Tag: brain stroke recovery

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One Push-Up a Week and a Year of Quiet Progress

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today marks a small but meaningful milestone for me—one that took an entire year to earn.

About a year ago, I started doing push-ups once a week. I began at 20 and made myself a very modest promise: add one more rep each week. No heroics. No sudden transformations. Just one extra push-up. Today, that number reached 72.

When you have compromised kidneys, muscle-building looks a little different. I can’t eat as much protein as a healthy adult male, so progress doesn’t arrive quickly—or loudly. I started running about a decade ago, but it was only in the last few years that I began adding other forms of exercise. Even then, I did it cautiously.

Summers are already physically demanding thanks to lawn mowing and general activity, and my body doesn’t recover the way it used to. So instead of piling workouts on top of each other, I started doing something less exciting but far more effective: adding things slowly.

I also tweaked how often—and how much—I train. Rather than working everything in one session, I focus on a few selected muscle groups each time. The goal isn’t exhaustion. The goal is regeneration. Training your body not to recover is not a win.

Since switching to this approach, something unexpected happened: it worked.

My wife mentioned that I look noticeably leaner than I did a few years ago, back when running was my only form of exercise. I’ve noticed it too—mostly because my pants are tighter. And no, it’s not because my legs suddenly bulked up. Progress shows up in mysterious ways.

The push-up plan itself has been almost comically simple. One rep per week. That’s it. Occasionally, I misremember what number I hit the week before, which means I may have skipped a number or repeated one. But honestly? I don’t care. What matters is that I showed up every week for a full year.

That alone feels worth celebrating.

I’d like to reach 100 push-ups someday, but that will take most of another year—and I’m perfectly fine with that. I’m not in a rush. Each week, I’ll try the new number. If I succeed, I’ll add one more for next time. Thanks to a spreadsheet, I can now be reasonably sure I’m not accidentally cheating or sabotaging myself.

A fitness journey doesn’t need to be dramatic to be real. It just needs to be yours. I’ve accepted my kidney disease and built my workouts around what my body can actually handle.

And one push-up at a time, it turns out, is more than enough.

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How I’m Training Myself to Drink Water Like an Adult

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today’s main objective is simple, practical, and surprisingly difficult: drink water on schedule.

My wife recently bought us matching one-liter water bottles with hour-by-hour drinking markers printed right on them. The idea is elegant—drink steadily throughout the day instead of realizing at 8 p.m. that you’ve consumed approximately nothing.

Everyone should drink water regularly, kidney issues or not. In my case, it’s non-negotiable. My doctor reminds me—firmly—that I need at least 1.5 liters a day. Concentrated urine is not something my already overworked kidneys appreciate, and kidney stones are absolutely not on my wish list.

The problem is not knowing this.
The problem is forgetting.

Over the past week, my routine has been hijacked by distractions: lab appointments, our anniversary dinner, Thanksgiving. All good things—but all excellent at pulling me away from my desk, my notebook, and any awareness of hydration. By the time I noticed, I was hours behind.

So I did what any desperate person would do: I guzzled water to catch up.

This was a mistake.

My body did not appreciate the late-day hydration sprint and politely informed me of its displeasure by waking me up in the middle of the night with a bladder emergency. Lesson learned: hydration is not a cram session.

My wife bought these bottles because she forgets to drink water when she’s writing, reading, or deeply focused on anything at all. She wisely bought one for me too, because I apparently have the same flaw.

Before this bottle, I had no real sense of how much water I was drinking. Now I can see it clearly—and unfortunately, that clarity revealed that several days last week ended with frantic water catch-up. There’s no good excuse for that.

We buy five-gallon jugs from the grocery store and use a water dispenser at home. Between the two of us (and occasional help from the refrigerator dispenser), we now go through about five gallons a week. Ever since getting these bottles, that number has become very consistent—which strongly suggests we were under-hydrating before.

So today, I’m doing things differently. No catch-up drinking. No late-night flooding. Just steady, boring, responsible hydration—one hour mark at a time.If all goes well, my reward will be the most luxurious thing of all:
an uninterrupted night’s sleep.

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When One Missed Task Knocks Over the Whole Day

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today, I learned—once again—that my schedule is only as intense as its weakest forgotten task.

The first crack appeared when I realized I hadn’t prepared the kombucha bottles on Wednesday. Typically, I fill them with sanitizing solution so they’re ready to rinse on Thursday and usable by Friday. This time? Completely skipped. That meant starting the process today and planning to rinse them after we returned from my sister’s house. Already, the day was improvising without my consent.

Next came the laundry problem. I had also forgotten how being away would collide with my laundry schedule—specifically, sheet-changing day. We do have a second set of sheets, but the matching pillowcases disappeared during one of our last two moves and have never been seen again. That meant the current ones had to be washed, dried, and put back on the bed all in the same day.

No pressure.

After my shower, I started the laundry, timing it carefully in my head and hoping it would finish washing just in time to move everything into the dryer before we left. This was optimistic math.

One thing occupational therapy taught me after my brain injury was how essential time management systems are. Trauma made me more forgetful and shortened my attention span. I can easily lose track of what I’m doing—or what I was about to do.

So, through trial and error, I built a system. I remember one anchor task in the morning and linking everything else to it in a chain. Wake up → medication → breakfast → next task → next task. It works beautifully… until it doesn’t.

Holidays are natural enemies of systems.

I love Thanksgiving. Truly. But it rearranges routines just enough to break everything quietly. I suddenly realized I’d missed a few steps earlier in the week, and now I was paying for it in delayed laundry and bottle logistics.

We had already told my sister we’d be on a specific schedule. The plan was to complete everything before leaving. Reality disagreed. The washing machine still needed ten more minutes when it was time to go, meaning the dryer would have to wait until we returned.

At that point, I could feel the pressure building. Too many tasks were being deferred to “later,” and I knew that meant a busier, more chaotic evening. Still, there wasn’t much choice. The schedule had already gone off the rails—I was just managing the damage now.

Some days, the system wins.
Some days, the holiday wins. Today was clearly the latter—but at least I know why.

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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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Soup Season, Anniversary Planning, and the Great Headset Experiment

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today felt properly cold—the kind of cold that makes you question every life choice involving going outside. Thankfully, we had already scheduled soup for dinner, which felt like winning the weather lottery.

Normally, I’m not a big soup person. It’s fine, it’s food, it’s warm—but I don’t dream about it. That said, once the temperature drops, soup and I get along much better. And this particular soup has quietly been promoted to “winter favorite” status in our house.

Aside from making soup, today turned into a planning day. First, there’s Friday: my wife and I are celebrating our wedding anniversary by going to a new restaurant. This is a departure from our usual routine, which means my inner scheduler immediately asked, “Okay, but when are we running?” I have to adjust my plan for today.

Time Management

After checking the restaurant’s opening time and backtracking our ideal departure, I calculated that I’ll need to start my run by 9:00 a.m. to be cleaned up and ready to leave on time. To make sure this is realistic and not fantasy math, I’m going to test it tomorrow: start the run at 9, then see what time I’d theoretically be ready to go out.

Headset Charging Logistics

The second problem looming over my otherwise simple life: headset charging logistics.

My previous headset battery died a tragic early death, likely because I had been charging it overnight like a phone. With the new one, I’ve switched to a healthier habit—charging it at my desk while I eat breakfast. So far, this has worked beautifully, and the battery seems to be aging more gracefully than the last one.

But there’s a catch.

Once spring comes, I’ll shift my runs back to before breakfast. That means my “charge while eating” system may no longer guarantee enough power to get me through a full run—or a mowing session. Future-me would be very annoyed to discover a dying headset at kilometer three.

So, I need a new plan.

Right now, I’m leaning toward setting an 8:00 p.m. reminder on my phone to plug in the headset. That gives it about an hour to reach a full charge before I get ready for bed around 9. Later this week, I’ll run a little experiment: fully charge it by 9 p.m., then see if that charge comfortably lasts the 12 hours until I’m done with my morning run or yard work.

It’s a small thing, but having these pieces in place—soup simmering, anniversary plans mapped out, and a charging schedule for my headset—makes the week feel a little more under control.

Cold days are easier to face when the soup is hot, and the logistics are quietly cooperating.

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The Mysterious Case of My Monday Weight That Didn’t Move

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

After my run today, I stepped on the scale expecting the usual Monday plot twist—only to find that my weight and body composition hadn’t changed since Saturday. This was deeply suspicious.

For the past several weeks, Monday has reliably been my heaviest day of the week. I’ve learned not to take it personally. I usually blame the weekend—and more specifically, pizza. Delicious, sourdough-based, entirely worth it pizza.

My kidneys, however, do not behave like those of a perfectly cooperative adult. Depending on what I eat, my body becomes very enthusiastic about holding onto water. Most days, we eat healthy, homemade meals. Pizza is strictly a once-a-week luxury. Still, every Sunday I make sure pizza happens. Every Monday, my weight usually responds accordingly—thanks to a combination of glycogen storage and water retention.

So today’s unchanged number was unexpected.

I generally try not to obsess over my weight. It can swing by a few pounds easily, and I’ve learned not to panic. This past weekend, I ate exactly as I usually do. My exercise routine was also mostly unchanged—except for a peaceful three-kilometer walk with my wife on Sunday. The weather was lovely, and she wanted some sunshine. I wouldn’t expect that walk to single-handedly rewrite my Monday numbers, but I can’t think of any other explanation either.

I track my weight alongside my other biometrics because my nephrologist uses these trends to monitor my overall health. When we meet, he checks for sudden changes in weight, blood pressure, or heart rate. His rule of thumb is simple: sharp shifts usually mean something is going on inside the body.

Since I’m less active now than I was in the summer, I actually expected maintaining my weight to become easier. But because I move less in winter, I’ve also cut back on snacks. With kidney disease, almost everything seems to contain something I’m supposed to limit—phosphate, sugar, potassium, salt. Sometimes avoiding food altogether feels like the safest strategy.

Because my weight usually fluctuates more than this, today’s stability caught me off guard. At the same time, it means I need to be more careful this week. Starting lower than usual raises the risk of losing muscle too quickly—and that’s something my doctor very much does not want.

So for now, I’ll watch the numbers, eat carefully, move thoughtfully, and let the scale do its strange little science experiment in peace.

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Early Wake-Ups, Asian Groceries, and a Very Organized Saturday

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today’s plan was simple: visit the Asian grocery store and then pick up flea medication for our kitten on the way home. Both places open at 8:00 a.m., which left me with that uniquely uncomfortable block of time between my normal wake-up time and when departure is actually allowed. It is because I have a long list of a Saturday morning routine.

I usually wake around 7 a.m. I need more sleep than my wife—about 7.5 to 8 hours—thanks to a brain injury that politely requires extra rest. One doctor told me I’d need it. An occupational therapist told me to keep a consistent schedule. So now I live in a delicate alliance with both science and my alarm clock.

My wife, on the other hand, operates like a Swiss watch. Saturdays do not alter her internal firmware. She wakes up roughly two hours earlier than I do, workday or not. She says it’s because her brain works best when her schedule is regulated. I believe her. I also fear her efficiency.

This left me with too much time to do nothing… but not quite enough time to comfortably start my usual full Saturday morning routine.

Fortunately, my wife, our kitten, and my bladder formed a secret alliance and woke me up an hour early. I briefly considered going back to sleep. Then I remembered that future-me would be grateful if present-me used the bonus hour wisely. So I stayed up.

Our kitten, as always, was thrilled. She waits patiently on the bed every morning until I open my eyes—sometimes even dragging her beloved toy mouse with her. I’ve been hiding that toy before bedtime because otherwise she launches nighttime solo parkour sessions and loses it somewhere in the house. This morning, she didn’t need the toy. She already had me. Her happiness upon my awakening was… overwhelming.

I fed the kitten, poured my cereal, completed my texting and language-app practice, and even finished my morning exercises. And just like that, I had less than thirty minutes before departure—perfect timing to work on this post.

It turns out doing part of my routine before the grocery run is surprisingly satisfying. That’s one less task waiting for me when I return home.

So thanks to Artemis, my wife, and my kidneys, my day already feels strangely coordinated.

Once we return, I’ll prep for my weekly 10K run, cook supper, and then head out again for our regular grocery trip. I sincerely hope my wife’s perfectly structured day forgives the extra logistics.

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Three Bags of Leaves and the Stubborn Tree That Won’t Quit

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

I scheduled today as an official Leaf Day. The morning was cool, but the forecast promised warmth later, which meant it was finally safe to commit to the mission. With determination (and mild dread), I headed outside to clear our lawn of fallen leaves.

Recent windy days had turned our trees into enthusiastic confetti machines. Naturally, every single leaf seemed to land in our front yard. We try to keep things tidy, but I skipped this chore on Tuesday—and leaves, like unread emails, multiply when ignored. Some of our neighbors let their yards turn into a brown carpet museum, but we live under the cheerful supervision of an HOA, where “neatly maintained” is not a suggestion but a lifestyle.

I confidently assumed this would be a one-bag job.

It was not.

One bag became two. Two became three. At that point, I began to question both my math skills and my life choices. I had cleared the yard just last week, so the sheer volume of leaves felt borderline disrespectful. It took a few solid hours to finish, but thankfully, it was still nowhere near the level of suffering known as summer lawn mowing.

Despite the surprise workload, the chore was strangely satisfying. With every pass of the leaf vacuum, the front yard visibly transformed from “abandoned forest floor” to “suburban responsibility.” After emptying the third bag, I finally stopped—mostly because my motivation had also reached full capacity. The yard looked noticeably neater, and I felt just proud enough to justify a future complaint about it.

For reasons known only to nature, the tree in our front yard still hasn’t finished shedding its leaves, while the neighbor’s tree is nearly bald. An arborist once told us our tree is weakened by its much larger neighbor and suggested we remove it. That suggestion was immediately vetoed by my wife, who has a deep sentimental attachment to trees.

A few years ago, we had to remove a massive tree behind our house because it was threatening the structure itself. It was so tall that owls used to visit it at night—often waking my wife around 2 a.m. with dramatic hooting. Even our kitten loved leaping from branch to branch. Cutting that tree was emotionally difficult, which is why the front-yard tree still stands today… heroically dropping leaves every autumn.

I powered through the task and completed it to my own satisfaction. Living at the bottom of a hill means we naturally collect more than our fair share of wind-blown leaves—especially near the storm gutter, which today was completely buried under a dense mat of leafy ambition.

Three bags. One stubborn tree. Zero regrets.
Well… maybe mild regret.
But the yard is clean.

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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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Sunday Waffles Breakfast with Secret Jam

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

This morning, my wife asked me to make waffles. She had been drawing pancakes and suddenly decided she wanted to eat something fluffy. I, being a reasonable adult with access to a waffle maker, I accepted the mission.

So I woke up earlier than usual—early enough to sneak into the morning before my wife completed her full non-working-day routine. On her days off, she transforms into a productivity machine. One of her regular Sunday rituals is sorting ingredients for the entire upcoming week.

She plans a full weekly menu and pre-packs the ingredients into labeled bags. Monday’s bag equals Monday’s meal. It’s brilliant. It reduces waste, prevents impulse grocery shopping, and makes cooking so easy that even I rarely mess it up. The only problem? This operation completely occupies our very small kitchen.

So I waited.

Patiently.
Hungrily.
Strategically.

Once she completed her meal-kit assembly line and stepped away from the counter, I made my move and claimed the kitchen.

Our waffle maker is nearly two decades old and still performs beautifully, like a seasoned breakfast veteran. When we first moved to Tennessee, we made waffles almost every Sunday—until we realized that frequent waffles come with frequent weight gain. Since then, waffles have become a rare and highly celebrated event.

Today was one of those special days.

I sliced up some strawberries that were right at the edge of their peak deliciousness and made us two waffles each. Unfortunately, I had wildly miscalculated the strawberry-to-waffle ratio. Just as disaster loomed, my wife calmly produced a jar of strawberry jam she had made last spring—homemade, of course.

She’s created three varieties of strawberry jam in the past, including a spicy version. Sadly, I had already devoured all the spicy ones during the summer. What remained was the classic strawberry—and it saved breakfast.

After waffles and our weekly “fancy” coffee, the day drifted peacefully until lunchtime. As is now tradition, I offered to make my wife an omelet. She accepted immediately and requested two eggs instead of the usual one.

She’s been working hard on her strength training and trying to keep her protein intake high to protect her muscle mass. I took this as both a nutritional assignment and an honor.

It was one of those rare days with waffles, homemade jam, careful routines, and quiet teamwork in a small kitchen. Nothing dramatic. Nothing rushed.

Just a very pleasant Sunday.

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