Tag: Fitness Journey

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Consistent Running: Patience, Progress & Bad Weather Days

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Mother Nature, it seems, has never heard of consistency, unlike me. One day she’s all sunshine and warmth, luring me outside in shorts, and the next she’s quietly laughing as I dig out my long sleeves again. That was yesterday: a chilly curveball after a perfectly nice day, which somehow made it feel even colder than it actually was.

Here’s the thing about my body: my brain stroke left me with a bit of a broken thermostat. Warming up and cooling down take me far longer than they used to, so picking the right outfit before a run isn’t just a fashion choice. It’s a survival strategy. Layers in, layers out; I’m basically a human onion on legs.

The good news is that next week is looking gloriously mild, mid-to-high 70s across the board. I’ll take it. Yesterday’s run, though? Not my finest hour. I missed my target pace and finished the 10th kilometer over a full minute behind where I’d hoped to be. My legs are even more sore today than they were yesterday, which I’m choosing to interpret as a sign that they’re busy getting stronger. (This is what runners tell themselves. We’re a hopeful bunch.)

I’ve still got a good stretch of improvement ahead of me before I hit my end-of-year speed goal. Spring is my window. And once summer rolls in with its heat and humidity, things tend to slow down, whether I like it or not. So I’m planning to make the most of the next few months.

At the end of the day, running is a game of patience. I’ve been at this consistently for nearly ten years, and in that time I’ve learned that a bad run doesn’t erase a good one. Some days my legs show up ready to go; other days they’re still settling a grudge from yesterday’s resistance workout. Both kinds of days count. And consistency? That’s the real secret. Not talent, not perfect weather, not the fanciest shoes. Just showing up, over and over, one kilometer at a time.

Until next time, keep putting one foot in front of the other (preferably in weather-appropriate footwear).

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Athena Takes Control: Upgrading Home HVAC

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today, we are finally upgrading the home HVAC. Last summer, our HVAC system had what you might diplomatically call “performance issues.” It worked, technically, but not with any particular enthusiasm. My wife and I briefly entertained the idea of minimizing its use. I’m not someone who enjoys living in an icebox. However, when the Nashville heat climbs into the high 80s. What makes it worth it is that it’s a good friend, Humidity. So, not having working air conditioning stops being a lifestyle choice and starts being a public safety concern.

Since my wife had back-to-back meetings today, the HVAC project fell squarely in my lap. This was fine. What was also fine, remarkable, even, was that the morning was finally warm enough to run without requiring an extra layer of psychological fortitude. I do love those mornings. I couldn’t linger, though: the installer was due within the hour, so I channeled that ticking clock into a personal challenge and hit my target pace for the second consecutive run. A small victory before the bigger one of the day. I got home with about a minute to spare, which is exactly the kind of margin that makes a man feel competent.

The crew confirmed what the HVAC technician had been telling us for years: our intake was far too small for the system. This explained a lot, honestly; it had been working harder than it needed to with less airflow than it deserved. Two installers arrived and set to work, and to everyone’s mild surprise, the whole job was done faster than expected. Efficient professionals make everything look easy.

Our New Home HVAC Control System

Now here’s my favorite detail: the new display pad is named “Athena.” Our cat, as regular readers may know, is named Artemis. If you’re keeping track of the Greek goddess count in our household, we are now at two. I am choosing to interpret this as a theme.

The new thermostat is a genuine upgrade, sleek, intuitive, and controllable via an app on my phone that took less time to set up than I expected. I’ve already configured our temperature schedule, and I’ll confess I’ve been playing with it a bit more than strictly necessary. Some people get new toys and can’t put them down; I get HVAC management software. We’re both just happy that this summer should be considerably more comfortable than the last one.

Until next time, may your air stay cool, your intake stay properly sized, and your goddess count stay exactly where you want it.

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Sore Legs, Wrong Pastry, and a Weather Whiplash

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Let’s start with the good news: my legs are sore. I know, I know,  that sounds like the opposite of good news. But hear me out. After yesterday’s 10k run, my legs staged a full protest this morning, which I’ve chosen to interpret as a standing ovation from my muscles. They don’t usually bother complaining anymore, so the fact that they spoke up today? That means I actually pushed myself, even if my target pace remained stubbornly out of reach. I’ll take the moral victory and the muscle ache.

Now for the… let’s call it an adventure in the kitchen. As part of my summer routine, I batch-make pastry bites on weekends to fuel all the yard work and general outdoor heroics that come with warmer weather, lawn mowing, moving things from one place to another, and looking purposefully at the garden. One pack of puff pastry sheets is enough for me for the whole week. Simple, reliable, delicious.

Except this week, I came home from the grocery store with puff pastry shells instead of sheets.

Now, “shells” and “sheets” share the same first four letters, the same aisle, and apparently the same ability to end up in my cart undetected. The shells are decidedly chunkier — less “delicate pastry bite” and more “substantial pastry commitment.” Since it’s too late to return them, I’ve decided to simply rebrand my snack. We’re not having bites this week. We’re having moments.

I’m blaming this one squarely on the grocery store, which has recently taken great joy in rearranging everything, combined with my own enthusiastic lack of attention to detail. A classic combination.

The silver lining? Temperatures are dropping a full 30 degrees tomorrow after what felt like a surprise summer preview, so at least half my week will involve post-breakfast runs in much more comfortable conditions. This weather truly cannot make up its mind. A few days ago, I was convinced spring had finally arrived. Now winter seems to be circling back for one last curtain call.

But I’ll count this as a free pastry pass, make peace with my chunkier snacks, and resolve to read the label more carefully next time. Onward, sore legs, wrong pastry, and all.

Until next time, may your pastry always be the right kind and your legs only sore enough to feel proud.

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When Snow Saves You From Your Morning Run

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

It started innocently enough: rain tapping at the windows after bedtime, wind doing its best impression of a haunted-house soundtrack, and, by morning, a temperature drop so dramatic it felt personally offended. Forty degrees cooler than yesterday. Forty. Degrees. The weather didn’t just change overnight. It staged a coup.

My wife, ever the morning warrior, still laced up and headed outside for her exercise. She came back reporting winds cold enough to warrant a full winter outfit. Apparently, she and sudden temperature plunges have an ongoing dispute, and she refuses to let the weather win. I admire her deeply. I also admire her from the inside, where it is warm.

As for me, once I’d finished breakfast and reality had fully set in, I did what any sensible person does in the age of smartphones: I consulted the weather app. The forecast, bless its pixelated little heart, informed me that snow was expected to begin within the hour.

Now, I want to be clear: I am not a fair-weather runner. Cold? I’ll suffer through it. Gray skies? Character-building. But actively falling snow is one of my few, carefully preserved conditions for calling off a run. It’s not laziness; It’s principle. With snowflakes on the way, I did what the data demanded: I declared the day a rest day and settled in, quite contentedly, to stay indoors.

The snow did arrive, though it turned out to be something of an underachiever, nothing like the January accumulation that had buried the neighborhood. Temperatures stayed just above freezing, and despite the blustering wind, there were even a few brave souls outside. (I see you, and respect you. I am not joining you.)

But here’s the thing: skipping the outdoor run didn’t mean skipping everything. Resistance training lives indoors, and indoors I did my exercises, thank you very much. Snow: 1, Running: 0, but me and my workout routine? Still undefeated.

Until next time, may your weather apps always give you the excuse you were looking for.

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Oversleeping and Still Winning the Morning: A Runner’s Small Victory

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

So this is how I got away with oversleeping and still winning the morning.

This morning began with what looked like a promising start—and then quietly derailed.

I actually woke up before my alarm. After a quick trip to the bathroom, I returned to bed for what I assumed would be a brief rest. Unfortunately, my brain interpreted that as permission for a second sleep session.

The next thing I remember was hearing my wife get up and leave for her morning exercise. Shortly after the front door closed, my alarm went off. I turned it off and thought, very logically, that I would get up after she returned so we would not both compete for the bathroom.

In theory, this sounded like a perfectly organized plan.

In reality, it made absolutely no sense.

My wife usually leaves before 6:30 a.m., while my alarm rings at 7:00. Looking back, the most likely explanation is that I simply fell asleep again and missed everything—including her return from exercise, her getting ready, and her leaving for work.

My wife operates on a far stricter schedule than I do. She arrives at work earlier than most people because she likes to clear her emails before colleagues and bosses begin their day. Meanwhile, my morning apparently turned into a quiet demonstration of the dangers of comfortable pillows.

I had intended to start my day at 7:00 a.m.

Instead, I woke up when my calendar reminder sounded at 8:00.

One hour behind schedule.

Normally, that might derail the entire morning, because my routine includes a long chain of small tasks. If one falls behind, the rest tend to domino into chaos. Today, however, I decided to move quickly and avoid lingering over anything.

Efficiency replaced elegance.

Surprisingly, it worked.

I caught up with my morning tasks and still managed to leave for my run at roughly the time I had planned the night before when I checked the weather forecast.

Even better, the run itself went well. My legs felt a little sore at the start, but I still managed to beat my target pace for the first time this week.

So while the day technically began with oversleeping, it ended with something close to success.

Not perfect—but proof that sometimes a late start does not ruin the day if you simply keep moving forward.

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Icy Roads and Missed Runs: Choosing Safety Over Winter Ambition

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Icy Roads and missed Runs

The icy road conditions remain undefeated, and today’s strategic decision is simple: cancel the run, preserve the bones. We had ice roads, and I missed Runs.

With the temperature stubbornly parked at 32°F, the ice has no intention of melting. It is merely existing—quietly, confidently, and dangerously. Our area is also quite hilly, which transforms every frozen surface into a potential skating rink with consequences.

The road in front of our house, however, is a rare exception. My wife salted it early, well before the ice storm reached its dramatic peak. She remembers, quite vividly, that during severe conditions, no delivery vehicles—not even the garbage truck—will dare descend our steep road. Apparently, gravity plus ice is a combination that logistics companies respectfully decline.

The irony?

The main road was cleared rather quickly, yet the smaller neighborhood roads remain untouched. As a result, no garbage truck, no deliveries, and no signs of modern convenience bravely approaching our hill. Civilization stops at the flat parts, it seems.

Ice Storm Preparation

My wife, ever vigilant, has been obsessively ensuring that no one slips on our property. During the storm, she kept the driveway and entryway almost entirely ice-free. She insists there is a “method” to it, which I suspect is the result of over twenty years of Canadian winter survival experience. That kind of knowledge may look excessive in Tennessee—until an ice storm arrives and suddenly she becomes the neighborhood’s unofficial winter strategist.

She continues to wander outside occasionally, fully equipped in a winter outfit imported from Canada. Where she used to live, temperatures could drop to -35°C (-31°F), so Tennessee’s icy chill likely feels like a mild inconvenience rather than a threat. Still, she moves carefully, because even seasoned cold-weather veterans respect ice. Confidence does not cancel physics.

Fortunately, the steep hill in front of our house is now mostly safe, thanks to her early salting efforts. A preventative mindset, it turns out, is far more effective than reactive panic.

As for my running routine, it has been temporarily suspended. My wife has strongly advised against going outside, describing the conditions as “deceptively slippery,” which is winter’s polite way of saying “you will fall with dignity but also with bruises.”

Unlike her, I do not own a jacket built for extreme cold. She bought hers as a teenager and is still using it—a testament to both quality craftsmanship and long-term winter planning. I also struggle with body temperature regulation, so extreme weather is less of a challenge and more of a negotiation I prefer to avoid. In this case, skipping the run is not laziness. It is risk management.

Surprisingly, there has been one unexpected benefit to missing my last three runs: recovery. My weight has returned to my target range, and I even regained a pound of muscle since yesterday’s weigh-in. Not exactly the result one expects from inactivity, but winter seems to enforce its own training philosophy—rest, adapt, and resume wisely.

Now that the temperature has finally crept slightly above freezing, there is cautious optimism. If the gradual thaw continues, Friday may mark the triumphant return of my running schedule.Until then, the plan remains clear:
avoid ice, maintain balance (literally and metaphorically), and respect winter’s quiet but very persuasive authority.

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The Snack Experiment: Kidney Friendly Snacks

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Lately, I’ve been rotating my snacks like a cautious scientist running a very personal experiment. The goal is simple: keep my weight steady. The execution, unfortunately, is not.

Because I run regularly, exercise, and even mow the lawn during warmer months, my activity level is fairly high. That sounds healthy in theory. In practice, it makes maintaining weight surprisingly difficult. My body burns energy enthusiastically, while my dietary options remain… diplomatically restricted.

Kidney conditions come with a long list of nutritional negotiations. I cannot rely on protein shakes like a typical active adult, since compromised kidneys struggle to filter metabolic waste such as urea. Potassium, phosphorus, and excess sodium also require careful monitoring. Suddenly, many “healthy snacks” become suspicious characters.

Bananas? Too much potassium.
Melons? Also potassium.
Convenient snacks? Usually salty.

At this point, even the snack aisle feels like a minefield disguised as a grocery store.

Naturally, I tried switching to melons as a safer alternative—only to discover they also contain a fair amount of potassium. That plan was quietly retired. I then pivoted to berries, which are much more kidney-friendly. The only problem? They are good… and aggressively sour.

So, I introduced a diplomatic solution: homemade yogurt.

My wife makes yogurt at home, which is both versatile and practical. It works in smoothies, cooking, and even as a substitute for sour cream. Recently, I suspect she has been making more of it simply because I keep eating it. I am now seriously considering taking over yogurt production myself. Not because it is difficult, but because it requires careful temperature control when adding the culture—something my wife has been handling with quiet precision.

Today brought an encouraging result. I finally regained some of the weight I had been missing: 1.2 pounds, with 0.8 pounds recorded as muscle mass. I am still slightly under my target range, but less so than yesterday, which counts as meaningful progress.

Yesterday’s snack experiment consisted of a small bowl of yogurt paired with blackberries. It is entirely possible that this combination helped reverse the downward trend. Of course, one data point does not make a scientific conclusion—but it does make a promising hypothesis.

Therefore, in the spirit of disciplined experimentation (and cautious optimism), I will repeat the yogurt-and-berries protocol again this evening.

I hope this will solve my problem.

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Running In Cold Weather Because Goals Don’t Care About Temperature)

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

The chilly morning didn’t deter my wife from her early exercise routine. It also didn’t deter her from running errands. She planned a trip to the UPS Store to return an Amazon package and invited me along. I happily agreed. Marriage sometimes means love; sometimes it means carrying the return receipt.

Because the morning air was brutally cold, I decided to delay my run until later in the day. Ever since my brain stroke, temperature regulation hasn’t exactly been my body’s strong suit. My neurologist explained that my autonomic nervous system took a hit. In practical terms, that means my body takes longer to warm up—and running in freezing air feels like negotiating with winter while already tired.

When it’s cold, my body spends energy heating itself before it even starts running. It’s like paying an entrance fee before the workout even begins.

Still, cold weather does not cancel Saturday’s 10K.

Goals don’t reschedule themselves.

Starting the run was the hardest part. My muscles felt stiff, and the air felt unfriendly. But once I got moving, rhythm returned. The first half of the run went surprisingly well—I actually hit my target pace. I briefly entertained the idea of conquering the entire distance at that speed.

The second half had other ideas.

I couldn’t quite maintain the pace, but the overall result was still strong enough to earn my third-fastest 10K ever. That’s not perfection, but it’s progress—and progress is what counts.

What encourages me most is the trajectory. I’m slowly getting faster. Not dramatically. Not magically. But steadily.

There’s still plenty of work ahead if I want to hit this year’s goal. But it’s early in the year. Improvement doesn’t require heroics; it requires repetition. As long as I keep showing up, struggling a little, and pushing just past comfort, I’ll keep improving.

Winter can complain all it wants.

I’ll keep running.

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A Rainy Morning Run and a Strong Finish Elsewhere

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Despite the heavy rain early this morning, my wife still went out for her morning exercise—and got thoroughly soaked. She owns a proper running jacket designed for rain and snow, a relic from her years in Canada. Unless there’s ice on the road, the weather is more of a suggestion than a deterrent for her.

I, on the other hand, was mildly concerned about becoming a soggy runner.

By the time I headed out, the rain had cleared completely—and somehow it was warm enough for shorts. A rare weather plot twist. Unfortunately, this unexpected kindness from the sky did not translate into a target-paced run.

Running pace is a fragile thing. Sleep quality, body condition, temperature, humidity—almost anything can tip it off balance. If I don’t sleep well, my pace suffers. If the weather shifts suddenly, my pace notices. So I try not to get too discouraged when a run doesn’t go exactly as planned.

Today was one of those days.

Still, the workout wasn’t a loss. Pull-ups were on the schedule, and those went well. I completed all 21, finishing the first 10 without dropping off the bar—a small but satisfying benchmark. Planking and stretching followed, both completed without complaint from my body.

While the run didn’t cooperate, the rest of the system performed.

I’ll have one more chance this week to hit my target pace. Tomorrow’s weekly 10K will be the real test. If I can’t hit my goal across the full distance, I’m hoping to at least lock it in for one strong half.Not every run is fast.
Not every workout shines.
But consistency still counts—and today, that box is firmly checked.

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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.

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