Category: Brian’s Journey

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When Life Gives You No Puff Pastry, Bake Cinnamon Rolls

Brian’s fitness journal after brain stroke

Written September 7, 2025

Hello, Dear Readers,

Yesterday’s grocery run dealt me a cruel blow: my beloved puff pastry sheets were nowhere to be found. Gone. Vanished. Puff, indeed. Since my weekend yard-work-and-running combo demands extra calories, puff pastry has been my trusty fuel. But no puff pastry meant I had to improvise – bake cinnamon rolls!

For a moment, I stood in the frozen aisle with my arms stretched like some tragic Shakespearean hero, whispering, “Wherefore art thou, puff pastry?” Alas, the shelves mocked me with their emptiness. So I grabbed a backup plan: cinnamon rolls.

This morning, I baked cinnamon rolls. To be honest, “bake” is generous—the box basically said, assemble, shove in oven, bask in glory. Within minutes, my kitchen smelled like a sugar-scented candle factory. The rolls were petite, so I shared one with my wife. She’s not big on sweets, but she declared them “delicious,” which is high praise from her.

Eight little cinnamon spirals came out of the oven—perfect math for my running week. Four running days, two rolls per day. On non-running days, I’ll behave (or at least try). They’re tucked neatly in Tupperware, ready to serve as post-leaf-vacuuming rations.

Speaking of leaves: the windy weather turned my yard into a leafy confetti zone. Vacuuming leaves isn’t as brutal as mowing, but it still eats up 1–2 hours. Normally, I escape with an audiobook, but with my phone screen now as black as a gothic novel, I’ve been awkwardly leaf-sucking in silence. My phone still makes sounds, taunting me like a ghost who won’t leave the house. I can’t even snooze my alarm because I don’t know where to swipe on a screen I can’t see.

My wife assures me the new phone is arriving tomorrow. I’m already sweating about the data transfer—will it be smooth, or a tragic comedy? Last time, it took two phones and an awkward dance of swipes and codes. This time, I’ll be going in blind. Literally.

Until then, it’s me, my cinnamon rolls, my audiobook-shaped silence, and a yard full of leaves. Wish me luck.

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Thunderstorm Workout: An Alternative Way to Stay Active

Brian’s Journey after a brain stroke

Written September 6, 2025

Hello, Dear Readers,

This morning I woke up like a superhero ready for a 10k—but the universe had other plans. My new Google phone, the sidekick I’d been waiting for, pulled a diva move and decided not to show up. Delivery delayed. My wife explained that we missed the carrier’s cut-off, and since it’s the weekend, the phone is basically sipping margaritas in a warehouse until Monday.

Now here’s the problem: I had psyched myself up for a two-hour run, but without audiobooks, that’s just two hours of listening to my own thoughts. And trust me, my brain is not the best playlist. To add insult to injury, it was cold. Like, September-just-started-but-we’re-already-in-October cold. Nashville apparently skipped the weather memo.

Then my wife pointed out the thunder and lightning. Yes, actual thunderbolts—while I was too busy sulking about my phone to notice. She had already cut her own run short (she’ll run through snow, rain, plagues of locusts—you name it—but thunder is her personal “nope”). To be fair, her aunt once got hit by lightning. Survived, but the story was enough to permanently traumatize her. On a day like this, I will find an alternative way to stay active.

So instead of dodging lightning like a wannabe Olympic sprinter, I downgraded to a safer workout: vacuuming. It doesn’t burn quite the same calories, but hey, clean floors are underrated cardio.

Meanwhile, our kitten staged her own adventure. She scaled the stairs, stormed into our bedroom, and leapt onto the bed like she owned the place. My wife was over the moon. Me? I was just proud our tiny furball could jump higher than my weekend motivation. She’s getting braver by the day, meowing for pets, curling up on my lap, and basically running the household with four paws and a tail.

Honestly, spending the morning with her wasn’t a bad trade for missing my run. Thunder outside, purring inside. And while I do feel naked without a phone—no alarms, no stopwatch, no audiobooks—I’ll survive. It’s wild how much we rely on those little rectangles, even when we’re not on social media.

Until my phone comes crawling home on Monday, I’ll be over here vacuuming, cat-cuddling, and pretending I meant to skip that run all along. When the weather is not suitable for running, this is how I deal with it, an alternative way to stay active.

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Running Blunders: The Great Water Famine and the Phone Faceplant

Hello, Dear Readers,

Today, I managed to commit not one but two running blunders—proof that even with the best intentions, chaos has a way of lacing up its sneakers and jogging alongside me.

Error #1: The Great Water Famine.

Normally, I’m the kind of runner who looks like I’m training for a desert ultramarathon—I haul around two water bottles to protect my kidneys (which, unlike me, don’t tolerate nonsense). But this morning, in a rare burst of “efficiency,” I dashed out the door without filling them. Halfway through my 5k, I was parched enough to consider licking morning dew off the grass. Instead, I paused my app and sheepishly jogged home to guzzle water. Annoying? Yes. Life-threatening? Not quite.

Error #2: The Phone Faceplant


Just as I was nearing the glorious end of my run, my phone decided it had endured enough of my playlists and flung itself out of the armband like a rebellious teenager. It hit the road, kept my audiobook running (cheeky!), but left the screen as black as my mood. Restarting didn’t help. Swiping blind works—if I remember the exact location—but let’s be honest, that’s a party trick, not a solution.

My wife and I fiddled with it for hours before she wisely ordered me a replacement. Her only condition? “Anything but the Pixel 10—we’re not paying flagship prices for your clumsy running habits.” Fair enough. Since my old phone was out of warranty anyway, it was time to retire it.

The problem is, my phone isn’t just a phone. It’s my running buddy, my audiobook narrator, my alarm clock, my weight tracker, and my lifeline to family. Without it, I had to rely on my wife to send word to relatives that I wasn’t ignoring them—I was simply living in a temporary tech blackout.

Now, I’m staring down a week without audiobooks, which means my runs and chores are about to get a lot more… “mindful.” Worse, my streaks—language learning, planking, and possibly running—are about to snap. Still, even without apps counting my every move, I’ll keep the streak alive. After all, progress isn’t just about the record—it’s about the run itself (and not dropping your phone while doing it).

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Our Kitten Artemis Learns Fetch in Her First Week!

Hello Dear Readers,

Chilly again today. The wind tried to strip our tree naked last night, but it clung to its leaves like a modest Victorian, which mercifully postponed my rake date until Tuesday. Future me can deal with that. Thanks, future me.

Artemis, however, is fully present-tense. She’s officially comfortable with us—which apparently means my desk is now her personal jungle gym. Her favorite hobby? Attempted cable cuisine. I spent the morning gently relocating her from “forbidden spaghetti” (charging cords) and explaining that our insurances does not cover kitten teeth.

To redirect the tiny gremlin energy, I introduced Fetch 101 with the toy mouse. Reader, she nailed it. I tossed; she sprinted; she returned it about a dozen times, tail high like a victory flag. Then I threw it a little too far into the hallway—aka The Unknown—and she sensibly declared, “Nope.” Game over.

Naturally I filmed her athletic triumph and sent it to the family chat. My niece swooned; a friend dubbed her a “puppy cat.” Accurate. During rounds two and three, she sometimes looped back just out of arm’s reach, clearly negotiating for better treat terms. Eventually she’d park under my chair—her safe zone—so I could snag the mouse and relaunch.

She’s getting cozy in my office but remains cautious about the rest of the house. No stairs yet. Kittens are like Wi-Fi: great in one room, mysteriously weak everywhere else. We’re patient. She’ll make the upstairs leap when she’s ready.

New habit: every time I stand up, I hear a bell and turn to find Artemis installed on my chair like a small, purring CEO. She’s not big on being picked up, so I bribe—sorry, “redirect”—with the mouse. Works like a charm, and my chair survives another coup.

All in all, 10/10 day with the “puppy cat.” We’ll see if she wants a rematch tomorrow—preferably with fewer attempts to eat electricity.

If you want to read similar postings:

Earn Trust With a Shy Kitten’s First Day Home

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Earn Trust With a Shy Kitten’s First Day Home

Hello dear reader,

This morning, my wife had to head into the office to make up for yesterday’s day off, but not before assigning me a critical mission: earn the trust of our new kitten, Artemis. She’s three months old, cream-colored like our other cat we used to have. She is a Siamese (read: delightfully vocal), and currently suspicious of… well, everything.

First, I conducted a thorough front-yard audit and concluded—heroically—that it required neither mowing nor leaf duty. With that brave decision made, I checked on Artemis and found her tucked inside her cat tower like a shy marshmallow. We’d let her be last night; trust can’t be speed-run.

Eventually, she ventured out and circled my desk, then attempted to share my breakfast. I countered with kitten food. Negotiations were successful. By the time I started with my breakfast, Artemis had decided our home—and maybe even I—were not agents of chaos.

I kept my movements slow and offered gentle pets. The purr engine kicked on. She weighs approximately one feather and soon installed herself on my lap as the day’s tiny supervisor, alternating between naps and performance reviews (“more scritches, please”).

She’s still cautious about sudden movements and hasn’t followed me upstairs yet, but she’ll eat and drink with me nearby. Progress! I texted my wife photos throughout the day; she was both relieved and a tiny bit jealous when Artemis chose my lap for her board meetings.

We’re considering a vet visit next Saturday, but we don’t want to overload her with new-environment stress. In the meantime, we introduced a few toys. She’s intrigued but politely reserved—however, the cat tower is a hit. Up, down, into the little cubbies—10/10 cute.

Artemis is warming up fast, and I’m completely smitten. Yes, I love our new kitten.

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Finding Artemis: Our Labor Day Cat-venture and the Search for the Perfect Siamese”

Written September 1, 2025

Hello, Dear Readers,

This morning, I thought the big achievement was finishing my run. Little did I know, I’d also be adopting a feline goddess before dinner. Yes—meet Artemis, the future queen of our home.

We’ve been cat-less since 2023, when we said goodbye to our beloved Gambi after 18 glorious years of cuddles, meows, and fur-covered furniture. My wife’s heart took a long time to heal—understandably so. You don’t just replace a cat like that. You mourn. You reminisce. You scroll through thousands of blurry but precious photos.

For a while, we were in a “just looking” phase—aka the emotional equivalent of window shopping for heartbreak. We knew we needed a hypoallergenic kitty (thanks to my sisters and their sneezy rebellion), so Siamese was at the top of the list. Plus, they’re famously chatty, dog-like, and full of personality. In other words: my wife’s dream roommate.

Now, I suspected she wasn’t quite ready to adopt—until she surprised me this morning with “I found one.” Just like that. After months of “maybe later,” the stars (and the Craigslist gods) aligned.

We contacted the seller immediately. Thankfully, this wasn’t one of those sketchy “we’ll ship your cat from a faraway land for a low-low price of eternal regret” situations. This seller was local-ish and insisted on in-person pickup—a good sign. So we hopped in the car for a 75-minute drive on Labor Day, armed with enthusiasm and… a freshly washed cat carrier from our Gambi days.

When we arrived, we met four fluffy candidates. It didn’t take long—my wife’s eyes locked on one little girl. You know that look. Game over.

Kitten acquired. Money exchanged. Artemis meowed the entire ride home like she was giving a TED Talk on feline relocation trauma. I offered moral support via finger-through-cage-bar, but I didn’t open it. I’m not that much of a softie (or risk-taker).

Back home, she emerged from her carrier like a tiny explorer setting foot on a strange new continent. I gave her my room for base camp—cat tower, access to the laundry room, plenty of toys. She’s still a little shy, but she’s already claimed the territory, scarfed some food, and started pouncing like she owns the place. (Which, let’s be honest, she probably will.)

And her name? Artemis. Goddess of the hunt. Judging by her sneak attacks on a feather toy, she’s ready to live up to it.

I am so happy about her. I named her Artemis. She will be a great huntress the way she is playing around her toy.

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Breaking in the Run: My First 10K in a Month with New Running Shoes

Written August 30, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

I’ve learned something important this summer: never trust August weather. One day I’m bundled up like it’s early fall, the next day I’m back in shorts, soaking up some surprisingly friendly sun. Thankfully, I’d checked the forecast, so I wasn’t ambushed by the temperature swing this time. Weather report: 1, wardrobe malfunction: 0.

The real hero of today’s story? My running shoes. After a couple of awkward weeks getting to know each other (and by “awkward,” I mean limping after every run), the new pair finally broke in. Hallelujah. I’d been cautiously tiptoeing my way through shorter runs, treating them like high-stakes negotiations with my ankles. Today, though? I laced up with confidence and set out for my first 10K in nearly a month.

The weather was ideal—just the right balance between “please don’t roast me” and “am I a human popsicle?” And somehow, the energy I thought had abandoned me came back with a vengeance. I didn’t hit my pace goal, but after weeks of skipping or cutting runs short, simply finishing 10 kilometers felt like a glorious comeback tour.

One of the best things about these shoes (same model as my old ones, by the way) is how magical they feel once they’re broken in. It’s like a Cinderella moment—if the glass slipper had arch support and cushioned soles. I logged today’s run in my app, and the mileage is still light, which is fine. I’d rather be cautious than come limping back with an injury.

I’ve noticed something curious ever since I started tracking my shoe usage: I go through pairs faster than I go through excuses not to run. And oddly, every single time, the outside cushion of my left shoe wears out first. My wife says it’s the opposite of how she runs. I suspect my left foot is trying to live its best rebellious life, supinating like a rock star while the right one follows the rules.

Anyway, the important part is—I made it. I completed my 10K. No ankle drama. No new blisters. Just a slow but satisfying return to form. I’m feeling good about this week’s runs, and now that my shoes aren’t plotting my downfall, maybe I’ll finally hit that target pace.

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Running in Nashville: Chilly Mornings, Falling Leaves, and the Headset Saga

Written August 27, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

This morning greeted me with a chill that made me briefly question my wardrobe choices. But stubbornness won, and I set out in shorts, bracing for regret. Turns out, the gamble paid off—Nashville’s weather decided to play nice, warming up nearly 10 degrees during my hour-long run. From shivering at the start to comfortable by the end, it was like running through two seasons in one workout.

Sadly, my legs weren’t as cooperative as the thermometer. I missed my target pace by 5 seconds per kilometer, and my legs felt oddly sore right from the start. Since my shoes have already broken in, I can’t pin the blame there. Oh well—Friday will be another chance to chase that elusive pace.

Meanwhile, autumn has barged in early. The cooler weather nudged our trees to drop their leaves weeks ahead of schedule. My wife was already vacuuming them last week, but I try not to let her shoulder too much yard work—weekends are packed enough for her. Collecting leaves is a race against nature: once it rains, they become a soggy, clingy mess, and if they slip between the bushes, cleanup turns into a full-scale excavation. Yesterday’s thorough session might buy me a day off, but one gusty morning could bury the yard all over again. So my mental checklist includes: “Check the battlefield after breakfast.”

On a brighter note, my replacement headset finally arrived after a nine-day odyssey (for something estimated at one day, that’s practically geologic time). I rely on it constantly—for running, chores, and audiobooks. My wife had signed up for Audible but realized multitasking and audiobooks weren’t her thing. Lucky for me, I swooped in before she canceled, and it’s been a lifeline. When my vision dropped to double and reading became nearly impossible, audiobooks kept my love for stories alive.

The last headset died from what I’ve been told is “death by overcharging.” Apparently, leaving it plugged in too long is a slow battery murder. Lesson learned. I’m now plotting a new charging routine to keep this one alive for the long haul. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: leaves will always fall, runs will always surprise, but headsets? They deserve protection at all costs.

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Running the Seasons: How Nashville Weather Keeps My Schedule on Its Toes

Written August 31, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

The timing of seasonal shifts is like Nashville traffic—unpredictable, occasionally frustrating, and always in charge of my schedule. Every year, I play this little game of musical chairs with my running times. In the summer, I’m out the door around 7 a.m., sprinting before the sun decides to fry me. But when winter comes? You’ll find me jogging closer to noon, because I’d rather not reenact Frozen on the sidewalk.

Lately, the mornings have been sneakily chilly. I lace up expecting a mild breeze, only to feel like I’ve stumbled into an early winter audition. My gut tells me this week is when the seasonal baton officially passes: Friday will probably be my first “post-breakfast run” of the year. In winter, that little delay makes a world of difference—Nashville temperatures love to bounce around like a yo-yo, and waiting a few hours can turn a run from misery to manageable.

Of course, my body adds a bonus challenge. Thanks to my brain stroke, my thermoregulation works about as fast as a dial-up modem. Cold or hot, it doesn’t matter—my system takes its sweet time catching up. So I’ve become a professional “sweet spot” hunter, timing my runs and chores to avoid temperature whiplash.

At home, we keep the thermostat close to whatever’s happening outside. Once it’s above 90°F or below 55°F, we finally surrender and turn on the AC or heat. Otherwise, I try to let my body adapt naturally. Grocery stores, though, are a different beast—stepping into one during summer feels like walking into an Arctic exhibit, and my body protests the climate shift like it’s on strike.

I’ve learned that running earlier in summer helps me conserve energy. Last year, my pace actually improved as the season wore on—apparently, avoiding temperature drama frees up power for speed. These days, I’m glued to weather reports like a stock trader, shifting my running schedule and yard work around whatever Nashville decides to throw at me.

And here’s the kicker: August is technically still “summer” here. So while I’m pulling out hoodies for morning runs, I wouldn’t blink if next week brings a heatwave encore. In the meantime, I’ve penciled in mowing for Tuesday and Thursday. The cooler weather has slowed the grass’s growth compared to last year, but let’s be honest—my lawn and Nashville’s climate probably have a secret pact to keep me guessing.

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A Surprise Raccoon Encounter on Our Home Depot Errand (and a Lesson in Domestication)

Written August 24, 2025

Hello, Dear Readers,

Good thing I got my run in yesterday, because this morning my wife suddenly called an audible on our Home Depot plan. Originally, we had scheduled that errand for next Friday—she even took the day off—but today she woke up inspired and decided, “Why wait?”

Of course, the universe laughed at our enthusiasm. Turns out Home Depot opens an hour later on Sundays, which left us cooling our heels in the parking lot for fifteen minutes. Luckily, we weren’t alone in our wait. Another customer had brought along… his raccoon. Yes, you read that right—a live, wriggling raccoon perched on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

My wife was thrilled. The man explained that he’d stumbled upon a litter of baby raccoons, and while most scattered, this one chose him. Apparently, the raccoon trusted him completely, climbing freely without a leash, occasionally scratching him with sharp little claws, and nibbling on his hands like a teething toddler. My wife immediately wanted to send a photo to our niece, who is endlessly curious about anything with fur, feathers, or fins. When we asked permission to snap a picture, the man agreed without hesitation—clearly proud of his unconventional companion.

He also gave us a crash course in wildlife domestication. Wolves, he said, might look like oversized huskies but forget about taming them—they’re hardwired against it. Raccoons, on the other hand, sometimes make the decision themselves. His furry friend had apparently chosen him, and from the way the man beamed, the feeling was mutual.

By the time we finished chatting with “the raccoon whisperer,” the store had finally opened. Our exchange inside went quickly, and soon we were headed home with our shiny new tool. My wife, ever the organized one, filed the receipt straight into the binder. (It came from the gift shop, so the original receipt was already in the mix—hence her earlier scavenger hunt through the house.) I, meanwhile, registered the warranty. Better safe than sorry; tools are like raccoons—sometimes they decide to stay with you, and sometimes they don’t.