like usual. Everyone was too busy, and even applesauce didn’t happen. So we bought purée from the store. Is it as romantic? No. Is it acceptable? Absolutely.

I love baking for family gatherings. It’s how I show up. I’ve loved baking since I was a teenager, and after my brain stroke—when I couldn’t even draw a proper clock—I still baked my wife a birthday cake with my father’s help. Baking gave me structure, sequencing, and purpose. In a very real way, it became part of my rehabilitation.

There’s something deeply grounding about measuring, mixing, waiting, and watching something become whole.

I can’t believe the year is almost over. The best parts of the holidays are still ahead. My wife is already excited to see her niece—she only gets that chance during family gatherings because life is so busy for everyone.

For now, I’m content with bowls of spiced apples resting quietly in the fridge, doing their slow magic.

It feels good to contribute something made with care to people I care about—even if it’s just pie.

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When Getting Out of Bed Is the First Workout of the Day

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Some mornings invite you to crawl back under the covers and negotiate with the universe. Today was one of those mornings. I was still half-asleep when the alarm went off, but I got up anyway—mostly because I’ve learned that negotiating with fatigue never ends well.

Ever since my brain stroke, sleep has been… complicated. In the early days, I could sleep almost indefinitely. My occupational therapist responded by giving me a very firm schedule, and my wife enforced it with the seriousness of a NASA launch director. Her rule was simple: never give up your agency. Losing control of your body is hard enough—don’t also surrender control of your will.

Kafka would’ve understood.

Being trapped in a body that doesn’t cooperate is emotionally brutal. At first, I was scared. Insecure. Stripped of mobility and confidence all at once. But slowly, painfully, I got it back. The will to live returned. I realized my wife needed me—but more importantly, I needed me.

Now, most of what I do is for myself: running, strength training, and learning. People can change. I’m living proof of that. So even on tired mornings, I stick to my routine.

Today was no exception.

I made my way to my office, fed our cat, and started my morning exercises before breakfast. My wife had already left for work at 6:30 a.m., as usual, powered by her own internal stoic engine.

Being Monday, the schedule called for pull-ups.

I knocked out the first 10 without dropping off the bar, then after a few seconds of dramatic oxygen negotiations, finished the remaining 9. Nineteen total. Next week’s target is 20, which conveniently marks the end of my weekly increase streak.

That opens an interesting question:
Do I push further into three sets of ten?
Or do I hold the line and focus on maintaining this strength?

I have two weeks to decide. That feels fair.

For now, I’m allowing myself a short pause before the next act of today’s production: my run. Fatigue may still be hanging around, but discipline has already clocked in for work.

And that makes all the difference.

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Why My Kidneys Just Banned My Favorite Melons

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

today my kidneys staged a small but decisive coup.

My nephrologist’s office called to inform me that my latest bloodwork shows I’ve been consuming too much potassium. The culprits? Cantaloupe and honeydew. Two of my favorite, innocent-looking fruits. Apparently, they’ve been quietly plotting against me this whole time.

When your kidneys aren’t working properly, the list of things you have to watch becomes impressively long. Protein. Potassium. Phosphate. Even foods that sound healthy—like spinach and other green vegetables—can become problematic. You don’t just eat what’s “good”; you eat what your kidneys will tolerate.

Over the summer, I was told I was eating too much icecream (sugar), so melons became my workaround. Light, refreshing, hydrating—what could go wrong? Well, potassium. That’s what.

Fortunately, it’s not summer anymore, and I’m not doing as much physical activity. That means I can get away with smaller snack volumes, which makes adjusting a little easier.

Kidney disease is not a casual hobby. It demands attention, planning, and frequent dietary grief. So now, melons are off the table—for a while, at least.

After some research, I discovered that strawberries and carrots are much friendlier options for a low-potassium diet. My wife, always the strategist, suggested rotating foods instead of banning them forever: melon one week, berries the next. That way, nothing gets permanently exiled unless it absolutely has to.

Still, losing another favored snack stings. And it’s not just melons. Cheese and chocolate—two of life’s most reliable joys—also need to be carefully rationed when kidneys are involved. Apparently, the universe believes character is built through dietary restraint.

So for now, it’s goodbye to honeydew and cantaloupe. Hello to berries and carrots.

I’ll keep paying attention to potassium levels, rotating foods when possible, and doing my best to eat in a way that keeps my kidneys cooperative—even if they have a flair for dramatic food bans.

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When Nashville Freezes and Productivity Moves Indoors

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Tragically, today is 30 degrees colder than yesterday, which was already rude. That puts us squarely in literally freezing territory. My wife reported that it was 11°F when she went out for her morning workout—casually, as if that’s a normal thing to say.

She wore her legendary winter ski jacket from Canada. It’s over 30 years old and still looks brand new. At this point, I’m convinced it’s immortal.

Nashville, for context, is in the southern United States. We are not in Minnesota or in Texas.. We live in the awkward middle zone where winters usually aren’t this aggressive and summers don’t actively try to kill you. I honestly don’t remember it being this cold before.

My wife, however, treats temperature like background noise. Hot, cold—it’s all just “weather.” Her routine does not bend. She’s deeply influenced by Stoicism and admires Marcus Aurelius. While she doesn’t take Meditations as literal doctrine, she lives the spirit of it remarkably well. Marcus Aurelius: philosopher king, cold-weather champion, probably would have approved of that jacket.

Fortunately, I had no outside activities planned today. Instead, I redirected my energy toward indoor productivity—specifically, tidying up.

I still had boxes and random packaging debris left over from assembling the stretching machine, and I needed to find a sensible permanent spot for it in my room. Equipment without a home is just clutter waiting to become emotional.

Meanwhile, my wife has been on a house-cleaning streak. She also has two broken former desk chairs in her room that she’s asked me to dismantle and dispose of. She briefly entertained the idea of fixing and reselling them after seeing someone do that online—but the person who could help is booked for months. The chairs, meanwhile, are occupying valuable mental space.

So the verdict was clear: let them go.

My wife strongly dislikes having too many things in the house. She says clutter makes it harder to focus—and worse, it encourages buying even more things. This is, unfortunately, correct.

So today’s plan is simple and achievable:
  • Disassemble and remove one broken chair today
  • Deal with the second one next weekend

Progress without burnout. Stoic, even.

When the weather is this cold, staying inside isn’t laziness—it’s strategy. And if that strategy results in fewer boxes, fewer broken chairs, and a calmer space, then honestly, winter can stay mad outside.

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Backwards Legs, a Stubborn Cable, and a Surprisingly Good 10K

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

This morning, after breakfast and settling in at my desk, I returned to what I believed was the final phase of assembling the stretching machine. I was confident. Dangerously confident.

A closer look at the schematic revealed the truth: I had installed the stabilizing legs backwards. Naturally. That meant undoing the last few steps, which turned into a couple of hours of careful disassembly, reassembly, and quiet self-criticism.

Problem solved—briefly.

Immediately after, I discovered a new issue. There’s a cable that runs from a lever to the legs, used to pull them apart. The cable was wound so tightly on its reel that it simply refused to reach the attachment point. I stared at it. It stared back. Neither of us budged.

At that point, I declared a tactical retreat and shifted focus to my weekly 10K run.

It was chilly, but my new warm running pants made it tolerable—and, thankfully, it was above glove temperature. I hit my target pace for the first 5K, which felt great. I couldn’t quite pull off the rare double success for the full distance, but I still logged my second-fastest 10K ever. I’ll take that win without argument.

Back home, I moved through the Saturday checklist: vacuuming, a shower, and then making soup for my wife and me—comfort food earned the honest way. After dishes, it was time for our weekly grocery run. Our water cooler was completely empty, so forgetting water was not an option. I’d already staged the empty bottles upstairs to make loading easier. Organization: achieved.

Transportation: complicated.

The city has closed the main intersection that exits our neighborhood—the one that leads directly to the grocery store. We discovered this last week, and the rumor is it’ll stay closed until April. So now every trip involves scenic backroads and low-grade grumbling. There’s not much to do except adapt and complain quietly.

This closure may also affect my annual physical appointment, which I normally walk to. I’ll need to scout the route on foot to see if it’s still passable—or accept the indignity of calling an Uber to drive me a mile.

Meanwhile, my brain kept circling back to the stretching machine. I searched online, fiddled with the reel and crank, and hunted for a release switch that would allow more cable to unwind. Nothing. The manual was unhelpful. The internet was silent.

So I’ve resolved to call customer service on Monday.

Do I have high hopes? No. Based on the manual, communication may not be their strongest skill. Still, it’s the only path forward. Maybe I’ll get lucky. Stranger things have happened.

The good news is that everything else is assembled correctly. Once the cable mystery is solved, the machine will be ready for use. Until then, it stands as a monument to perseverance.

By the end of the day, I was completely worn out—but in the good way. The kind where things didn’t go perfectly, but enough went right to make it count.

Monday will bring customer service.
Today brought effort.
And for now, that’s enough.

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Why Hydration Is Not a Task You Want to Cram

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Yesterday was so busy that my hydration schedule quietly collapsed while I wasn’t looking.

After we returned from the running shoe store, I realized I was already about an hour behind on my water intake. I managed to catch up before heading out for my run, which felt like a small victory. Then I disappeared for two hours—and fell even further behind. This is not recommended behavior. At all.

My kidneys don’t function like those of a healthy adult, so hydration isn’t optional for me. My nephrologist is very clear: at least two liters of water a day, every day, to prevent my kidneys from filtering overly concentrated urine. To help with this, my wife and I both use water bottles marked with hour-by-hour drinking goals so we don’t quietly drift into dehydration.

Yesterday, however, life had other plans.

Vacuuming.
Showering.
Cooking supper.
Then our weekly grocery trip.

By the time I finally made it back to my desk, I was several hours behind schedule. I should have been done with my first liter and well into the second. Instead, I was staring down a very avoidable hydration deficit.

For a brief moment, I considered giving up on hitting the full two liters. But then I remembered that kidneys are not impressed by excuses. So I did what I had to do: I started guzzling water to catch up.

Our Hydration Routine, My for my Kidneys

We go through about five gallons of water per week in our house. We use a water dispenser because my wife is understandably cautious about water quality and my kidney health. The water is excellent—just not meant to be consumed in heroic quantities all at once.

I take hydration seriously, but I was worried that this late-day water surge would punish me overnight with constant bladder alarms. Still, I decided that was the price of falling behind earlier in the day.

Thankfully, timing worked out in my favor. I finished my water about thirty minutes before getting ready for bed, which gave my body just enough time to process most of it. I only had to get up once during the night—a win, all things considered.

So yes, I drank what I needed to drink.
And yes, I mostly avoided the consequences.

But this was not a strategy—it was damage control.

Today’s goal is simple: stay on schedule and don’t turn hydration into an evening endurance sport again.

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Why You Shouldn’t Drink a Milkshake Before a 10K

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today’s plan was simple and efficient: visit the running shoe store to get my wife a fresh pair of shoes, then stop for a milkshake on the way home. We had a flier for a free milkshake, so naturally, we synchronized errands like responsible adults.

My wife takes running attire very seriously—and for good reason. She firmly believes that the wrong shoes invite injury, and improper clothing invites heat stroke, hypothermia, or, at the very least, regret. I don’t argue with this logic.

While we were there, I also replaced my aging cold-weather running pants. My old pair had reached the end of their honorable service, so I upgraded. Once we got home, I immediately put the new pants on and decided to break them in properly—with a full 10K run.

We don’t go out much on her days off because she usually has a long list of chores. But she’d already declared weeks ago that her running shoes were overdue for replacement. This outing had been scheduled in the household calendar long before the milkshake entered the story.

The milkshake, however, was my personal motivation.

My wife isn’t interested in milkshakes. She always takes one sip of mine, politely declares it “too sweet,” and hands it back. I, on the other hand, was thrilled. I hadn’t had a milkshake in years. Years.

And then I made a terrible decision.

I drank the entire milkshake right before heading out for my run.

Running with a belly full of milkshake is… not ideal. No matter how delicious it is, milkshake-fueled jogging is not a performance-enhancing strategy. This is a lesson I will absolutely remember: milkshakes belong after runs, not immediately before them.

The run itself was hard. I fought to keep my pace from collapsing more than 50 seconds below my target. I finished 49 seconds under instead—which is technically better, but emotionally still rough. By the end, my legs were fully aware that I had tried very hard.

They may become even more aware tonight.

I’m considering doing my weekly squats this evening instead of tomorrow. That would give me an extra recovery day before my Monday run, which should—at least in theory—help me be faster then.

So today’s takeaways:
  • New shoes: excellent
  • New pants: promising
  • Free milkshake: delicious
  • Timing of milkshake: catastrophic

Still, lessons were learned, gear was upgraded, and the run got done.
Next time, I’ll earn my milkshake the hard way—after the finish line.

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