Tag: Fitness

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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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Planking: Where Pride Goes to Die (and Come Back Stronger)

Written March 2, 2025

reviewed 3/15

Hello Dear Readers,

Ah, the sweet reward of a solid workout: muscle aches. Not exactly the kind of prize you’d frame on the wall, but a trophy nonetheless. Today, my legs are singing the well-earned ballad of yesterday’s hard-fought 10K run. Stretching is non-negotiable—unless I want to spend the day hobbling around like a wounded penguin. And trust me, that’s not the heroic look I’m going for.

While my running goals are shaping up better than expected, my planking? Well, that’s an entirely different beast. The new machine I got for planking scoffs at my previous efforts. It’s the Balrog of fitness equipment dragging me into the abyss of muscle fatigue. My body, still reeling from the betrayal, is filing official complaints. A couple of days ago, I smacked face-first into a wall of frustration. The plan had been simple: endure the pain for a week, and surely, I’d emerge victorious. But no. The abyss had other plans. No matter how much I gritted my teeth, I just couldn’t hold on long enough.

So, I made a painful decision—I cut my planking target time by a full minute. Oof.

Now, before you call it a defeat, hear me out. I’m all for pushing limits, but I also used to tell my university students that goals must be realistic. Time to practice what I preached. Setting the bar so high that I end up quitting entirely? That’s not resilience—that’s self-sabotage. A minute might not seem like much, but in the world of planking, it’s an eternity. Still, with this new machine, I have to be honest about what’s actually achievable.

Here’s how my planking sessions work: I use my smartphone on the machine to play a color ball chase game—an absolute gem of a distraction. The timer counts down, and I cling to life. The issue? My old target time, the one I used to master on my previous machine, just doesn’t translate here. But my stubborn streak refused to budge. I clung to that old number like Gollum to his precious, as if lowering it meant tarnishing my past victories. Eventually, my screaming muscles staged a full-scale rebellion, and I caved.

But here’s the plot twist: just like Gandalf, I may have fallen, but I’m coming back stronger. The new machine allows for incremental increases, so instead of mourning the lost minute, I’ve set my time to go up by one second per day. Small, steady victories. In time, I’ll reclaim my full endurance—without the unnecessary suffering. That’s the plan, at least.

At the end of the day, progress isn’t about stubbornly clinging to an arbitrary number. It’s about tracking what I can actually do and building from there. Seeing my endurance improve, even by the tiniest fraction, is far more motivating than repeatedly failing to hit an unrealistic goal.

So, here’s to adjusting, adapting, and rising like Gandalf the White—one second at a time.

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Running, Allergies, and the Scream of the Trees

Written February 26, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

After what felt like an eternal deep freeze in Nashville, the sun has finally decided to warm us up. Naturally, this means one thing: pollen. And right on cue, my wife has been sneezing non-stop since morning. It’s like a seasonal ritual—warmer weather rolls in, and she starts performing an allergy-induced symphony of sneezes.

Between sniffles, she told me a rather unsettling story from her immunology class. Apparently, the best way to cure allergies is… worms. Yes, actual worms in your stomach. The idea is that our hyper-sanitized modern lives have made our immune systems overly sensitive, so introducing a little parasite helps balance things out. While it’s a fascinating scientific tidbit, she’s understandably not rushing to swap antihistamines for a side of tapeworms. Some problems are better left unsolved.

Still, she prefers to tackle allergies with extra sleep rather than loading up on medication. Fair enough. Meanwhile, I’m celebrating this brief weather perfection by ditching my winter layers and running in shorts. Days like this—neither too hot nor too cold—are rare gems in Nashville. Perfect running weather. If my legs cooperate, I might even push my pace below my long-standing goal of nine minutes per kilometer. No promises, but a man can dream.

Unlike my wife, my sensitivity isn’t to pollen—it’s to temperature. Nashville has a talent for bouncing between extremes, making truly comfortable days feel like accidental miracles. Back when we lived in Portland and Vancouver, those mild, in-between days seemed more frequent. But while I may grumble about the temperature swings, my wife is perfectly content here. She’s lived all over—Japan, several places in Canada, different spots in the U.S.—and yet, Nashville is her favorite. Even with the pollen.

Funny enough, her allergies only started after we moved to British Columbia. Then, in Portland, it was even worse—like a never-ending pollen parade. I used to think the Pacific Northwest was peak pollen country, thanks to all those trees. Yet somehow, even here, where we don’t see those same towering forests, the pollen finds us. For me, it’s a year-round struggle. For her, it’s spring and fall.

Speaking of pollen, she mentioned that Japan is expecting an especially rough season this year. According to her, pollen is basically trees screaming for help. When forests are overpopulated with aging trees, they try to produce more young ones, blasting the air with pollen in the process. In a balanced ecosystem, natural tree cycles would take care of this, but human intervention has thrown things off. Too many fast-growing trees like pines were planted after aggressive deforestation, and now, some older trees are being preserved way past their natural lifespan. The result? More pollen than anyone signed up for.

Of course, she takes everything with a grain of salt. She avoids social media feeds, especially when it comes to environmental topics. Too much noise. Too many hidden agendas. And honestly, she’s not wrong.

So here we are—pollen in the air, the trees in distress, and our bodies struggling to keep up. Is it us, or is it the world around us? Maybe both. Either way, I’ll keep running through it, and she’ll keep sneezing through it. Nature does what it wants, and so do we.

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 Snow Day Struggles: Running Plans Thwarted, but Perspective Gained

Written February 19, 2025

reviewed 3/2

Hello Dear Readers,

Well, there goes my run—canceled, thanks to a generous overnight delivery from Mother Nature. Snow blanketed everything, and with temperatures stubbornly hanging below freezing, it’s not melting anytime soon. Schools across Nashville have shut their doors, throwing parents into chaos. Do they brave the roads and head to work, or do they scramble to find last-minute childcare? The great snow day debate. It’s a logistical nightmare for many, but keeping kids safe comes first.

For us, though? Not exactly a crisis. My wife works from home now, a far cry from her former 80-hour-a-week, always-on-the-move lifestyle. She used to thrive on that pace—until I nearly died from a brain stroke. That changed everything. She still brings it up sometimes, but I know there’s a lot she doesn’t say. She doesn’t need to. The shift in her priorities says it all. These days, she avoids crowded spaces, dodges anyone who so much as sniffles, and keeps a close eye on me. To most people, I probably look fine—no obvious signs of past medical issues. But my kidneys are still compromised, and something as minor as a cold could spiral into something serious. My wife knows that. And she never forgets.

Truthfully, I don’t blame her. I worked hard—really hard—to regain as much function as possible. The last thing I want is to put my family through that kind of fear again. Once was more than enough.

Remote work has been a game-changer for her. Some people hate it—too many distractions, not enough structure. But for her? It’s perfect. She thrives on creating processes, developing automation, and solving complex problems that most people wouldn’t even know where to begin. Nothing really breaks her focus. Well, almost nothing. The fear of my near-death experience still lingers in the background, even if she doesn’t always talk about it. Instead of letting it paralyze her, she adapted. If she can’t erase the fear, she can at least manage it—and working from home is part of that strategy.

As for me, I have mixed feelings about today’s forced break. On one hand, I wasn’t exactly excited about an hour-long run in below-freezing temperatures. On the other hand, I don’t like missing scheduled runs. Skipping throws off my rhythm, and I know how easily one missed workout can turn into two, then three. But if I can’t run, I can at least make myself useful.

Shoveling it is. Not the full driveway—that’s asking too much—but enough to clear a path for any brave delivery drivers attempting to make their rounds. Amazon doesn’t care about the weather, and I’d rather not have packages stranded in a snowbank. It’s not the workout I planned, but it’s still movement, and at least it gives me an excuse to step outside.

So, no run today. But I’ll survive. And hopefully, so will my perfectly timed book order.

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Winter’s Sneaky Comeback and My Sore-Legged Recovery Day

Written February 9, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

This morning, I innocently peeked outside, expecting to see the same pleasant scenery from just a few days ago. Instead, I was met with a brutal slap of icy air, sharp enough to make me reconsider all my life choices. The mild temperatures of the past few days had been a cruel deception. The tiny green sprouts that had optimistically popped up earlier in the week? Gone. Buried under the relentless grip of winter’s encore performance.

I swear, nature has a cruel sense of humor. One day, it’s all sunshine and warm breezes, luring you into a false sense of security. The next, it sucker-punches you with a reality check in the form of bone-chilling wind. And today? Today was the kind of cold that makes you rethink your entire relationship with the great outdoors.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to deal with it. Sundays are my designated recovery days, meaning I had no reason to step outside and voluntarily freeze. As long as I stayed inside my warm little fortress, winter could do whatever it wanted. I wasn’t participating.

Now, about my legs. After months of dedicated running, I’ve built up enough endurance that muscle soreness rarely visits me. So, when I woke up and felt that familiar ache, I knew I had done something right. Yesterday’s run must have been extra brutal because my legs were making their displeasure known. Stiff, sore, and just dramatic enough to make me shuffle around like I had aged a few decades overnight.

But soreness is secretly a good thing. It means progress. It means my muscles are rebuilding, hopefully, stronger and faster than before. Maybe—just maybe—this is the kind of soreness that results in a breakthrough. Perhaps next week, I’ll find myself shaving seconds off my pace, gliding through my runs like some sort of gazelle. Or, you know, at least not feeling like I’m dragging bricks for legs.

In the meantime, today is all about stretching. I’ve actually been pretty consistent with it, mostly because I found a way to trick my brain into doing it. The secret? Pairing it with planking. After every plank session, I roll right into some leg stretches. It’s a system that works suspiciously well, and since I usually plank multiple times a day, I end up getting in at least three or more solid stretching sessions without even thinking about a small habit, but a game-changer for keeping my legs in running shape.

So, while the outside world insists on being a frozen wasteland, I’ll be in here, stretching, planking, and basking in the warmth of my personal sanctuary. I’ll let winter do its thing, and I’ll do mine—until tomorrow when I have to lace up my running shoes again and face whatever fresh weather betrayal awaits.

But that’s a problem for future me. Today, I am inside. Today, I recovered. And today, I pretend that winter doesn’t exist.

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How I Stay Motivated to Run and Plank

Written 02/01/2025

Hello Dear Readers,

This morning, I decided to reward myself with an extra 30 minutes in bed. Not out of laziness—no, this was a well-earned bonus round of rest. When I finally stretched awake, my body had plenty to say about yesterday’s workout. My abs, shoulders, and arms all ached in that satisfying, you did something tough kind of way. The culprit? Three solid planking sessions.

Now, if you had asked me a few weeks ago whether I’d voluntarily hold a plank multiple times a day, I would have laughed and changed the subject. But here I am, surprising even myself. I’ve already checked off one session this morning, but I’m gunning for at least two. My ultimate goal is to conquer the elusive three-minute plank, and until I get there, consistency is the name of the game.

Speaking of consistency, let’s talk about the tricky beast that is exercise. Staying committed to a fitness routine isn’t always fun. Some days, I feel unstoppable; other days, my legs protest even the thought of movement. The secret, I’ve found, is to make exercise less of a chore and more of a challenge. Instead of dragging myself through a routine, I turn it into a game.

And this month? The game just got a fresh update. My running app has rolled out new monthly challenges, and I am all in. I used to be a gamer, so this setup feels oddly familiar—like accepting quests in an RPG. But instead of slaying dragons or looting treasure, I’m chasing down miles and racking up achievements.

First up on today’s list: a 10K run. Not only will that check off one of my monthly challenges, but it will also give me a head start on the others. The app typically hands me three major quests each month—a single 10K run, a 50K total distance challenge, and a two-month 150K challenge. It’s like leveling up my real-world endurance, one run at a time. As long as I stick to my own running expectations, I tend to complete them all.

For tracking, I use the ASICS Runkeeper app. The free version has everything I need, though the premium upgrade unlocks extra features. I haven’t felt the urge to splurge on it yet—partly because my wife and I already use the free version to keep tabs on each other’s progress. Having a workout partner, even virtually, makes a big difference. Some days, she’s the one pushing ahead, which inspires me to lace up and hit the pavement. On other days, it’s me leading the charge. Either way, it keeps us both accountable.

So, as I sit here sipping my coffee, psyching myself up for that 10K, I remind myself: fitness isn’t about punishing your body—it’s about challenging it. And the best way to stay motivated? Make it fun, set goals, and turn it into a quest worth pursuing.

Now, it’s time to gear up and earn today’s bragging rights.

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Running, Weather, and the Fine Art of Not Wrecking My Kidneys

Written January 30, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Yesterday’s run? Surprisingly pleasant. The weather was in that sweet spot—chilly enough to make standing around feel like a questionable life choice but with just enough sun to turn things comfortable once I got moving. It’s that perfect running paradox: too cold to stand still, too warm to bundle up. And best of all? I managed to beat my target pace for the first 5K again, which means I’m still holding onto my ever-diminishing speed goals. A small but satisfying victory.

Now, let’s talk about my body’s complicated relationship with temperature. Ever since my brain stroke, my autonomic nervous system has been a bit of a diva—it no longer regulates heat or cold properly. If the weather swings too far in either direction, my endurance takes a nosedive. Some runners struggle with pacing, others with motivation. I struggle with the fundamental issue of my body, deciding it simply does not approve of temperature extremes. It’s like a toddler refusing to eat anything but macaroni and cheese.

Because of this, I’ve been forced to become a part runner and part-amateur meteorologist. I check the forecast religiously, sometimes more than I check my emails. My weather app claims it can predict the weather up to 10 days in advance, though let’s be honest—it’s basically fortune-telling after a week. Still, it gives me a decent heads-up on what’s coming. And when you have a body that treats temperature changes like a personal betrayal, planning ahead is crucial.

Take tomorrow, for example. Warmer weather is on the way, which means hydration is about to become my new best friend. That also means my pace might start to slow because staying hydrated and pushing for speed don’t always go hand in hand. And here’s where things get tricky. I love progress. I love seeing the numbers on my running app improve. But I also love having functioning kidneys, and unfortunately, one comes at the expense of the other.

Dehydration is bad for anyone, but for me, it’s particularly risky. My kidneys already function at less than full capacity, so letting them get parched isn’t just a bad idea—it’s a potentially dangerous one. Pushing my limits is one thing; actively sabotaging my health is another.

So, if I have to choose between breaking a personal record and keeping my body happy, I’ll choose my health every time. Okay, maybe not happily, but let’s call it a mature decision. It’s the kind of choice I’ll have to keep reminding myself of mid-run, especially when the competitive part of my brain whispers, just a little faster, you can still beat it.

But in the end, running is about longevity, not just speed. And if slowing down a little means I get to keep running for years to come? That’s a trade I’m willing to make even if my inner speed demon protests the entire way.

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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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Planking Pains and Gains: My Battle with the New Platform

Written January 24, 2024

Hello Dear Readers,

Ever since my wife and I upgraded to a new planking platform, my core has been waging a full-scale rebellion. Holding a plank for my usual duration? Ha! My abs have other plans. Two likely culprits are sabotaging my endurance, and honestly, I feel personally attacked.

Why Am I Suddenly Terrible at Planking?

First, there was the dark age—that sad, plank-less week when our old platform broke. Not wanting to lose momentum, I switched to planking on the floor. Great idea in theory, except floor planking apparently isn’t the same beast. It felt easier, sure, but that “easier” came with a hidden cost—my endurance took a hit. Turns out, sometimes doing something isn’t as good as doing the right thing. Lesson learned.

Second, this new machine is demanding, and my body is not amused. Unlike the old platform, this one requires a completely different posture. My core, once a loyal ally, is now throwing tantrums over the additional balancing act. I plank, I wobble, I try to hold steady, and the machine just laughs at my suffering.

The Game Plan: One Problem at a Time

Since quitting isn’t an option (and my pride won’t let me), I’ve been sneaking in extra plank sessions throughout the day. The improvement has been slow but steady—exactly the kind of hard-earned victory that makes fitness both frustrating and rewarding.

Endurance Woes: Fighting for Seconds

When I first set foot (or rather, forearm) on this new machine, I barely lasted a minute. A whole 60 seconds before my core tapped out. Now, I’m creeping up to 90 seconds. Still far from my goal of nearly three minutes, but hey, progress is progress. I’ve been on and off gymnastics in the past, so I know one thing for certain—muscle endurance isn’t won overnight. It’s a painfully slow process of adding seconds, one grueling plank at a time. The only way forward? Reduce the timer, reclaim lost time, and build up gradually.

Core Chaos: The Balancing Act

Balance? What balance? This machine demands way more from my core, and my muscles are not amused. It’s like trying to hold a plank on a tiny, floating island that tilts at the slightest shift. Keeping the correct posture while balancing feels like taming a wild horse—one that insists on throwing me off at every opportunity. But I’m sticking with it. No matter how many times I feel like a baby giraffe learning to walk, I’ll get there.

The Silver Lining: Sore Abs = Progress

How long will it take to reach my previous planking glory? No clue. This is an entirely different beast, and I’ll have to tame it on its terms. One thing I do know? My abs are on fire. The soreness is proof that this machine is working harder than ever. If pain equals progress, then I’m definitely moving in the right direction.

So, for now, I’ll keep planking, keep struggling, and keep counting the seconds—until my core decides to stop complaining and start cooperating.

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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.