Tag: Fitness Journey

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Why You Shouldn’t Drink a Milkshake Before a 10K

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today’s plan was simple and efficient: visit the running shoe store to get my wife a fresh pair of shoes, then stop for a milkshake on the way home. We had a flier for a free milkshake, so naturally, we synchronized errands like responsible adults.

My wife takes running attire very seriously—and for good reason. She firmly believes that the wrong shoes invite injury, and improper clothing invites heat stroke, hypothermia, or, at the very least, regret. I don’t argue with this logic.

While we were there, I also replaced my aging cold-weather running pants. My old pair had reached the end of their honorable service, so I upgraded. Once we got home, I immediately put the new pants on and decided to break them in properly—with a full 10K run.

We don’t go out much on her days off because she usually has a long list of chores. But she’d already declared weeks ago that her running shoes were overdue for replacement. This outing had been scheduled in the household calendar long before the milkshake entered the story.

The milkshake, however, was my personal motivation.

My wife isn’t interested in milkshakes. She always takes one sip of mine, politely declares it “too sweet,” and hands it back. I, on the other hand, was thrilled. I hadn’t had a milkshake in years. Years.

And then I made a terrible decision.

I drank the entire milkshake right before heading out for my run.

Running with a belly full of milkshake is… not ideal. No matter how delicious it is, milkshake-fueled jogging is not a performance-enhancing strategy. This is a lesson I will absolutely remember: milkshakes belong after runs, not immediately before them.

The run itself was hard. I fought to keep my pace from collapsing more than 50 seconds below my target. I finished 49 seconds under instead—which is technically better, but emotionally still rough. By the end, my legs were fully aware that I had tried very hard.

They may become even more aware tonight.

I’m considering doing my weekly squats this evening instead of tomorrow. That would give me an extra recovery day before my Monday run, which should—at least in theory—help me be faster then.

So today’s takeaways:
  • New shoes: excellent
  • New pants: promising
  • Free milkshake: delicious
  • Timing of milkshake: catastrophic

Still, lessons were learned, gear was upgraded, and the run got done.
Next time, I’ll earn my milkshake the hard way—after the finish line.

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Too Cold to Run, Smart Enough to Plan Around It

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

I have been exceptionally cold in Nashville lately. We’ve had mornings starting at 11°F, which feels less like weather and more like a personal challenge from the universe.

My wife, unfazed, went out for her morning workout anyway. Her internal temperature sensor is clearly miscalibrated, I blame her time living in the frozen wastes of Canada. She claims her winter running jacket feels perfectly warm at 11°F. Apparently, such jackets exist. I have never owned one and therefore remain skeptical.

Last night, it snowed. Snow itself doesn’t concern us unless it requires manual labor. We are fully prepared—with two bags of salt and a snow shovel standing by like emergency supplies. Fortunately, the snow didn’t stick. The temperature crept above freezing just long enough to melt it away.

Unfortunately, that did not mean warmth was coming back.

Once I realized we wouldn’t see anything above 40°F, I immediately began dreading my run. Since I’ve already hit my yearly running goals, a dangerous thought appeared: Maybe I can take a break.

And just like that, I declared today a no-run day.

That said, I know the rule my wife lives by: skip once, and you must go back next time. Otherwise, skipping becomes a habit, and habits quietly erode commitment. This is probably why she still works out in conditions better suited for polar research.

I, however, have a different constraint: my body does not cope well with extreme weather. This is less a motivational issue and more a survival preference.

Looking ahead, Saturday promises temperatures in the 40s. Not pleasant—but tolerable. I’ll definitely be running a 10K then. A 10K in the 40s isn’t fun, but it’s manageable with the right layers and the correct amount of complaining.

This has led me to consider a new idea: a temperature-based exception rule.

Something like:

  • If it doesn’t get above 40°F by 1 p.m.
  • And I’ve already hit my current year’s goals
    → I’m allowed to skip the run without guilt.

I suspect this would reduce unnecessary stress and make running feel less like a punishment issued by the weather. It may also be wise to establish an upper temperature limit as well—though running early in the morning usually solves that problem.

For now, winter and I have reached a temporary ceasefire. I skipped today.
I will run next time.
And that, I think, is a reasonable compromise.

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Sore Quads, Smart Squats, and Rethinking My Training

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

I’ve been running for nearly a decade. A few years ago, I added resistance training. And yet—brace yourself—there’s one thing I somehow never did: leg strength training.

Yes, I run. A lot. I convinced myself that running was leg day. Turns out, that logic only works until it doesn’t—usually in the form of injury. Somewhere along the way, it finally clicked: runners also need resistance training for their legs.

My wife has known this all along.

She does resistance training six days a week, and she works her legs especially hard. Her reasoning is simple: cardio doesn’t fully train leg strength. Recently, she’s taken it even more seriously, and the results are obvious. Her legs are noticeably stronger than before.

So I made a decision.
I would join leg day—late, but sincere.

I introduced squats into my routine, and my quadriceps responded immediately by filing soreness reports. That’s how I know something new is happening. I do have to be careful, though. Once a week, I already run 10 kilometers, and our neighborhood is aggressively hilly. My legs aren’t exactly underworked.

Still, the soreness tells me something important: I’m using muscle fibers that running alone doesn’t reach. Whether increasing strength first will eventually improve my speed is still an open question—but early signs suggest I’m on the right path.

As with everything else, I’m introducing this change slowly. My kidney condition limits how much protein I can consume, so I can’t afford to destroy too many muscle fibers at once. At the same time, muscle growth requires some breakdown. Balancing those two realities is the real workout.

To stay honest, I track my biometrics using our scale—water percentage, protein, bone mass, muscle mass, weight—and I cross-check all of that with quarterly blood work. Numbers don’t lie, even when motivation does.

For now, the goal isn’t speed.
The goal is durability.

I’ll continue monitoring, adjusting, and easing leg exercises into my routine over the next few months. After nearly ten years of running, it seems only fair to finally give my legs the attention they deserve—outside of just asking them to carry me uphill.

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One Push-Up a Week and a Year of Quiet Progress

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today marks a small but meaningful milestone for me—one that took an entire year to earn.

About a year ago, I started doing push-ups once a week. I began at 20 and made myself a very modest promise: add one more rep each week. No heroics. No sudden transformations. Just one extra push-up. Today, that number reached 72.

When you have compromised kidneys, muscle-building looks a little different. I can’t eat as much protein as a healthy adult male, so progress doesn’t arrive quickly—or loudly. I started running about a decade ago, but it was only in the last few years that I began adding other forms of exercise. Even then, I did it cautiously.

Summers are already physically demanding thanks to lawn mowing and general activity, and my body doesn’t recover the way it used to. So instead of piling workouts on top of each other, I started doing something less exciting but far more effective: adding things slowly.

I also tweaked how often—and how much—I train. Rather than working everything in one session, I focus on a few selected muscle groups each time. The goal isn’t exhaustion. The goal is regeneration. Training your body not to recover is not a win.

Since switching to this approach, something unexpected happened: it worked.

My wife mentioned that I look noticeably leaner than I did a few years ago, back when running was my only form of exercise. I’ve noticed it too—mostly because my pants are tighter. And no, it’s not because my legs suddenly bulked up. Progress shows up in mysterious ways.

The push-up plan itself has been almost comically simple. One rep per week. That’s it. Occasionally, I misremember what number I hit the week before, which means I may have skipped a number or repeated one. But honestly? I don’t care. What matters is that I showed up every week for a full year.

That alone feels worth celebrating.

I’d like to reach 100 push-ups someday, but that will take most of another year—and I’m perfectly fine with that. I’m not in a rush. Each week, I’ll try the new number. If I succeed, I’ll add one more for next time. Thanks to a spreadsheet, I can now be reasonably sure I’m not accidentally cheating or sabotaging myself.

A fitness journey doesn’t need to be dramatic to be real. It just needs to be yours. I’ve accepted my kidney disease and built my workouts around what my body can actually handle.

And one push-up at a time, it turns out, is more than enough.

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When One Missed Task Knocks Over the Whole Day

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today, I learned—once again—that my schedule is only as intense as its weakest forgotten task.

The first crack appeared when I realized I hadn’t prepared the kombucha bottles on Wednesday. Typically, I fill them with sanitizing solution so they’re ready to rinse on Thursday and usable by Friday. This time? Completely skipped. That meant starting the process today and planning to rinse them after we returned from my sister’s house. Already, the day was improvising without my consent.

Next came the laundry problem. I had also forgotten how being away would collide with my laundry schedule—specifically, sheet-changing day. We do have a second set of sheets, but the matching pillowcases disappeared during one of our last two moves and have never been seen again. That meant the current ones had to be washed, dried, and put back on the bed all in the same day.

No pressure.

After my shower, I started the laundry, timing it carefully in my head and hoping it would finish washing just in time to move everything into the dryer before we left. This was optimistic math.

One thing occupational therapy taught me after my brain injury was how essential time management systems are. Trauma made me more forgetful and shortened my attention span. I can easily lose track of what I’m doing—or what I was about to do.

So, through trial and error, I built a system. I remember one anchor task in the morning and linking everything else to it in a chain. Wake up → medication → breakfast → next task → next task. It works beautifully… until it doesn’t.

Holidays are natural enemies of systems.

I love Thanksgiving. Truly. But it rearranges routines just enough to break everything quietly. I suddenly realized I’d missed a few steps earlier in the week, and now I was paying for it in delayed laundry and bottle logistics.

We had already told my sister we’d be on a specific schedule. The plan was to complete everything before leaving. Reality disagreed. The washing machine still needed ten more minutes when it was time to go, meaning the dryer would have to wait until we returned.

At that point, I could feel the pressure building. Too many tasks were being deferred to “later,” and I knew that meant a busier, more chaotic evening. Still, there wasn’t much choice. The schedule had already gone off the rails—I was just managing the damage now.

Some days, the system wins.
Some days, the holiday wins. Today was clearly the latter—but at least I know why.

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