Tag: discipline

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Rain, Appointments, and the Tragedy of a Missed Run

Written March 5, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Today, disappointment takes center stage. Nothing earth-shattering—no grand betrayals, no existential crises—just a simple, frustrating reality: I have a doctor’s appointment, and it’s trampling all over my running plans. Normally, I outmaneuver these scheduling dilemmas by booking appointments on non-running days, but this time, fate (or, more accurately, my doctor’s availability) had other plans. And so, my run is officially benched.

At first, I entertained the idea of running after the appointment, a valiant attempt at compromise. But then, I checked the weather: gray skies, a steady drizzle, the kind of rain that makes the world look like it’s mourning some cosmic injustice. It’s not a storm—there are no dramatic lightning bolts to justify staying indoors—but it’s just annoying enough to sap the joy out of a run. I could still go, but do I want to? Not really.

The irony of all this is that I never used to care about running. Actually, I despised it. My wife, on the other hand, has always been an outdoors enthusiast, the type who sees a forest trail and thinks, adventure! while I see it and think, mosquitoes. Left to my own devices, I would have happily remained a devoted indoor creature, perfectly content within four walls. But the more time I spent with her, the more I found myself dragged—reluctantly, at first—into nature. Running, however, was an entirely different beast.

I started running for her. After my stroke, she worried about my mobility, my brain function, and my ability to move with ease. She saw running as a way to keep me sharp and strong. And because I saw her as someone worth listening to, I ran. Not because I wanted to, not because I had any burning passion for the sport, but because making her happy was reason enough.

Of course, she saw through that instantly. “What happens if I’m not here?” she once asked, with a look that could cut through steel. “Would you just stop?” She argued that motivation needs to be internal and that relying on external forces makes for a fragile commitment. I nodded along, pretending to agree, but deep down, I wasn’t sure she was wrong.

Then, somewhere along the way, something shifted. It crept up on me, subtle and unexpected. Running became less about obligation and more about, well… me. I started to enjoy it—maybe even need it. And now, here I am, feeling genuinely frustrated about missing a run—not for my wife’s sake, but for my own. Somehow, that motivation she kept talking about had rooted itself deeper than I realized.

Now, I sit here, staring at the window, checking my weather app like it might miraculously change in my favor. It doesn’t. The sky remains gray, the drizzle continues, and my disappointment lingers. But really, what’s the point in sulking? I could try to make up the run tomorrow—though that might throw off my Friday schedule. I’ll decide when the time comes. One thing’s for sure: next time, I’ll fight harder for a non-running day appointment. But if I have to choose between my health and my run, the run will lose. Reluctantly.

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A Comedy of Errors: My Morning Adventure in Forgetfulness

Written February 25, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

This morning was a disaster of my own making—an entirely avoidable one, at that. It all started with a simple yet catastrophic decision: going back to sleep.

My wife had to leave early for work, so I woke up with her, saw her off, and then—because I am, at times, my own worst enemy—I crawled back into bed. When my alarm rang at its usual time, I reasoned that there was no immediate need to rise and shine. Why rush? The world could wait. I could bask in the warmth of my blankets for just a little while longer.

Ah, but then—the horror! Like a bolt of lightning, it struck me. I had an appointment at the phlebotomy lab. This morning. In a moment, I went from blissful comfort to full-blown panic mode.

Suddenly, I was a man on a mission. Breakfast was a frantic affair—more a feeding frenzy than a meal. I barely finished swallowing before summoning an Uber to whisk me across town. Somehow, by sheer force of will (and the generosity of traffic lights), I arrived roughly on time. My reward? A needle in my arm and the satisfaction of knowing I had narrowly avoided disaster.

The Saga of the Quarterly Lab Visit

This whole lab ordeal isn’t a weekly thing, thank goodness. It happens once every three months—a fun little prelude to my nephrologist appointments. The lab used to be conveniently located within walking distance, but those were the good old days. Now, thanks to the ever-evolving world of healthcare logistics, both my doctor’s office and the lab have migrated to opposite ends of the city. Since my wife was at work, Uber was my chariot of choice.

A Kidney’s Hard-Won Victory

Once upon a time, my kidneys were in such dire shape that a transplant was on the horizon—stage five of kidney disease, the final boss level. But through some miracle of discipline (and possibly sheer stubbornness), I clawed my way back to stage three. Even my doctors were impressed. Kidneys don’t just bounce back like that. It’s been an uphill battle—strict diet, exercise, a truckload of medication—but I intend to keep it that way. If my kidneys have fought this hard, the least I can do is not sabotage them.

The Curious Case of the Urgency-Driven Wife

Speaking of discipline, my wife operates on a completely different level. She thrives on urgency. More time? Not helpful. More deadlines? That’s where she shines. She has goals stacked like dominos—lifelong ones, yearly ones, monthly ones, and even daily ones. Meanwhile, I apparently struggle with remembering a single appointment that’s been on my calendar for months.

A Morning Lost in Translation

In my defense, I used to have a built-in scheduling assistant—my wife. For years, she managed my appointments with an efficiency that I now recognize I took for granted. But since 2017, I’ve been the proud (if slightly forgetful) owner of my own calendar. And today, that system failed spectacularly. I’m fairly certain I ignored every phone alarm. Maybe I was half-asleep. Maybe I was just being me.

The Aftermath of Chaos

Once I got back home—blood drawn, dignity slightly bruised—I tried to restore order to my day. I worked out, did my language practice, and checked off my morning to-do list. By some miracle, I still had time before dinner prep to catch my breath and, of course, write about my self-inflicted chaos. What is the moral of the story? Maybe don’t ignore your alarms. Or better yet, don’t trust a half-asleep brain to make scheduling decisions. It does not have your best interests at heart.

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A Funny Thing About Annual Check-Ups

Written January 29, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Every January, like clockwork, I get a little nudge from my doctor’s office: It’s time to schedule your annual physical! It’s a routine as predictable as New Year’s resolutions that don’t make it past February. Except this year, something was off. By mid-January, my inbox remained suspiciously silent. There was no automated reminder, no gentle push to book an appointment.

Curious (and a little paranoid), I logged into my patient portal, hoping to schedule it myself. Turns out, I was a bit premature. Last year’s appointment was on January 30th, so technically, I wasn’t due just yet. Patience, as they say, is a virtue—but when it comes to health, I’d rather be early than late.

Lessons From a Stroke: Why I No Longer Play Chicken With My Health

Before my brain stroke, I wasn’t exactly best friends with the medical world. Doctors were for emergencies, right? Annual check-ups were those things people did when they had extra time. And I, in my infinite wisdom, thought I had plenty of it.

Then came the stroke. And the swollen feet from gout. And the realization that, actually, time isn’t something to take for granted. Now, I’m a changed man—or at least a much more medically responsible one. I go for my annual physical without fail, and I see my nephrologist every few months like it’s a standing coffee date (minus the coffee because caffeine is another thing I have to watch).

The Irony of Post-Stroke Health

Here’s the kicker: I’m probably the healthiest I’ve ever been. Who knew a life-altering medical event could be the best personal trainer?

Since my stroke, I’ve taken up running and walking—activities I once considered optional but now see as non-negotiable. My endurance has skyrocketed. My diet? Let’s just say I’ve become intimately familiar with ingredient labels. Salt, protein, phosphate, and potassium are all on a tight leash. My wife, determined to make sure I don’t live a life of bland meals, has turned our kitchen into a spice lab, crafting homemade blends that put store-bought seasonings to shame.

Even my drinking habits have changed. I still enjoy a glass of something now and then, but just one. Gone are the days of carefree refills. And sleep? I treat it with the same discipline as a tax deadline—strict and non-negotiable. Bedtime at 9:30 PM, wake up at 7 AM, no exceptions.

Health: A Long Game, Not a Sprint

The truth is, I don’t feel sick. There’s nothing urgent making me rush to the doctor. But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that health isn’t just about reacting to problems—it’s about preventing them. Regular check-ups while feeling good help establish a baseline. Without that, how do you even know what’s “normal” for you?

So, I fully expect that tomorrow, my doctor’s office will send that long-overdue reminder email as if on cue. And this time, I’ll be ready.

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The Weather’s a Trickster, and So Is My Mind

Written January 20, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Today, Nashville has officially decided to test my limits. It’s the coldest day of the season so far, and yesterday, it even had the nerve to snow—just a little. But instead of sticking around like a proper winter scene, the snow pulled a vanishing act. Gone. No trace. Like it had second thoughts about being here, this left me with an internal debate: No snow means the roads are fine, so I should go run. But the air feels like it was imported straight from the Arctic, so maybe I should… not.

Cue the battle of wills. On one side, the rational me: You’ll feel great once you get going! Running in the cold builds character! Think of the endorphins! On the other side, the devil on my shoulder: It’s freezing. Your couch is warm. You could stay inside and drink something hot like a civilized person. The devil makes a compelling argument.

Nashville’s weather, I’ve realized, operates on its own chaotic logic. We don’t get those long, predictable seasons like in Portland, Oregon, where I used to live. Instead, we get extremes—either melting asphalt in summer or air that bites in winter. My body, thanks to an uncooperative autonomic nervous system, doesn’t adjust well. Before my brain stroke, I used to think my wife had the most finicky internal thermostat—too hot, too cold, too humid, too dry, never just right. Now? I am the reigning champion of temperature intolerance. The gold medalist of feeling the weather too much.

So, I compromised. Instead of heading out first thing in the morning like usual, I postponed my run. Maybe if I waited, the temperature would rise a little. Maybe the sun would be kind and throw me a few degrees of mercy. Spoiler: It won’t. Today is one of those days where the high temperature and the low temperature are essentially the same. In other words, cold now, cold later, cold forever.

Eventually, I’ll have to face the inevitable: bundling up like I’m about to summit Everest and forcing myself out the door. The plan is simple—hit my target pace for the first 5K, and I get to stop early. One hour in the cold, no more. If I don’t hit that pace? Well, then I’m stuck running the full 10K as punishment. My version of self-accountability: run fast or run more.

I know, logically, that once I start moving, the cold will be less of an issue. The first five minutes will be miserable, but then my body will adjust, and I’ll find my rhythm. I always do. The real challenge isn’t the temperature—it’s shutting up the part of my brain that keeps whispering excuses.

So, off I go. Because if I give in to the couch today, what’s stopping me from doing it tomorrow? And the next day? That’s how routines fall apart. That’s how discipline slips. And that’s not happening.

Not today, Devil.

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Staying Positive on My Running Journey: Celebrating Small Wins

Written September 4, 2024

Hello Dear Readers,

Sometimes, reaching a target requires more effort than expected. Recently, I’ve been working diligently to increase my running pace, aiming to hit my 5km goal. I do not set unrealistic expectations for myself, but I believe in challenging my limits with monthly targets. I strive to improve each month, even by a small margin. Progress keeps me motivated and focused on my goals, no matter how incremental.

Today, I came within 5 seconds of my target pace, but I’m still falling short of where I want to be. Part of the struggle may be that I haven’t fully recovered from last weekend’s intense deck-building project. That physical exertion and my running routine have taken a toll on my body. Perhaps I’m pushing too hard. With compromised kidneys, my energy levels tend to dip quickly, and it doesn’t help that I’ve been struggling to maintain my protein intake. This lack of proper nutrition impacts my stamina and overall performance.

My wife often reminds me to ease up on myself and not let the numbers be a source of frustration. She’s right when she says that getting hung up on disappointing results can trigger people to lose motivation and give up. It’s easy to fall into the trap of obsessing over numbers and feeling like you’re not progressing fast enough. But I try not to rely on motivation alone, as it can be fleeting. I choose to look at it differently: being just 5 seconds off means I’m close, and with a little more effort, I can achieve that target on my next run.

Chasing after goals can be challenging, especially when progress feels slow or stagnant. There are moments when doubt creeps in, and I start questioning how long it will take to see the improvements I want. How much longer will my slow improvement continue? When those thoughts arise, I remind myself to shift my perspective and review my progress over a longer timeframe. In doing so, I can see that my pace is gradually improving. Although it’s not happening as quickly as I’d like, the improvement is there, and that’s what matters.

I’ve learned there’s no need for drastic course corrections. What I need is patience and persistence. My wife calls that discipline—and I couldn’t agree more. Discipline keeps me lacing up my shoes and heading out the door, even when the numbers aren’t where I want them to be. It’s about trusting the process and believing that consistent effort will eventually yield the results I’m aiming for.

While my running hasn’t been as smooth lately, I’m noticing improvements in other areas of my fitness journey. I’ve started incorporating daily stretching into my routine, and the results have been remarkable. My flexibility has increased dramatically compared to a month ago. I’m now able to perform stretches that were previously challenging for me. It’s a reminder that progress comes in many forms, even if it’s not always where we expect it.

Ultimately, it’s not just about reaching a specific pace or achieving a particular milestone. It’s about the overall journey of self-improvement, pushing through setbacks, and celebrating the small victories. Whether it’s a faster run or greater flexibility, every step forward counts. And with that mindset, I’ll keep moving forward, one run at a time.

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The Secrets to Improve in Running is Recovery and Embracing Your Strength

Written September 2, 2024

Hello Dear Readers,

Recently, I’ve noticed that my body hasn’t been recovering as well as I’d like. Over the past few days, I’ve been pushing myself hard, not just with running but also with yard work, and it’s starting to show. One of the more challenging aspects of managing my kidney condition is how it impacts muscle repair. My body doesn’t bounce back as quickly, and the restrictions on my diet certainly play a role. I’m limited in what I can eat, affecting my body’s healing ability. Surprisingly, I’ve adapted pretty well to the dietary limitations—they don’t frustrate me much anymore. But when I push my physical limits, I feel the consequences.

This year, I’ve consciously tried to improve my running pace. I’ve been running for several years, and until last year, I focused on completing 10 km runs. I enjoyed the challenge of reaching that distance, but now I’m shifting my focus. It’s not just about running far anymore; I want to run faster. Since we live in a hilly area, my runs always begin with a significant challenge—a 17-meter elevation gain immediately. I know some runners actively seek out hills for training, but for me, it’s just the reality of running in my neighborhood. There’s no way around it. In a way, I guess we’re fortunate. Others come here specifically to train on hills, but it’s simply part of the landscape for us. Every run starts with a climb, whether I like it or not.

This morning, I was disappointed with my pace. I’ve developed a habit of analyzing my runs and trying to figure out what factors might be impacting my performance. Was it the terrain? Was I more fatigued than I realized? There’s always something to consider. My runner wife often reminds me that discipline is more important than constantly worrying about numbers. She says running is unpredictable, and there can be many factors—weather, how well I’ve slept, stress levels, and even the amount of yard work I’ve done the day before. What matters most is that I don’t give up.

And she’s right. The important thing is that I keep running. No matter what, I’m putting in the effort, ultimately leading to improvement. While it’s easy to get fixated on pace, I know I’ve worked hard, and that’s where the real value lies. The numbers will eventually catch up to the effort. Improvement might come slower than I’d like, and it might not always be smooth. There will be setbacks, and some days will feel like I’m running through mud. But I know I’ll see progress as long as I keep putting one foot before the other.

The pace won’t improve as quickly as I’d hoped, and I may have more days where recovery feels frustratingly slow. But I’m learning that it’s okay. It’s part of the journey. And with consistency, I’ll get there—step by step, day by day.