Tag: Fitness Journey

Posted on

Pull-Ups, Greed, and the Fine Art of Pushing Just Enough

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

I woke up a few minutes early this morning, which already put me in a suspiciously good mood. Mondays usually require negotiation. Today did not. Today was pull-up day.

That meant I had a decision to make.

I’d originally set my goal at 20 pull-ups—a nice, round, respectable number. I hit that last week. So the question was simple:
Do I maintain… or do I get greedy?

Before my brain stroke, I used to follow a program called P90X. I had one of those doorway pull-up bars—the kind that makes you question both engineering and your doorframe. A year before my stroke, my wife upgraded me to a proper exercise bar. Then the stroke happened. The bar sat unused. Later, it was dismantled when we moved to Nashville.

For a long time, upper-body strength wasn’t even on the agenda.

First came walking—with a walker.
Then walking with my wife’s support.
Then a stick.
Then jogging.
And now… 10K runs.

A few years ago, I pulled the equipment back out and reassembled it. At first, pull-ups were brutal. Awkward. Humbling. But slowly—quietly—they came back.

Here’s the strange part:
I can now do more pull-ups than I could before my stroke.

That still surprises me.

So this morning, being appropriately greedy, I went for 21.

I completed the first 10 without dropping from the bar and immediately felt victorious enough to justify the decision. When you push just beyond what you think you can handle—not recklessly, but deliberately—your body often agrees to the negotiation.

The remaining 11 came in two bursts:
6 pull-ups, a few seconds of existential bargaining, then 5 more.

Done.

I’m still careful. I have to be. My kidneys mean I can’t overwork muscle tissue or recover like a typical athlete. Cardio and resistance training are good for me—but excess is not. Everything lives in the margins of balance.

Still, this kind of pushing works for me.

For now, I think I’ll keep increasing the count each week—at least until I can comfortably complete two clean sets of 10 with only a short break between them.

After that?
We’ll renegotiate again.

That’s how progress works—not in straight lines, but in small, stubborn decisions made on ordinary Monday mornings.

Back

Posted on

A Skunk Alarm Clock and My Fastest Start to a New Year

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

My New Year didn’t start with an alarm clock—it started with a skunk alert.

About an hour earlier than I planned to wake, my wife called me to open the garage door so she could get back into the house after her morning walk. Apparently, she’d spotted a skunk casually loitering near our front porch and decided that direct negotiation was not the safest strategy.

Reasonable.

She’d just returned from her morning exercise, and it was still dark outside. When I turned on the porch light, the skunk immediately fled—clearly not interested in confrontation or homeownership. Crisis resolved. Sleep, however, was not.

Being awake an hour early left me groggy and disoriented, but I did my best to reset into my normal routine. Eventually, I laced up and headed out for my run.

And then something unexpected happened.

The first quarter kilometer felt fast—suspiciously fast. I checked my pace and realized I was already about 30 seconds ahead of my target. Concerned I might burn out early, I shifted focus to simply maintaining speed instead of chasing numbers.

By the end of the first kilometer, I was over a minute ahead of my target pace.

At the two-kilometer mark, my average pace had dropped below 8 minutes per kilometer. That’s the kind of number that starts doing dangerous things to your optimism. If I could hold it for another three kilometers, I’d set a new personal best and potentially smash my end-of-year goal on the first run of the year.

That part felt slightly unreal.

I couldn’t quite maintain that pace through the final kilometer and drifted back above 8 minutes per kilometer—but it didn’t matter. I still set a new personal best and ran significantly faster than my previous run on Wednesday.

More importantly, it confirmed something:
If I just keep doing what I’m doing, my goal is absolutely reachable.

I only need to shave 22 seconds off my pace to hit sub-9 minutes per kilometer.

That’s not magic.
That’s consistency.

For a year that began with a skunk encounter and a disrupted sleep cycle, it turned into a surprisingly perfect first run. Strong, fast, confident, and full of momentum.

Not a bad way to start a new year at all.

Back
Posted on

Starting the Year Strong—with New Year Fitness Goal, Planks, Plans, and Yard Work

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Happy New Year!

Looking back over the past year, I’m genuinely pleased with how things turned out. I ran just over 1,200 kilometers, lowered my average pace, and increased my strength training. As a small but satisfying punctuation mark, I completed a three-minute plank on my first attempt today—an achievement my abdominal muscles are already protesting and will likely escalate tomorrow.

I can’t gain muscle quickly, and I never will. With my kidney condition, protein intake has limits, so everything becomes a balancing act: how hard I train versus how much my body can reasonably rebuild. Still, consistency counts. Despite the constraints, my muscle mass percentage remains high, which feels like a quiet victory earned through patience rather than force.

I’ve already started working on my New Year Fitness Goal. New year, clean sheets—literally and figuratively. I spent time around the house updating spreadsheets, refining routines, and mentally shifting into the next phase. My wife was home today because of the holiday, though “home” is a relative term—she was busy all day, as usual, and woke up early like it was any normal workday. My wife, by the way, does not make new year fitness goal or any goals. Instead, she adjusts her goals daily, weekly, and monthly.

Neither of us fluctuates much with our schedules. We go to bed and wake up around the same times every day. Occasionally, I sleep in when I’m especially exhausted, but it’s rare. My wife usually wakes up about thirty minutes before schedule—without an alarm. She doesn’t like being woken during REM sleep. Even when she’s sick or taking medication, the variation is only about 30 to 45 minutes. Consistency is her default setting.

Leaf Collection On January 1st!

Today wasn’t just about reflection and planning, though. There was also one final seasonal obligation: leaf collection.

One stubborn tree had refused to drop its leaves even as temperatures fell. Finally, after the last major windstorm, it gave up and scattered its leaves everywhere. Some were blown away, but enough remained to justify one final cleanup.

After finishing my morning routine, I headed out and completed what should be the last leaf collection of the season. Our trees are now completely bare, and most of the neighbors have already cleared their yards, so accumulation should be minimal from here on out.

That means until spring arrives, my Tuesdays and Thursdays just got a little emptier.

I might even find another small project to fill the gap—at least until mowing season inevitably returns. For now, though, the year has started exactly the way I hoped:
steady, intentional, and quietly productive.

Back

Posted on

Ending the Year Shaking, Sweating, and Still Standing

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Being the very last day of the year, I decided it was now or never.

I added a few extra seconds to my planking session and went for my first three-minute plank. I’d been hoping to reach this milestone before the year ended, and since calendars are unforgiving, today was my final chance.

It took three attempts.

On the third try, I summoned every ounce of stubbornness I possess and held on through the shaking, bargaining, and quiet questioning of my life choices. But I made it. Three minutes. Done.

It’s strange how quickly a year disappears when you look back at it. Somehow, I managed to achieve all the goals I set for myself this year. Tomorrow, the slate resets—but today, I’m allowing myself to acknowledge that effort matters.

Feeling fairly triumphant, I headed out for my run, hoping to double the celebration by matching my target pace. That didn’t quite happen. Still, I achieved a sub-9-minute-per-kilometer pace, which was my primary running goal for the year. That counts.

My wife and I both set goals—but in very different ways.

I tend to set yearly goals, supported by smaller milestones that I adjust as needed. Physical progress isn’t linear. Sometimes you move forward, sometimes you stall, and sometimes you need to force a milestone just to see what’s possible.

My wife doesn’t really think in years. She thinks in decades.

Her goal is simple and ambitious: at 80, she still wants to enjoy moving her body. From there, she works backward—long-term vision, then mid-term goals (three to seven years), then short-term ones. She says that after 50, you really have to focus on the next zero to three years, because anything can happen. We share the same personality type—INTJ—but her timeline makes mine look impatient.

Still, I’m satisfied.

This Friday, I’ll begin a new year-long quest: shaving another minute off my pace. It will be hard. Possibly frustrating. But as long as I’m making progress, I’ll be content—even if I don’t fully succeed.

And if I don’t? I’ll try again next year.

What’s remarkable is that my slowest runs over the past couple of weeks would have ranked among my fastest runs at this time last year. Progress has happened, even when it didn’t feel dramatic.

So I’ll end the year the same way I lived it:

  • a little stubborn
  • a little reflective
  • and still moving forward
Back

Posted on

Nashville Weather Changes: Spring Yesterday, Winter Today

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

True to the forecast, the temperature dropped 40 degrees since yesterday. This is classic Nashville behavior. Our weather doesn’t transition—it teleports. One day you’re contemplating spring allergies, the next you’re questioning your glove choices.

Just yesterday, it felt so warm that we spotted early spring flowers on the trees. My wife’s allergies immediately noticed. Apparently, pollen doesn’t wait for official permission. Spring showed up briefly, caused chaos, and left.

The shift happened fast. It stayed warm through the evening, but around 10 p.m., the wind started howling like it had a personal vendetta. The temperature plunged, and for a while, I was mildly concerned about losing electricity. My wife, meanwhile, slept soundly through it all—completely unaware of the weather drama unfolding outside.

To be fair, she had already checked today’s temperature before bed. She always does. Her running clothes are selected and staged based on the forecast, prepared calmly in advance like a seasoned field commander.

This morning, I waited for the day to reach its warmest point—which was still just below freezing—then reluctantly pulled on my gloves and headed out for my run. I was annoyed, but annoyance is practically a Tennessee weather survival skill.

Sometime overnight, a large branch snapped off a tree behind our house. I’m fairly certain I heard it crack. The tree itself survived, thankfully—it chose to sacrifice an arm rather than topple over onto our deck or house. Strategic, if unfortunate.

In the daylight, the damage was clear. The tree lost its largest limb and now looks thoroughly defeated. It was already struggling against neighboring trees, and since the one next to it fell last year, the ground may be too disturbed for it to stay upright much longer. This is likely a conversation I’ll need to have with my wife later.

On a brighter note, her Christmas present finally arrived today. I wrapped it up so it’ll be ready when she gets home—a small victory amid the wind, cold, and fallen branches.

So yes:
  • Yesterday: spring
  • Today: winter
  • Tomorrow: who knows

That’s Nashville. And somehow, we keep running anyway.

Back

Posted on

Running After Poor Sleep and Even Less Patience

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Some days, sleep simply refuses to cooperate. Last night was one of them.

I woke up around 1 a.m. and stayed awake for hours, staring into the darkness while my brain ran its own unsolicited marathon. By morning, my body made it very clear that it had not signed up for this level of sleep deprivation.

Fridays come with their own fixed set of chores, and today was no exception. My wife took the day off—strategically—because she needs to work an extra day next week. She had already been up for hours, moving briskly through chores she scheduled a month ago. That’s just how she operates. Planning is her superpower.

Despite feeling tired down to my bones, I got up at my normal time. Routine has a way of carrying you when energy doesn’t. After breakfast, I felt marginally more human and decided to go for my run. This was not enthusiasm—it was willpower.

My wife, already finished with her morning exercise, cheerfully reported how wonderful it was outside. And she was right. By the time I stepped out, it was already above 65°F—shockingly warm for winter in Tennessee. She’s thoroughly enjoying this mild American winter, having lived in Canada long enough to expect a white Christmas.

I remember Canadian winters vividly. One year, we shoveled nearly a foot of snow. If you live in the snow belt, snow removal becomes a lifestyle choice.

Today’s run felt great weather-wise. Shorts made another appearance. Speed, however, did not. I didn’t hit my target pace, and I’m placing full responsibility on poor sleep and lingering exhaustion.

My wife mentioned the other day—backed by her usual deep dive into nearly 100 academic journals—that sleep quality has a direct impact on cardio and resistance training performance. She doesn’t repeat common wisdom; she verifies it. That level of professional skepticism likely comes from her accounting background. Admirable? Yes. Exhausting? Also yes.

Despite the fatigue, I managed to complete everything on today’s to-do list. Still, there was a quiet sense of dread hovering over the day—the kind that only poor sleep can bring.

Now that it’s early evening, I’m nearly caught up. Once I finish my pullovers, I’ll officially be in the clear. The hope is simple: better sleep tonight, a stronger run tomorrow, and fewer arguments with my pillow.

One tired day down. Tomorrow gets another shot.

Back

Posted on

Running in Shorts on Warm Christmas Eve (and Other Seasonal Confusions)

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

It’s eerily warm this Christmas Eve—warm enough that I ran in shorts. Seasonally inappropriate, yes. Thermodynamically accurate, also yes.

When I woke up, my nose felt congested. After one decisive blow, it started bleeding. Festive. I’m blaming the unusually low humidity we’ve had over the past few weeks. My skin has also been itchy enough to qualify as a minor distraction, though lotion keeps things from escalating.

This Christmas in Nashville has been strange. One day we hit the high 60s Fahrenheit, which immediately reminded me of Vancouver, where we lived briefly. Vancouver summers rarely go above 72–73°F, so a nearly 70-degree day there feels like a heatwave. Today had that same confused energy—winter pretending to be spring.

I did pause to worry about the nosebleed. These days, anything involving blood earns a moment of concern. Nosebleeds can signal high blood pressure, but after checking, mine was fine. Dryness seems to be the real culprit.

My wife, ever the source of oddly specific medical trivia, once told me she used to get nosebleeds from eating too much chocolate. She also had frequent nosebleeds during sudden temperature or pressure changes—so frequent, in fact, that she had the nasal veins cauterized in her teens. She hasn’t had a nosebleed since, though she remains cautious around chocolate and rapid weather shifts.

I worry more than I used to. Knowledge does that to you. Once you know what could be wrong, your brain insists on checking every possibility.

Unfortunately, my run didn’t go particularly well either. I felt distracted and held back, partly because I was worried my nose might start bleeding again if I pushed too hard. Running in shorts usually feels like an automatic speed boost, but not today.

Still, it wasn’t a total loss. I matched Monday’s pace, which means there’s at least some improvement from earlier this week. And with three more runs before the week ends, I still have chances to hit my target pace.

So:

  • Warm Christmas Eve ✔️
  • Shorts in December ✔️
  • Festive nosebleed ✖️
  • Perfect run ❌

Not ideal—but manageable. And on Christmas Eve, that’s good enough.

Back

Posted on

When Getting Out of Bed Is the First Workout of the Day

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Some mornings invite you to crawl back under the covers and negotiate with the universe. Today was one of those mornings. I was still half-asleep when the alarm went off, but I got up anyway—mostly because I’ve learned that negotiating with fatigue never ends well.

Ever since my brain stroke, sleep has been… complicated. In the early days, I could sleep almost indefinitely. My occupational therapist responded by giving me a very firm schedule, and my wife enforced it with the seriousness of a NASA launch director. Her rule was simple: never give up your agency. Losing control of your body is hard enough—don’t also surrender control of your will.

Kafka would’ve understood.

Being trapped in a body that doesn’t cooperate is emotionally brutal. At first, I was scared. Insecure. Stripped of mobility and confidence all at once. But slowly, painfully, I got it back. The will to live returned. I realized my wife needed me—but more importantly, I needed me.

Now, most of what I do is for myself: running, strength training, and learning. People can change. I’m living proof of that. So even on tired mornings, I stick to my routine.

Today was no exception.

I made my way to my office, fed our cat, and started my morning exercises before breakfast. My wife had already left for work at 6:30 a.m., as usual, powered by her own internal stoic engine.

Being Monday, the schedule called for pull-ups.

I knocked out the first 10 without dropping off the bar, then after a few seconds of dramatic oxygen negotiations, finished the remaining 9. Nineteen total. Next week’s target is 20, which conveniently marks the end of my weekly increase streak.

That opens an interesting question:
Do I push further into three sets of ten?
Or do I hold the line and focus on maintaining this strength?

I have two weeks to decide. That feels fair.

For now, I’m allowing myself a short pause before the next act of today’s production: my run. Fatigue may still be hanging around, but discipline has already clocked in for work.

And that makes all the difference.

Back

Posted on

Why My Kidneys Just Banned My Favorite Melons

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

today my kidneys staged a small but decisive coup.

My nephrologist’s office called to inform me that my latest bloodwork shows I’ve been consuming too much potassium. The culprits? Cantaloupe and honeydew. Two of my favorite, innocent-looking fruits. Apparently, they’ve been quietly plotting against me this whole time.

When your kidneys aren’t working properly, the list of things you have to watch becomes impressively long. Protein. Potassium. Phosphate. Even foods that sound healthy—like spinach and other green vegetables—can become problematic. You don’t just eat what’s “good”; you eat what your kidneys will tolerate.

Over the summer, I was told I was eating too much icecream (sugar), so melons became my workaround. Light, refreshing, hydrating—what could go wrong? Well, potassium. That’s what.

Fortunately, it’s not summer anymore, and I’m not doing as much physical activity. That means I can get away with smaller snack volumes, which makes adjusting a little easier.

Kidney disease is not a casual hobby. It demands attention, planning, and frequent dietary grief. So now, melons are off the table—for a while, at least.

After some research, I discovered that strawberries and carrots are much friendlier options for a low-potassium diet. My wife, always the strategist, suggested rotating foods instead of banning them forever: melon one week, berries the next. That way, nothing gets permanently exiled unless it absolutely has to.

Still, losing another favored snack stings. And it’s not just melons. Cheese and chocolate—two of life’s most reliable joys—also need to be carefully rationed when kidneys are involved. Apparently, the universe believes character is built through dietary restraint.

So for now, it’s goodbye to honeydew and cantaloupe. Hello to berries and carrots.

I’ll keep paying attention to potassium levels, rotating foods when possible, and doing my best to eat in a way that keeps my kidneys cooperative—even if they have a flair for dramatic food bans.

Back

Posted on

Backwards Legs, a Stubborn Cable, and a Surprisingly Good 10K

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

This morning, after breakfast and settling in at my desk, I returned to what I believed was the final phase of assembling the stretching machine. I was confident. Dangerously confident.

A closer look at the schematic revealed the truth: I had installed the stabilizing legs backwards. Naturally. That meant undoing the last few steps, which turned into a couple of hours of careful disassembly, reassembly, and quiet self-criticism.

Problem solved—briefly.

Immediately after, I discovered a new issue. There’s a cable that runs from a lever to the legs, used to pull them apart. The cable was wound so tightly on its reel that it simply refused to reach the attachment point. I stared at it. It stared back. Neither of us budged.

At that point, I declared a tactical retreat and shifted focus to my weekly 10K run.

It was chilly, but my new warm running pants made it tolerable—and, thankfully, it was above glove temperature. I hit my target pace for the first 5K, which felt great. I couldn’t quite pull off the rare double success for the full distance, but I still logged my second-fastest 10K ever. I’ll take that win without argument.

Back home, I moved through the Saturday checklist: vacuuming, a shower, and then making soup for my wife and me—comfort food earned the honest way. After dishes, it was time for our weekly grocery run. Our water cooler was completely empty, so forgetting water was not an option. I’d already staged the empty bottles upstairs to make loading easier. Organization: achieved.

Transportation: complicated.

The city has closed the main intersection that exits our neighborhood—the one that leads directly to the grocery store. We discovered this last week, and the rumor is it’ll stay closed until April. So now every trip involves scenic backroads and low-grade grumbling. There’s not much to do except adapt and complain quietly.

This closure may also affect my annual physical appointment, which I normally walk to. I’ll need to scout the route on foot to see if it’s still passable—or accept the indignity of calling an Uber to drive me a mile.

Meanwhile, my brain kept circling back to the stretching machine. I searched online, fiddled with the reel and crank, and hunted for a release switch that would allow more cable to unwind. Nothing. The manual was unhelpful. The internet was silent.

So I’ve resolved to call customer service on Monday.

Do I have high hopes? No. Based on the manual, communication may not be their strongest skill. Still, it’s the only path forward. Maybe I’ll get lucky. Stranger things have happened.

The good news is that everything else is assembled correctly. Once the cable mystery is solved, the machine will be ready for use. Until then, it stands as a monument to perseverance.

By the end of the day, I was completely worn out—but in the good way. The kind where things didn’t go perfectly, but enough went right to make it count.

Monday will bring customer service.
Today brought effort.
And for now, that’s enough.

Back