Tag: brain stroke recovery

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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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A Lesson in Routine and Resetting With One Small Change

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Hello Dear Readers,

Today began in a way that completely threw off my usual rhythm. We had planned a trip to the Asian grocery store to pick up some essentials — tofu, fried tofu (aburaage), and miso. We don’t go often, but when we do, it’s serious business. My wife stocks up and preserves everything carefully so it lasts. For her, one grocery trip means the next one to two hours are dedicated to washing, prepping, and storing, which also means she has to rearrange her entire weekly schedule. She plans these things like military operations — I usually know about Asian grocery day a week in advance.

But today, I failed the mission briefing. I overslept. By the time I woke up, it was already the time we were supposed to leave. So I rushed: got dressed, shoveled cereal into my mouth, and skipped my usual morning routine entirely. No planks, no language study, no texting my sisters. All of it postponed until after the grocery run.

This small shift — waking up late — changed the energy of the whole morning. My wife had already finished her entire morning routine before we left, of course. Meanwhile, I felt like I was sprinting from behind the entire day. Still, once we returned home, I told myself: just start. So I began working through my to-do list.

I wanted to run my 10k before the temperature climbed too high, so I pushed some other tasks to later and headed out. Normally, I check my headset while stretching after my plank session — but since I skipped everything, I also skipped the headset check. And just 2 kilometers into the run, my headset battery died. Complete silence.

I pushed through one more kilometer, but imagining another hour of silent running felt like an emotional desert. So, I stopped.

For me, having an audiobook during a run is more than background noise — it keeps me moving, keeps me focused. Without it, everything feels heavier. But despite the rocky morning, I still managed to get my chores done later, just like any other Saturday.

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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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The 2 A.M. Core Confession: My Abs Woke Me Up to Their Potential

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Written October 8, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Last night, my bladder and abs formed an unholy alliance to drag me out of bed at 2 A.M. I shuffled to the bathroom, realizing that every step reminded me of my “brilliant” idea to double my planking sessions. Who knew maintaining balance while half-asleep could turn into an anatomy lesson? Now I have muscle soreness.

Four hours later, I woke again—this time to my alarm—and poof! The soreness had vanished. My abs, it seems, have mastered the art of the disappearing act. Still, I knew the reason: I’d been quietly upping the ante on my core workouts.

Our trusty planking machine (the second one, because the first one heroically died in service) has become my new favorite torture device. At first, I could barely hold position without feeling like a beached seal, but slowly, rep by rep, I found my rhythm again. Yesterday, I even did two full sessions. Yes, two. My abs have filed an official complaint with muscle soreness.

And it’s not just planks. Push-ups are back on the menu too. I used to do gymnastics, so I don’t mind a little resistance—unlike my wife, who used to treat muscle training like a personal insult. Cardio? She’ll run through a thunderstorm. Dumbbells? She’ll suddenly remember a “pressing” laundry emergency. But recently, she’s warmed up to resistance work—and dare I say—actually enjoying it.

The Way I Create My Goals

I don’t make big, dramatic annual goals. Instead, I chase small, nearly achievable ones, the kind that trick your brain into thinking you’re on vacation instead of a fitness plan. Tracking progress helps, mostly because it keeps me honest when I start slacking off. Sometimes, I have to lower reps; other times, I focus on perfect form. Nothing kills progress faster than sloppy posture—or, worse, an injury.

Unlike my wife, I don’t worship muscle pain, but I do pay attention to it. When it fades, I know it’s time to increase either weight or reps—but never recklessly. Every adjustment means recalibrating my diet too. My biggest challenge? I can’t eat as much protein as a normal adult. It’s a delicate balance: push too hard, and I risk losing muscle instead of building it.

So when I woke up sore this morning, I didn’t complain. I celebrated. It means I pushed just enough. I did about the same ab workout today, so we’ll see if tonight brings another surprise wake-up call from my overachieving core. If it does, I’ll just tell myself—half asleep and half proud—that progress sometimes hurts… and sometimes it wakes you up at 2 A.M.

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How to Be Patient With Rainy Day Leaf Collection

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Written October 7, 2025

Hello, Dear Readers,

Today, the weather decided to misbehave—again. After yesterday’s run, I had mentally committed to my next big adventure: Rainy Day leaf collection. It’s the kind of chore that feels noble in theory but suspiciously endless in practice. I even checked the forecast like a responsible adult and saw only a “chance” of early morning rain. Perfect, I thought. I’ll just wait until early afternoon, when the sun peeks out, and get it done.

Instead, I woke up to the sound of a downpour so aggressive it could’ve washed away my motivation. This wasn’t a “light drizzle” situation—it was the kind of steady, unapologetic rain that makes you reconsider your life choices and your roofing. Looking outside, I saw my ambitious leaf plans swirling down the gutter, literally.

This year has been unreasonably rainy—as if Mother Nature subscribed to the “water your lawn… excessively” school of thought. So, it is not uncommon that I need to do rainy day leaf collection. Temperatures have dropped, too, with my wife grumbling that mornings have dipped into the 50s. She’s up early for work, while I, on the other hand, can afford to pick my weather battles. I’d like to call that “flexibility,” though it might also be “strategic procrastination.”

The trees in front of our house have clearly joined the rebellion. They’re producing leaves faster than I can collect them, forming crunchy layers that mock my efforts. The rain, meanwhile, turns those leaves into heavy, sticky mats that cling to the ground like soggy lasagna. I use my leaf vacuum, normally as my trusted companion, but it becomes a glorified paperweight with the wet leaves.

Adding to the comedy, our house sits conveniently at the end of the court—an unfortunate spot where all the neighborhood leaves come to rest. It’s as if every gust of wind plays a game of “let’s dump it on his yard.” I sometimes think my trees are innocent; it’s everyone else’s that are plotting against me.

After days of rain delays, the leaves have piled up so much that I could probably lose a small pet in there. The irony? The rain doesn’t stop the trees from shedding more. It’s like the universe saying, “Oh, you’re behind? Let’s make it worse.”

Still, I try to look on the bright side—

Still, I try to look on the bright side—or at least the dry side. The forecast says Thursday will finally clear up. If it does, I’ll be out there with my vacuum and rake, reclaiming my yard one soggy pile at a time. I like to think of this as a test of patience and persistence—kind of like gardening, but with less zen and more muttering under your breath.

Diligence really is the secret weapon with chores like this. You show up, even when the sky looks like it’s about to ruin your plans. Maybe that’s the quiet lesson hidden under all the damp leaves: nature may win a few battles, but persistence (and a good weather app) usually wins the war.

So, for now, I’ll sip my coffee, watch the rain mock my to-do list, and wait for Thursday. When the sun returns, I’ll be ready—leaf vacuum charged, gloves on, and playlist queued. Because if the weather’s going to conspire against me, I might as well make it a stylish defeat.

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Fitness Tracking is the Key to making progress

Written September 19, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

This morning, Nashville reminded me that fall is creeping in. The temperature dipped into the low 60s—not quite “frost on the ground” cold, but just enough to make shorts questionable. I’m not one of those people who run in January wearing only a T-shirt and a look of eternal optimism. So, instead of heading straight out, I did the sensible thing: stalled. A few chores here, a sip of coffee there—by the time I laced up, the sun had climbed, and shorts were back in the game.

That small delay turned into a winning strategy. My first kilometer felt like I was channeling a younger, speedier version of myself. The air was crisp, the breeze perfect. For a glorious stretch, I felt unstoppable. Unfortunately, my app doesn’t track first-kilometer records (unless I upgrade to the paid version, of course), but I know it was fast—maybe the fastest yet.

Reality caught up soon enough, though. That lightning pace wasn’t sustainable, and by mid-run I had to ease back. Still, I beat my target pace overall. Not my best run ever, but definitely a solid win. And really, running isn’t always about shattering records—it’s about stacking small victories until the big ones happen.

Why I Started Tracking Workouts

That “stacking victories” idea is exactly why I’ve started tracking my workouts more deliberately. For the longest time, I tried to keep push-up numbers in my head, but memory failed me. Did I do 35 last week? Or was it 40? I couldn’t say. So I started writing it down.

At first, I tracked only push-ups, but soon expanded to planks, squats, and other pre-breakfast exercises. Suddenly, I had real data—a log of what I actually did, not what I thought I did. And here’s the surprising part: seeing the numbers on paper gave me more motivation than any pep talk ever could.

Strategy Is Nothing Without Tracking

It turns out strategy isn’t just about making a plan—it’s about knowing whether that plan works. Without tracking, you’re just guessing. With tracking, you see patterns. You see progress. You even see what’s not working, so you can adjust.

I’ve learned this partly by watching my wife, who has been a data queen for years. She tracks everything—steps, calories, workout times—and then tweaks her plan based on the results. It’s like having a coach who happens to live in your own spreadsheet.

The Motivation in Numbers

The real magic is this: data turns every workout into a challenge against yourself. If I did 40 push-ups last week, then I want 41 this week. If I ran a 6:00 pace yesterday, I want 5:55 today. Numbers don’t lie, and they quietly dare you to be better.

So no, I didn’t break my all-time running record this morning. But I beat yesterday’s pace, and I logged it. And tomorrow, I’ll try to beat today’s numbers. That’s progress you can measure—and motivation you can’t argue with.

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Cookies, Cold Runs, and Cat Chaos: A Fall Running in Nashville

Written September 15, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

This morning, I decided to ignore my usual “cold-weather running schedule” and hit the road first thing. Why? Because thanks to my brain stroke, my autonomic nervous system is about as reliable as Nashville weather—completely indecisive. I have to change my running times seasonally: summer evenings, winter mornings. Today, I gambled with the cooler air.

Of course, fuel was required. Sadly, I was out of my trusty pastry bites, so I settled for one of my homemade bite-sized cookies. Sure, vegetables would’ve been the “healthier carb choice,” but when you’re staring down 5k with zero fuel, kale isn’t going to cut it. My wife won’t touch cookies before noon—she’s convinced sugar is a morning villain—but I like my cookies tiny enough that even my calorie counter barely blinks.

After the run, I realized lawn mowing season is officially over (victory dance). But before I get too cozy, the trees in our front yard have declared war—sending down waves of crunchy leaves that need collecting before they stage a full-on rebellion. Tomorrow, leaf duty begins.

Meanwhile, our kitten has been inhaling food like she’s training for an eating contest. Four servings down before lunch, and she still looks at me like Oliver Twist asking for more. At least she balances it out with exercise—her version of “cardio” is chasing a toy mouse across the living room like a furry missile.

So: no mowing, yes to leaf wrangling, cookies for fuel, and a kitten with bottomless-pit energy. Autumn in Nashville may be confused, but my day certainly isn’t.

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From Yardwork to Yogurt: A Sunday Sprint Through Schedules and Seasons

Written August 3, 2025

Hello, Dear Readers,

This Sunday had only one out-of-the-ordinary mission: a run to the local Asian grocery store to restock the essentials. I woke at my usual time to find my wife had already slipped outside, stealthily waging war on the yard.

Now, she wasn’t always this way. In her youth, she was a night owl through and through—someone who thought “morning” began somewhere around brunch. Then, somewhere in her twenties, she flipped her internal clock. The transition was not without bumps; force your body into a new sleep schedule, and it might just retaliate with a cold, a migraine, or a general sense of betrayal. But she discovered that her energy wasn’t lacking—it just needed a kickstart. A brisk morning workout turned her brain into a hyper-focused, productivity machine. From then on, she’s been an unapologetic early bird.

Her day-off schedule is a masterclass in efficiency. Yardwork, shoe shopping, and Asian grocery runs are all plotted in her Google Calendar weeks in advance, color-coded like a military campaign. Workdays get the same treatment—her Outlook calendar is so tightly packed that she can shift tasks within a five-minute window like a chess grandmaster rearranging pieces before the clock runs out.

This actually works in my favor. After my brain stroke—yes, the kind that leaves you relearning basic skills—I needed structure like plants need sunlight. Two holes were drilled in my head to drain fluid, damaging the part of my brain responsible for executive function. Sequencing tasks, building routines, forming new habits—these weren’t just “life tips” anymore; they were survival strategies. Walking could leave me as drained as if I’d played an entire chess tournament in one day.

Living with someone whose days run like clockwork helps me anticipate what’s next. She gives me plenty of notice when her plans might bump mine, especially with my Saturday long runs. In Nashville’s summer heat, you learn quickly that running 10K in the late afternoon is an act of madness. If an Asian grocery trip falls on a Saturday, I shuffle my entire week accordingly.

This morning, I took my time getting ready, fully aware the store wouldn’t open for another hour. My wife wrapped up her outdoor project, came in, and prepped for departure. We shopped, came home, and she went straight into her next marathon: making yogurt, cooling an eggplant dish for herself, and tidying the kitchen. She’s been moving since dawn, and I can already tell tomorrow’s going to be a sore one for her. Hopefully, she lets herself slow down—though knowing her, recovery time will probably end up on the calendar too.

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Surviving Summer Without AC: How We Outsmarted the Heat (and Trained Our Nervous Systems Like Ninjas)

Written 06/28/2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Well folks, we did it. We made it through the year’s first major heatwave without melting into couch puddles—or cranking the AC like panicked lizards in a sauna.

We made a small but mighty change in how we deal with heat: instead of blasting cold air like it’s 1999, we’ve gone old-school. Ceiling fans in every room? Check. Airflow strategies that would make NASA proud? You bet. Our secret weapon? High ceilings and a fan system that practically whispers, “Let there be breeze.”

As soon as the sun starts to dip, it’s go-time. Windows open. Window fans on. It’s like a tactical air exchange operation, minus the camouflage. Even if the heat during the day feels like we accidentally moved to Mercury, things shift once the sun clocks out. Sure, some humidity sticks around like an awkward guest at a dinner party—but most nights, our system works like a charm.

My wife’s always been a warm-weather purist. AC? Not her thing. She spent years in Japan and Germany, where people don’t treat their homes like meat lockers. I used to find this a little intense—especially pre-stroke. But now? I’m a convert.

After my brain stroke, I lost the ability to handle sudden temperature changes. Stepping inside an overcooled house after a run felt like entering a glacier with my nerve endings screaming in confusion. My autonomic nervous system—bless its confused little circuits—just couldn’t keep up. But this natural approach? It’s literally therapeutic.

We’re replacing our central AC next year—it still runs, but it’s like a gas-guzzling dinosaur trying to keep up with a Prius. And we’re not planning to keep the house at “penguin habitat” levels. Our summer indoor temps hover around 82°F to 84°F (that’s 28–29°C for our metric friends), and honestly, we’re handling it surprisingly well.

Bonus points: our house is basically a mullet—business in the front (above ground), cool party in the back (underground). The downstairs stays naturally cooler in summer and warmer in winter, which makes temperature control a bit more forgiving, even in Nashville’s moody climate.

Do we expect more heatwaves? Oh yes. At least two more, if we’re betting. But something wild is happening—we’ve adapted. A few weeks ago, today’s temperatures would’ve sent us scrambling for the AC remote. Now? We’re both commenting on how “pleasant” it feels.

I think this heat-dodging lifestyle is helping reboot my sympathetic and parasympathetic systems—the dynamic duo of the autonomic nervous system. I’m noticing better seasonal adaptation, more stability, and fewer temperature-triggered meltdowns (literal and figurative).

So bring it on, summer. We’re not scared of you anymore. Well, maybe just a little. But we’ll face you fan-first, cool-headed, and slightly smug.

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Running on Cool Air and Accidental Kilometers

Written June 9, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Yesterday was a scorcher—the kind of heat that makes you question your life choices, your wardrobe, and maybe your decision to live on Earth. We sweated through it with as much dignity as possible (read: none), but thankfully the heat retreated overnight. This morning, my wife emerged from her walk announcing it was “chilly.” I was still burrowed under blankets like a hibernating bear, and I had to agree—comfortably so.

We’ve developed a quirky philosophy around indoor climate control. Our goal? Keep the indoor temperature close enough to the outdoor one that our bodies don’t go into seasonal whiplash. Yes, we have central AC. Yes, it technically still works. But it’s old enough to remember dial-up internet, so we try not to lean on it unless the weather turns dramatic—which, living in Nashville, it frequently does.

And here’s the twist: after my brain stroke, my internal thermostat retired early. I can no longer regulate body temperature like a normal human radiator. Fortunately, we’ve always preferred a “seasonally appropriate” indoor vibe. No saunas in winter or ice caves in July. But when Nashville cranks the weather dial to “chaos,” even our stoic system has to bend. That’s when the AC gets its rare moment of glory.

Now, about today’s run—by the time I laced up and hit the pavement, it wasn’t chilly anymore, but it was that perfect middle ground: warm enough to get the blood flowing, cool enough to pretend I was in a Nike ad. I felt good. Too good, maybe. So good, in fact, I forgot to check my distance and accidentally ran an extra kilometer.

The wild part? I still hit my target pace. I know. Who is this person?

Back when I first started running, one kilometer felt like trekking across the Sahara. In 2017, I managed just over a mile, and it nearly took my soul with it. Then came the real game changer: proper shoes. My wife gifted me a glorious pair of Nikes—shoes that whispered, “You got this,” with every step.

Consistency, not magic, built my endurance. Last year, I got curious about pace. Sometimes I plateau, sure. There are weeks where progress is flatter than a pancake in Kansas. But in the long haul, I’ve improved.

And today? I ran farther than I planned, faster than I expected, and finished with enough breath left to write this blog.

Not bad for a guy with a malfunctioning thermostat.