Tag: brain stroke recovery

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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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Too Cold to Run, Smart Enough to Plan Around It

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

I have been exceptionally cold in Nashville lately. We’ve had mornings starting at 11°F, which feels less like weather and more like a personal challenge from the universe.

My wife, unfazed, went out for her morning workout anyway. Her internal temperature sensor is clearly miscalibrated, I blame her time living in the frozen wastes of Canada. She claims her winter running jacket feels perfectly warm at 11°F. Apparently, such jackets exist. I have never owned one and therefore remain skeptical.

Last night, it snowed. Snow itself doesn’t concern us unless it requires manual labor. We are fully prepared—with two bags of salt and a snow shovel standing by like emergency supplies. Fortunately, the snow didn’t stick. The temperature crept above freezing just long enough to melt it away.

Unfortunately, that did not mean warmth was coming back.

Once I realized we wouldn’t see anything above 40°F, I immediately began dreading my run. Since I’ve already hit my yearly running goals, a dangerous thought appeared: Maybe I can take a break.

And just like that, I declared today a no-run day.

That said, I know the rule my wife lives by: skip once, and you must go back next time. Otherwise, skipping becomes a habit, and habits quietly erode commitment. This is probably why she still works out in conditions better suited for polar research.

I, however, have a different constraint: my body does not cope well with extreme weather. This is less a motivational issue and more a survival preference.

Looking ahead, Saturday promises temperatures in the 40s. Not pleasant—but tolerable. I’ll definitely be running a 10K then. A 10K in the 40s isn’t fun, but it’s manageable with the right layers and the correct amount of complaining.

This has led me to consider a new idea: a temperature-based exception rule.

Something like:

  • If it doesn’t get above 40°F by 1 p.m.
  • And I’ve already hit my current year’s goals
    → I’m allowed to skip the run without guilt.

I suspect this would reduce unnecessary stress and make running feel less like a punishment issued by the weather. It may also be wise to establish an upper temperature limit as well—though running early in the morning usually solves that problem.

For now, winter and I have reached a temporary ceasefire. I skipped today.
I will run next time.
And that, I think, is a reasonable compromise.

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Rebuilding My Memory System One App at a Time

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Despite it still being cold today, it’s already less of a disaster than yesterday. A low bar—but progress is progress.

I started the day with one clear intention: to reinforce a new habit by using a new app. The motivation is painfully obvious. I’ve recently forgotten two important doctor appointments. The dentist mishap had a semi-respectable excuse (my old phone died a dramatic death), but missing my nephrologist appointment? That one was entirely on me.

Enough was enough.

The app Finch, which I decided to try, is one my wife uses regularly—and happily. She’s been using the free version for a while and swears by it. A friend of mine went all in on the premium version because he enjoys unlocking extra features. I figured starting small would be wiser. Commitment can come later.

To make the habit stick, I used a strategy that’s worked for me before: attach the new task to something I already do. This was a trick I learned in occupational therapy. When your brain has experienced trauma, memory becomes… creative. The goal isn’t to trust it—it’s to outmaneuver it.

So I decided to open the app immediately after completing my daily language lesson. I already do that lesson without fail, so it’s the perfect anchor. One task flows into the next, and suddenly the new habit doesn’t feel new at all.

I set up my task list so it aligns neatly with due dates. That way, I don’t have to hunt for what needs to be done. Small organizational tweaks make a big difference when attention is limited. Efficiency is kindness—to your future self.

I added my daily essentials first: medication, stretching, and language practice. Medication, especially, is non-negotiable in my case. Forgetting it is not an option. I also added weekly tasks—like kombucha bottling. We drink kombucha every day, so forgetting to bottle it would be… unfortunate.

With my digital life slightly more organized, I tackled the next unavoidable task: calling my doctor’s office to reschedule the appointment I missed. After a few rounds of phone tag, I finally reached the receptionist and booked a new appointment—for January.

Later than ideal? Absolutely.
Unsurprising? Also yes.

This is what happens when you miss an appointment—you go to the back of the line. While I assume my kidney function is holding steady at level four, it’s still reassuring to see the doctor regularly.

The app is still new to me, and I don’t yet know if it’s the solution. But my wife uses it. My friend uses it. I can even share progress with them, which adds a layer of accountability I probably need.

Cold weather remains.
Memory remains unreliable.
But today, at least, I built a system instead of relying on willpower.

And that already feels like a win.

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A Very Bad Fitness Day (With Lessons Included)

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today was—how shall I put this—an unqualified disaster.

It began badly and showed no interest in improving. When I woke up, it was literally freezing outside, and I spent the entire morning dreading my usual run. Cold has a way of turning motivation into theoretical knowledge.

Before even getting to the run, I failed at completing my planned number of dips and leg lifts. That’s usually a sign that I’ve hit my current limit. Not “I’m lazy” failure—more “the muscles have voted and the motion did not pass” failure.

Sometimes my muscles simply don’t repair fast enough. Because of my kidney condition, I’m on protein restriction, which means muscle recovery takes longer than it does for the average man. I already space out resistance workouts by several days for this reason. Today was just not the day to push the number. I’ll try again next week. No drama—just biology.

Then came the plot twist.

My wife popped into the room and asked, very calmly, whether I needed to go to my nephrologist today.

Today?

Yes. Today.

Just like with my dentist appointment the other day, I had completely forgotten about it. I was convinced the appointment was tomorrow. My wife, working from home, had noticed that I was still very much at home when I shouldn’t have been.

This one felt bad.

Missing a nephrology appointment isn’t ideal, especially when you’re actively monitoring kidney disease. My wife had driven me to the lab a week earlier specifically to prep for this visit. If something were abnormal, the doctor would call early—but still, forgetting the appointment wasn’t okay. I immediately called the office and reached the answering machine, which did nothing for my guilt.

My wife looked worried. That part stung the most.

Logically, I knew that if there were serious lab abnormalities, the office would have contacted me already. Emotionally, I still felt like I’d dropped the ball—again. Clearly, I need a stronger system. The solution is probably simple: checking my calendar needs to become part of my morning phone routine, right alongside language lessons and weather checks.

And just to complete the full bingo card of disappointment: I also failed to hit my target running pace.

Cold weather and speed do not get along. At all. I finished the run, but not at the pace I wanted. At least Friday and Saturday should be less hostile—still cold, but no longer actively threatening.

So yes. Today was rough.

But days like this still teach something. I need to be better at:

  • respecting recovery limits
  • managing appointments
  • planning around cold weather
  • and keeping my systems tight when my brain decides to freelance

As always, the goal isn’t perfection.
It’s improvement—one repaired habit, one rescheduled appointment, and one tolerable run at a time.

Tomorrow gets another chance.

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Ending It Nearly Completed All Tasks With Time Management Skills

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today, I forced myself out of bed—feeling surprisingly rested and recovered—but immediately remembered one inconvenient truth: it was cold. Very cold. Cold enough to make running sound like a poor life choice. Still, I started my day on time.

I checked the weather app and plotted the optimal moment for my run like a general preparing for battle. Cold-weather gear would be required, but I could afford to wait a bit for marginally better conditions. Unfortunately, waiting too long wasn’t an option—I had a long list of chores left over from yesterday.

Thanksgiving 2025 was a genuinely lovely family gathering. The food was excellent. The company was even better. But holidays have a way of borrowing time from the future, and today was the repayment day. With a full slate of chores waiting, time management suddenly mattered a lot.

Despite my worry that I’d overworked the evening after returning from my sister’s house yesterday, I managed to power through. As soon as we got home, I transferred clothes from the washer to the dryer, then went upstairs to finish the dishes while the kombucha water boiled. Multitasking isn’t glamorous, but it’s effective.

Once those tasks were underway, I checked the dryer timer and realized I had just enough time to eat a piece of leftover pizza before the next wave of responsibilities arrived. On days like this, I have to work systematically—doing the task that fits into the gaps while something else runs in the background.

When the laundry finished, I folded and put away everything except the sheets. Those had twisted themselves into an impressive knot and hadn’t fully dried, so they earned another spin in the dryer and a postponement until tomorrow. At that point, the sheer volume of tasks was starting to feel heavy.

By the time I finally stopped moving, I was completely exhausted and very ready for sleep.

My Time Management Method

To manage days like this, I rely on task chains—doing one thing that naturally leads to the next—so I don’t have to hold everything in my head at once. These are coping strategies I’ve learned since my brain stroke. When your brain has been injured, remembering things isn’t automatic. Systems matter.

Out of curiosity, I checked on my wife. She’s been off since Wednesday and will be until the end of the week, which usually means more chores—not fewer. But she had already completed most of her tasks yesterday, knowing how packed the week before our family gathering had been. Planning ahead: her specialty.

I’m still working on my time-management skills. But today, I got most of what needed to be done—and that’s good enough. The rest can wait until tomorrow. Progress doesn’t always look energetic.
Sometimes it looks like finishing the day tired—and still satisfied.

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Sore Quads, Smart Squats, and Rethinking My Training

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

I’ve been running for nearly a decade. A few years ago, I added resistance training. And yet—brace yourself—there’s one thing I somehow never did: leg strength training.

Yes, I run. A lot. I convinced myself that running was leg day. Turns out, that logic only works until it doesn’t—usually in the form of injury. Somewhere along the way, it finally clicked: runners also need resistance training for their legs.

My wife has known this all along.

She does resistance training six days a week, and she works her legs especially hard. Her reasoning is simple: cardio doesn’t fully train leg strength. Recently, she’s taken it even more seriously, and the results are obvious. Her legs are noticeably stronger than before.

So I made a decision.
I would join leg day—late, but sincere.

I introduced squats into my routine, and my quadriceps responded immediately by filing soreness reports. That’s how I know something new is happening. I do have to be careful, though. Once a week, I already run 10 kilometers, and our neighborhood is aggressively hilly. My legs aren’t exactly underworked.

Still, the soreness tells me something important: I’m using muscle fibers that running alone doesn’t reach. Whether increasing strength first will eventually improve my speed is still an open question—but early signs suggest I’m on the right path.

As with everything else, I’m introducing this change slowly. My kidney condition limits how much protein I can consume, so I can’t afford to destroy too many muscle fibers at once. At the same time, muscle growth requires some breakdown. Balancing those two realities is the real workout.

To stay honest, I track my biometrics using our scale—water percentage, protein, bone mass, muscle mass, weight—and I cross-check all of that with quarterly blood work. Numbers don’t lie, even when motivation does.

For now, the goal isn’t speed.
The goal is durability.

I’ll continue monitoring, adjusting, and easing leg exercises into my routine over the next few months. After nearly ten years of running, it seems only fair to finally give my legs the attention they deserve—outside of just asking them to carry me uphill.

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When I Optimized for Temperature and Forgot About Time

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

This morning, I made what felt like a perfectly reasonable decision: stay in bed a little longer because it was cold. Very cold. Also, there was no immediate pressure to run—it wasn’t even close to the warmest part of the day yet.

This logic was flawless.
Unfortunately, it was also dangerous.

I waited too long.

By the time I finally started my day, my carefully imagined schedule had already begun to unravel. Saturdays are chore-heavy for me. I do a lot around the house and fit in a 10-kilometer run on top of it. Delaying the start meant everything else slid later… and later… and later.

When I returned from my run, dinner was already behind schedule. I could tell immediately—my wife was not thrilled.

My wife runs life on a timeline. She schedules days and weeks in advance. Cold days and hot days do not interfere with her morning exercise routine. Her internal clock does not negotiate. Sometimes I think she wishes I were more like her. Today, I wished that too.

I felt bad knowing I’d disrupted her carefully structured day.

Normally, when things go wrong because of me, my wife quietly adjusts her tasks so she doesn’t waste time waiting. Today, though, the ripple effects were harder to contain.

Saturday evening is grocery time—specifically a very precise window when the store is less crowded. She also meal-preps for the following week, packing ingredients with recipes so cooking is easy for me. Any delay pushes everything later, including bedtime. She doesn’t like food sitting around unorganized. Neither does her conscience.

By the time I started washing dishes, we were already 45 minutes past our usual grocery time. I panicked, stopped mid-dish, and suggested finishing later—without realizing that this decision now blocked her from organizing groceries afterward.

Efficiency, I had learned, was optional today.

While I was scrambling, my wife quietly rearranged some of her Sunday tasks just to keep the day moving. Then she tackled grocery sorting anyway, because that’s what she does. Later, she gently reminded me of a lesson I apparently needed to relearn: schedule backward.

Start with the fixed commitments.
Work back to the run.
Then decide when sleeping in is actually allowed.

So yes, next time I’m tempted to wait for optimal running temperatures, I’ll also remember this: time waits for no one—and neither does the grocery schedule.Warm legs are nice.
An undisturbed household system is nicer.

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