Category: Running

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A Day of Labs, and Strategically Skipping a Run Without Guilt

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

After checking the weather forecast yesterday and mentally mapping out today’s schedule, I reached a firm conclusion: squeezing in a run would be heroically unpleasant. I have a blood draw scheduled for 1:30 p.m., which makes a midday run less “healthy habit” and more “logistical nightmare.”

My wife kindly took the day off to drive me to the lab. My nephrologist recently changed lab locations, and what used to be a walkable errand is now a 39-minute drive. Progress, apparently, comes with mileage.

Since she already had the day off, my wife suggested stopping by a secondhand bookstore on the way home. We haven’t been in nearly a year, but we like wandering through shelves where books cost less and come with mysterious past lives. Used books don’t bother either of us—stories age well.

The drive itself was pleasant. Being driven to a lab is significantly nicer than walking there, especially when the destination includes an underground parking garage shared by two identical buildings. Naturally, we took the wrong elevator and ended up in the wrong building.

Everything looked… medical. That was the problem. After a moment of quiet confusion and mutual suspicion, I realized we were definitely not where we were supposed to be. Medical offices are impressively interchangeable. We regrouped, descended, ascended again, and eventually found the correct lab.

Afterward, we rewarded ourselves with a visit to the bookstore. My wife browsed happily and found Lolita, which she’s wanted to read but avoided because of its eye-watering Amazon price. The secondhand copy solved that problem instantly. She didn’t care that it wasn’t new—victory is victory.

Once we returned home, reality resumed. Supper needed cooking. Pies need to be baked for tomorrow’s feast. And just like that, the run officially exited today’s agenda.

Lessons Learned

I usually try to schedule appointments on non-running days to avoid this exact situation, but the lab’s availability didn’t cooperate this time. So it goes.

Being out for several hours tightened the rest of the day’s schedule—for both of us. Even on her day off, my wife had to reshuffle everything to fit the lab visit. Efficiency never truly clocks out.

At least I’ve already completed my running goals for the year, so I feel no pressure to “make up” today’s missed run. If anything, the extra rest might help me recover fully and push harder on Friday.

Sometimes progress looks like running.

Sometimes it looks like skipping a run—with intention, books, and pie preparation waiting at home.

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When Snow Is on the Schedule but Motivation Is on Hold

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Last night, I made the mistake of checking the weather forecast. There it was in bold, unforgiving clarity: snow scheduled for today. I don’t mind running in the cold, but snow running? That’s where my enthusiasm politely exits the building.

This morning, the very first thing I did was rush to the window like a weather detective. No snow yet. Victory—for the moment. The temperature had dropped, though, and it was barely going to crawl past 40°F all day.

We’ve had a suspiciously mild autumn this year. Just recently, we enjoyed a 70-degree day. I think that spoiled me. Cold now feels rude. Still, I reminded myself: at least it’s not snowing. Our neighborhood is hilly, and I vividly remember my wife and I nearly slipping just walking up the hill in front of our house on a previous snow day. Ice plus gravity is not a friendly combination.

Had it been snowing, the day’s running plans would have been instantly canceled—no debate. But since the ground was still clear, I was forced to consider actually going out into the cold. I wasn’t thrilled, but I figured that after breakfast, it might be slightly more tolerable.

Meanwhile, my wife casually goes out for exercise at 5:00 a.m., when the temperature is even lower. I still don’t understand what kind of heroic software runs her internal system.

I, on the other hand, require mental push-ups just to step outside in cold weather.

After feeding both my kitten and myself, I consulted my weather app for the optimal escape window—only to be informed that snow was still very much expected. The app cheerfully announced it would start within the hour. In other words, science had just handed me a perfectly legitimate excuse to make my run short.

And I accepted it without protest.

The exercise journey, I’m learning, is full of negotiations—with weather, with the body, and especially with the mind. A decade ago, my resistance to running was far worse. Now the resistance is mostly emotional… but I still show up more often than not.

Even a little bit of exercise counts. Even showing up mentally counts. And looking ahead at the week, both Wednesday and Friday promise better running weather—so I’m choosing not to feel too guilty today.

Sometimes progress means running.
Sometimes it means strategically retreating from snow.

Both are survival skills.

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Shorts Weather, Long Distance, and a 10K Victory

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today’s mission depended on one critical variable: temperature. I waited patiently for it to rise just enough to justify running in shorts—quite possibly my final bare-legged appearance of the year. Once conditions were approved by the unofficial weather committee (me), I headed out for my 10K run with one ambitious goal in mind: hit my final speed target for the year.

The last two runs were hard 5Ks, and I’d pushed aggressively for pace. Somehow, my body had recovered better than expected, which gave me hope. Dangerous hope. The motivational kind.

After the first quarter kilometer, I was well ahead of target. That early success flipped a switch in my brain: Maintain this at all costs. Each pace announcement reinforced the fantasy that today might actually be the day. Naturally, I pushed harder.

Now, the body is essentially an energy budget. Spend too much too early, and you go bankrupt before the finish line. I knew I was overspending. By the end of the first kilometer, my head start had shrunk—but I was still safely ahead, so I continued the dangerous strategy known as optimism. By the 5K mark, I had beaten my target pace by a comfortable margin.

But I wasn’t content with “comfortable.”

I wanted a new personal best 10K.
I wanted my first ever sub-9-minute-per-kilometer 10K.
And I still had half the distance left to survive.

The final two kilometers were brutal. My lead evaporated faster than my confidence during those last pushes. Every step felt like a negotiation. With three seconds to spare—three—I crossed the line under my sub-9 goal.

I did it.
New personal best.
Goal achieved.
Shorts weather honored.

For a brief moment, I considered retiring for the rest of the year. After all, it’s still early November. Why not celebrate with a well-earned vacation from running? That thought lasted exactly as long as the walk home.

Instead, I doubled down.

Next year’s goal is already on the table: shave off another full minute from my pace. Is it realistic? I honestly don’t know. But it’s achievable to try—and that’s the part that still matters most.

So on Monday, the next mission begins.

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When Muscles Protest but Motivation Wins the Argument

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today, I fully expected to fail my target pace before I even tied my running shoes. My legs were still filing formal complaints from yesterday’s effort—the direct result of pushing hard for that shiny new personal best the other day. Consecutive personal bests are a bold request of the universe, and I had already braced myself for disappointment. Pre-disappointment, if you will.

And yet… the goal refused to leave my head.

The first pace announcement came in, and to my surprise, I was slightly ahead of target after the first quarter kilometer. That tiny lead was just enough encouragement to make a reckless decision: push harder. Hope is powerful—and occasionally unwise.

For a while, it worked.

Then reality caught up. By the end of the second kilometer, that early lead had completely evaporated. My legs stiffened like they had clocked out early. I tried to push again, but my body had officially entered “no further negotiations” mode. No matter how much I argued with my pace, it refused to come back down.

In the end, I missed my target—but only by about ten seconds. I also logged my eighth-fastest run ever, which is not exactly a tragedy. I was still more than a minute faster than Monday’s run, so overall, progress was very much alive… just not wearing a gold medal today.

Now the focus shifts to recovery. My next run is a 10K, not a 5K, and that’s a different kind of negotiation altogether. Pace management over 10 kilometers is much trickier—start too fast, and the second half will collect its revenge with interest. I’ve been running for nearly a decade, and yet I still struggle with pacing like it’s a lifelong riddle.

My body condition and temperature affect my running more than I’d like to admit. Recovery is especially tricky with my kidney condition. Even after a few days of rest, it’s not unusual for my body to feel like it hasn’t fully recharged. The last two sessions were particularly hard pushes, so caution is now my training partner. I may not be improving at the speed I imagine in my head—but I am moving forward. And more importantly, I still have something to run toward. These days, the hope matters more than the stopwatch. Performance fades. Motivation, when treated kindly, sticks around.

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Warm Weather, Fast Legs, and a New Personal Best

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

As forecast, today’s weather finally decided to be kind. After nearly a week of cold and rainy misery, I was able to run in shorts again—which, this time of year, feels like winning the fitness lottery. I waited out a brief cool morning delay, and then I was off. Pure luxury.

There are fewer than two months left in the year now. I’ve already hit my original year-end running goals, so naturally, I moved the finish line. Running, after all, is highly negotiable with the weather. Temperature rules everything: my pace, my motivation, and occasionally my mood. The last few cold days were rough, and hitting my target pace felt like negotiating with gravity.

But when I checked today’s forecast, I knew. Today is the day.

And my body agreed.

From the first kilometer, everything felt smoother—lighter, faster, less like I was dragging winter behind me. My running app announced my pace each kilometer like a tiny motivational coach. Each update sounded better than the last. By the end, my target pace had dropped to just under 9 minutes per kilometer. Not only did I beat my target—I crushed it. I even set a new personal best, running more than a full minute faster than my run just two days ago.

Weather is powerful. But on my cooldown walk home, curiosity kicked in. Why was today so much better?

Then it hit me—I was also a pound lighter than I was on Monday. Add in less water weight, and suddenly I was carrying about two pounds less than my last run. And while two pounds doesn’t sound dramatic, try hauling it around for five kilometers and see how heroic you feel.

Between the warmer temperatures, time-change recovery, and lighter load, everything lined up perfectly.

My last running goal for the year is simple but stubborn: finish a 10K at under 9 minutes per kilometer. I only attempt a 10K once a week, so the weather still holds all the bargaining power. A cold or rainy day can turn that goal into a negotiation with reality.

Still, I haven’t given up. There are nearly two months left in the year—and at least a few more warm days hiding in the forecast. Somewhere out there, my next breakthrough is waiting, probably wearing shorts.

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Cold Weather Running, Frustration, and Nietzsche: A November Runner’s Tale

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

I can’t believe it’s already November. One week we’re basking in warm weather, and the next we’re suddenly living inside a refrigerator. But cold or not, I refuse to stop running. I simply layer up like an onion with cardio goals.

This morning, my fitness tracker declared I had “high energy” and was in a “cardio-ready state.” Lies. All lies. My 5k quickly turned into a comedy of disappointment.

I blasted out of the gate so strongly that by the first quarter kilometer, I was a glorious 40 seconds ahead of my goal pace. Unfortunately, by the time I hit the first full kilometer, that 40-second buffer had vaporized—like steam on a cold morning—and I was actively fighting gravity, time, and possibly physics to keep from slowing further.

My running app updates me every quarter kilometer like a friendly but brutally honest coach. Each announcement informed me that my pace was either the same or a second slower. Meanwhile, I felt like I was pushing harder than a Black Friday shopper. Yet the data said otherwise.

Cold weather is always more brutal for me. Ever since my brain stroke, my body adapts to temperature changes about as gracefully as an old computer installing a software update. So I have to be very deliberate about my clothing: too cold and I stiffen up; too warm and I overheat. Dressing for a winter run feels like preparing for a NASA spacewalk—one wrong layer and the mission goes sideways.

Even with all the challenges, I finished my 10k only 21 seconds behind my target pace. Not ideal, but far from a disaster. And I was much faster than last week’s 10k, so progress is still happening—just slowly, like a stubborn download progress bar.

Running is one of those long-term investments that requires patience… and more patience… and then even more patience. I’ve been running for nearly a decade, and while 5k used to feel like medieval torture, once I learned to run 10k consistently, the shorter distance stopped scaring me, but chasing a target pace? That always requires grit, stubbornness, and the willingness to suffer a little.

Cold days make it harder—pushing harder doesn’t guarantee results. Sometimes your body simply files a complaint.

My wife always reminds me: One day at a time. One step at a time. Every project has ups and downs, and effort still counts even when the outcome isn’t what we imagined.

Nietzsche might call today’s struggle a small act of “self-overcoming”—choosing the higher challenge instead of the comfortable shortcut. So instead of dwelling on today’s frustrations, I’m choosing to see it as another step toward a stronger version of myself.

And honestly? That feels like its own victory.

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When Your Run Falls Apart, but Your Progress Doesn’t

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today’s run was… let’s call it “character-building.” On Wednesday, I set a new personal best and thought, “Ah yes, this is who I am now—Speed.” Today, however, my legs politely reminded me that I’m actually more of a seasonal subscription: sometimes fast, sometimes not, and occasionally buffering.

I use a free running app that announces my pace every quarter kilometer. Think of it like a personal pacer—except instead of a cheerful human holding a sign, it’s a disembodied voice that calmly informs me I’m behind… again. I originally set it up because my wife once told me that beginner runners tend to sprint at the start and then collapse like poorly made soufflés. Fair point. So now I let the app dictate a sustainable pace—my own digital pacer, minus the neon outfit.

Usually, the system works—until it doesn’t. By the third kilometer today, I was more than a minute behind my goal. I spent the rest of the run trying to negotiate with my legs like a hostage negotiator. I managed to finish the 5k slightly less behind schedule, but still not close to what I hoped for.

I’ve been running for nearly a decade, so none of this should shock me. Pace goes up, pace goes down—it’s basically the stock market in sneakers. Weather, sleep, body condition, last night’s workout, and whether the universe feels benevolent all factor in.

My kidneys, of course, love to complicate things. With barely 20% function on my last lab test, they’re like coworkers who contribute very little but still demand regular attention. In the summer, my numbers dip even more, and I have to be careful with protein like it’s contraband. One extra hour of outdoor chores can knock my cardio readiness off a cliff. Yet my doctor still encourages me to run, because running keeps my health from slipping further.

Given everything, I try to stay positive. After all, compared to surviving a brain stroke, a slow run is just a slightly dramatic inconvenience. I’m not the fastest runner—not even close—but running has helped me maintain my kidney health and sanity.

Still, disappointment is real. When you’re pushing so hard and don’t get the result you hoped for, it stings. But as I was cooling down, walking home like a Victorian poet contemplating fate, I remembered something important: even on a bad day, I’m faster than I was a year ago, when I was desperately trying to break a 10-minute pace. Progress isn’t a straight line. Sometimes it looks like a toddler’s scribble. Yes, today was slow. But I am faster overall. I am stronger overall. And as long as I keep showing up—even limping slightly—I will keep getting better. One imperfect run at a time.

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Running Through The Seasons is How I Reclaimed Strength After Stroke

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Written October 15, 2025

Hello, Dear Readers,

This morning, I woke up feeling a little foggy. The air has turned noticeably colder, and lately it’s been harder for my body to bounce back from running and everyday tasks. Sudden temperature shifts have always affected me, but ever since my brain stroke, my autonomic nervous system just… clocks out when the weather changes. If the temperature swings, my body goes, “Nope. That’s enough character development for today.”

So, every morning, I check the weather carefully and layer up like I’m preparing for a small expedition. Over time—and plenty of trial and error—I’ve learned which clothing works for which temperature range. Still, when the seasons shift, my body needs time to adjust. Winter cold and summer heat both make it difficult for me to feel “comfortable” in my own skin.

Over the past few days, I’ve been pushing myself to run a little more because I felt motivated. But this morning, I felt the effort in every muscle. Even so, I headed out the door. And something surprising happened—I ended up hitting my 4th-fastest run time ever, meeting and beating my pace goal. I averaged 9 minutes per kilometer, something I didn’t expect on a tired day. Oddly enough, the fatigue helped me focus. And I was proud.

Now that we’re down to the last few months of the year, I checked in on my annual goals. One of them was logging 1,000 km of running. Thanks to adding a weekly 10km run, I should reach that milestone by the end of October—weeks earlier than last year. Another goal was improving my running pace, and I’ve already accomplished that one.

It still amazes me. Ten years ago, I was relearning how to walk with a walker. Today, I’m running consistently. I’m not the fastest runner out there, but I am improving—steadily, patiently, year after year.

My brain stroke once took away my independence. Regaining my leg mobility felt like reclaiming a part of myself. Every completed run reminds me that I’m capable. Running has become easier over time—not just physically, but emotionally. It’s no longer something I resist; it’s part of my life.

My wife recently read something in a neuroscience journal: One key to forming habits is reducing emotional resistance.

A new habit often feels uncomfortable in the beginning. But when you keep showing up, that discomfort fades. I think my mind and body have finally agreed—running isn’t temporary. It’s home.

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This is What I Learned: Lessons from Today’s 10K

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Written October 4, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

I keep reminding myself that progress isn’t a straight line—it’s more like a hilly trail with a few unexpected potholes. Today was one of those “downhill” days.

When you chase a goal and the results don’t match your effort, disappointment sneaks in like a side stitch. For me, that moment came during today’s 10K.

Maintaining a 10K pace has always been tricky—it’s long enough to test endurance but short enough to tempt you to sprint too early. My wife once said that mid-distance runs (around 10–21 km) are the most deceptive: go too fast at the start, and you’ll spend the rest of the run questioning your life choices.

I’ve been running for years, so I’m no rookie. My app gives me pace updates every quarter-kilometer, helping me track my rhythm. Lately, though, I’ve wanted to push harder. Sometimes that push pays off; sometimes it backfires and slows me down overall.

Today I crossed the 10K finish mark but didn’t smash through the wall I’ve been chasing. Still, I think I might have cracked it a little. Whether that crack grows or seals itself back up—well, the next few runs will tell.

Even though I haven’t hit my target pace yet, I’m still improving. My 10K average today was faster than my last year’s normal 5K, and that’s worth celebrating.

Yesterday, however, was a slog. I had zero energy—felt like my batteries were running on nostalgia alone. I started strong today, but by the end of my first kilometer, my early lead had vanished. My wife reminded me that cardio readiness fluctuates daily. Sadly, my app doesn’t track that—just my pace. My watch focuses on blood pressure, which, given my health priorities, is fair—but I wish it could multitask.

The biggest lesson? Patience. You can’t sprint your way through every wall. Some need chipping away, one steady stride at a time. My app logs prove I’m moving forward, even if the pace isn’t dramatic.

Maybe I’ll break my progress into smaller goals—a few seconds faster here and there—until the “personal best” feels inevitable. For now, I’m calling today’s run a success. Tired, yes. But still moving forward.

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Muscle vs. Scale: The Real Weight Loss Struggle

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Written October 1, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Laundry: my most persistent rival in this fitness journey. Forget to do it one day, and suddenly tomorrow’s run is delayed because someone (me) had to play catch-up with socks and T-shirts. So yes, today’s run started later than ideal. But the good news? When I finally did step on the scale afterward, my weight had dropped back into my “target zone.” The not-so-good news? It was clinging to the ceiling of that zone like a cat refusing to leave its perch.

Now, here’s the sneaky thing about scales: they’re master illusionists. The number looks comforting, but sometimes it’s smoke and mirrors. In my case, this “drop” was less about losing fat and more about muscle quietly packing its bags. And no, I wasn’t thrilled to wave goodbye.

For the past couple of months, keeping my weight steady has been a balancing act. When I was mowing the lawn twice a week, I could eat with a bit more freedom. Now that the grass has slowed down, I can’t just eat like a hungry teenager and expect the scale—or my muscles—to cooperate. My wife, however, cracked part of the code. She used to be a stress-snacker, but now she manages cravings with weekly emotional reflections. (Honestly, it’s impressive. Imagine fighting potato chips with philosophy. And winning.)

She also panics whenever her muscle mass dips—which, honestly, is fair. Her solution was to up her protein and resistance training. And she’s right: when you shift focus from “weight loss” to “body composition,” progress looks very different. She’s building muscle now, even if the scale doesn’t move much. That’s when you realize that chasing a smaller number isn’t always the smartest goal—sometimes you need stronger, not lighter.

I’d love to copy her playbook, but my kidneys have me playing by different rules. Protein is like a VIP guest for me—I can only let a limited amount in. That means, while other people might just “eat more protein” to protect their muscles, I need to approach the puzzle differently. Still, I’ve managed to keep over 125 pounds of muscle packed into my 150-pound frame. That’s leaner than most guys my age, which makes me quietly proud—even when the scale pretends otherwise.

Sure, I’m a few pounds heavier than before my recent spike and drop, but I’m not losing sleep over it. (Well… unless laundry decides to strike again.) The truth is, both my wife and I now obsess more over body composition than over plain weight. And when she tells me she’s impressed with my progress, given the dietary limits I juggle, it means more than any “perfect” number ever could.

At the end of the day, the scale might tell part of the story, but muscles, mindset, and resilience are the real plot.