Tag: Fitness Journey

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Why Breaking My Routine Made Me a Stronger Runner

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

I used to do resistance training the chaotic way—every body part, every day, every time. Basically, the “if I train everything, something has to improve… right?” strategy. Then my wife gently pointed out that muscles need rest, variety, and apparently not a daily existential crisis.

She was right, of course. Summer proved that. Between mowing, trimming, leaf wrangling, and whatever mysterious outdoor chores magically appear when the weather is warm, I barely had energy for running—much less full-body resistance training every single day. So, I surrendered. I broke the routine into sections like a civilized human being.

Now I rotate muscle groups throughout the week, giving each part its moment to shine (and suffer). Some areas get a twice-a-week spotlight; others politely wait their turn. Suddenly, life is manageable again—chores, running, and training all coexist instead of staging a coup.

Today was the start of a new week, which means pull-up day.

A sacred day.
A day of decisions.

Should I plateau at 10 pull-ups, a number respectable enough to put me in the “not bad at all” category? Or should I chase 11, knowing that someday my body will politely inform me, “This is your limit, sir”? Since I haven’t reached that point yet, I went for it. Eleven. Next week, twelve. After that… we’ll see. One day, gravity may win. But not today.

After conquering the pull-up bar and demolishing breakfast, I got ready for my run. The temperature, however, had other plans. Today’s forecast: “Cold. No reprieve. Wear pants.” My body does not negotiate well with sudden temperature changes, so I usually wait for the warmest part of the day in winter—just as I run early in summer to avoid roasting like a forgotten croissant.

But since the temperature was stubbornly staying in “absolutely not shorts” territory, I layered up: long sleeves, full-length pants, the whole winter runner look. Forty-five minutes later, I hit the pavement.

And—I beat my target pace.
No new personal record, but I landed the delightful honor of “second fastest ever,” which is basically the silver medal of running days. I’ll take it.

If I hit my target time later this week, I might just set a new record. And that is a very good reason to look forward to the next run… assuming the weather cooperates and my muscles don’t file a formal complaint.

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The 2 A.M. Core Confession: My Abs Woke Me Up to Their Potential

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Written October 8, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Last night, my bladder and abs formed an unholy alliance to drag me out of bed at 2 A.M. I shuffled to the bathroom, realizing that every step reminded me of my “brilliant” idea to double my planking sessions. Who knew maintaining balance while half-asleep could turn into an anatomy lesson? Now I have muscle soreness.

Four hours later, I woke again—this time to my alarm—and poof! The soreness had vanished. My abs, it seems, have mastered the art of the disappearing act. Still, I knew the reason: I’d been quietly upping the ante on my core workouts.

Our trusty planking machine (the second one, because the first one heroically died in service) has become my new favorite torture device. At first, I could barely hold position without feeling like a beached seal, but slowly, rep by rep, I found my rhythm again. Yesterday, I even did two full sessions. Yes, two. My abs have filed an official complaint with muscle soreness.

And it’s not just planks. Push-ups are back on the menu too. I used to do gymnastics, so I don’t mind a little resistance—unlike my wife, who used to treat muscle training like a personal insult. Cardio? She’ll run through a thunderstorm. Dumbbells? She’ll suddenly remember a “pressing” laundry emergency. But recently, she’s warmed up to resistance work—and dare I say—actually enjoying it.

The Way I Create My Goals

I don’t make big, dramatic annual goals. Instead, I chase small, nearly achievable ones, the kind that trick your brain into thinking you’re on vacation instead of a fitness plan. Tracking progress helps, mostly because it keeps me honest when I start slacking off. Sometimes, I have to lower reps; other times, I focus on perfect form. Nothing kills progress faster than sloppy posture—or, worse, an injury.

Unlike my wife, I don’t worship muscle pain, but I do pay attention to it. When it fades, I know it’s time to increase either weight or reps—but never recklessly. Every adjustment means recalibrating my diet too. My biggest challenge? I can’t eat as much protein as a normal adult. It’s a delicate balance: push too hard, and I risk losing muscle instead of building it.

So when I woke up sore this morning, I didn’t complain. I celebrated. It means I pushed just enough. I did about the same ab workout today, so we’ll see if tonight brings another surprise wake-up call from my overachieving core. If it does, I’ll just tell myself—half asleep and half proud—that progress sometimes hurts… and sometimes it wakes you up at 2 A.M.

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This is What I Learned: Lessons from Today’s 10K

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Written October 4, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

I keep reminding myself that progress isn’t a straight line—it’s more like a hilly trail with a few unexpected potholes. Today was one of those “downhill” days.

When you chase a goal and the results don’t match your effort, disappointment sneaks in like a side stitch. For me, that moment came during today’s 10K.

Maintaining a 10K pace has always been tricky—it’s long enough to test endurance but short enough to tempt you to sprint too early. My wife once said that mid-distance runs (around 10–21 km) are the most deceptive: go too fast at the start, and you’ll spend the rest of the run questioning your life choices.

I’ve been running for years, so I’m no rookie. My app gives me pace updates every quarter-kilometer, helping me track my rhythm. Lately, though, I’ve wanted to push harder. Sometimes that push pays off; sometimes it backfires and slows me down overall.

Today I crossed the 10K finish mark but didn’t smash through the wall I’ve been chasing. Still, I think I might have cracked it a little. Whether that crack grows or seals itself back up—well, the next few runs will tell.

Even though I haven’t hit my target pace yet, I’m still improving. My 10K average today was faster than my last year’s normal 5K, and that’s worth celebrating.

Yesterday, however, was a slog. I had zero energy—felt like my batteries were running on nostalgia alone. I started strong today, but by the end of my first kilometer, my early lead had vanished. My wife reminded me that cardio readiness fluctuates daily. Sadly, my app doesn’t track that—just my pace. My watch focuses on blood pressure, which, given my health priorities, is fair—but I wish it could multitask.

The biggest lesson? Patience. You can’t sprint your way through every wall. Some need chipping away, one steady stride at a time. My app logs prove I’m moving forward, even if the pace isn’t dramatic.

Maybe I’ll break my progress into smaller goals—a few seconds faster here and there—until the “personal best” feels inevitable. For now, I’m calling today’s run a success. Tired, yes. But still moving forward.

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Muscle vs. Scale: The Real Weight Loss Struggle

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Written October 1, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Laundry: my most persistent rival in this fitness journey. Forget to do it one day, and suddenly tomorrow’s run is delayed because someone (me) had to play catch-up with socks and T-shirts. So yes, today’s run started later than ideal. But the good news? When I finally did step on the scale afterward, my weight had dropped back into my “target zone.” The not-so-good news? It was clinging to the ceiling of that zone like a cat refusing to leave its perch.

Now, here’s the sneaky thing about scales: they’re master illusionists. The number looks comforting, but sometimes it’s smoke and mirrors. In my case, this “drop” was less about losing fat and more about muscle quietly packing its bags. And no, I wasn’t thrilled to wave goodbye.

For the past couple of months, keeping my weight steady has been a balancing act. When I was mowing the lawn twice a week, I could eat with a bit more freedom. Now that the grass has slowed down, I can’t just eat like a hungry teenager and expect the scale—or my muscles—to cooperate. My wife, however, cracked part of the code. She used to be a stress-snacker, but now she manages cravings with weekly emotional reflections. (Honestly, it’s impressive. Imagine fighting potato chips with philosophy. And winning.)

She also panics whenever her muscle mass dips—which, honestly, is fair. Her solution was to up her protein and resistance training. And she’s right: when you shift focus from “weight loss” to “body composition,” progress looks very different. She’s building muscle now, even if the scale doesn’t move much. That’s when you realize that chasing a smaller number isn’t always the smartest goal—sometimes you need stronger, not lighter.

I’d love to copy her playbook, but my kidneys have me playing by different rules. Protein is like a VIP guest for me—I can only let a limited amount in. That means, while other people might just “eat more protein” to protect their muscles, I need to approach the puzzle differently. Still, I’ve managed to keep over 125 pounds of muscle packed into my 150-pound frame. That’s leaner than most guys my age, which makes me quietly proud—even when the scale pretends otherwise.

Sure, I’m a few pounds heavier than before my recent spike and drop, but I’m not losing sleep over it. (Well… unless laundry decides to strike again.) The truth is, both my wife and I now obsess more over body composition than over plain weight. And when she tells me she’s impressed with my progress, given the dietary limits I juggle, it means more than any “perfect” number ever could.

At the end of the day, the scale might tell part of the story, but muscles, mindset, and resilience are the real plot.

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Why I Gained Four Pounds Overnight—and Why It’s Actually Good News with My Kidney Condition

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Written September 29, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

My legs and I are currently on speaking terms again—barely. Yesterday’s 10K run left me hobbling like I’d just completed a marathon with bricks strapped to my ankles. Recovery is not my strong suit; thanks to my kidney condition, I heal slower than the average adult male, and unlike gym bros, I can’t just down a mountain of chicken breasts to bounce back.

My doctor did let me nudge up my protein intake a bit, but it’s still a delicate balancing act. During summer, I was burning calories faster than an ice cube melts in Nashville heat, so keeping my weight steady was like playing nutritional Jenga.

Today’s run was… let’s call it “character-building.” I aimed for 10K, but my body voted strongly for “more like 5K.” Fatigue, poor sleep, temporary weight gain, and a side of sore legs made sure my performance stayed humbling. And speaking of sleep—last night mine was about as restful as trying to nap during a fire alarm test.

Dinner probably didn’t help. My wife, who avoids meat like it’s auditioning for a horror movie, made vegetarian chili to sneak in some extra protein. Tasty, yes. But let’s just say it left me producing enough gas to qualify as a renewable energy source. Add to that the three liters of water I downed, and I was on first-name terms with our bathroom.

The scale added its own drama this morning: four pounds heavier than Saturday. It is not as bad as you think when you have a kidney condition like mine. But before I accused my chili of conspiring against me, I noticed the breakdown. According to the fancy metrics, over half of that gain is muscle, and a quarter is water weight. My wife—now practically a part-time sports medicine researcher thanks to her own fitness challenges—reminded me that recovery often means muscles hoard water like dragons hoard gold.

So yes, the numbers will bounce around, but in a couple of days, I’ll be back in my target range. In the meantime, I’ll keep running, keep eating cautiously, and maybe keep a safe distance from vegetarian chili before long runs.

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Rain, Runs, and Relentless Grass: A Nashville Tale

Brian’s Journal after Brain Stroke

Written September 24, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Nashville’s weather has been auditioning for the role of “most indecisive character in a soap opera.” One minute, sunshine. Next minute, a full-on rain performance with dramatic flair. Naturally, my lawn has been the stage victim—too soggy to mow the other day, yet somehow already plotting its overgrowth revenge.

Today’s to-do list included a 5 km run. Did the rain stop me? Not exactly. Did it try to slow me down? Absolutely. Imagine running while the sky wrings itself out like a wet towel over your head—that was me. By the midpoint, I felt as if the rain wasn’t just falling on me but siphoning my energy straight out of my legs. The cool air stiffened me up, and my pace slowed, but hey, I still finished. That’s a victory in my book.

Meanwhile, the lawn continues to mock me. Mowing is no small affair here—our backyard is hillier than a rollercoaster ride. My wife used to mow it with a non-electric push mower, which I now realize was basically a medieval torture device disguised as gardening equipment. She took breaks between passes; I just sweat and pray.

The funny part? Last summer was so scorching hot that the grass barely grew, and we actually wished it would. This year, it’s making up for lost time—rain, warmth, repeat. Nashville weather is playing chess, and I’m just a pawn with a lawnmower.

When I got home from my run, I weighed myself and noticed I was down four pounds compared to yesterday. Before you think I discovered some magic weight-loss hack, don’t get excited—it was probably the difference between “pre-breakfast” vs. “post-liter-of-water.” For the record, one liter equals about 2.2 pounds. Math: not glamorous, but it explains a lot.

The weighing ritual has become part of my daily routine, thanks to our electric scale. My doctor loves the log—apparently, sudden spikes or drops are like plot twists in my health story. I keep myself steady around 150 pounds, with about 132 of that being muscle (the other 18? Let’s just call them “personality”).

On the food front, my wife has recently developed a habit of stockpiling bananas. She snacks on one before her workouts. Bananas may contain potassium, which I need to watch with my kidneys, but I figure one or two won’t send me straight to the ER. Plus, potassium helps with energy—something I probably could’ve used before running in the rain like a damp tortoise.

Slow or not, I ran today. The grass may wait, the rain may fall, but showing up matters more than the stopwatch. Someday, I’ll be a faster runner. For now, I’ll settle for being the guy who outpaces his lawn.

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How Lawn Mowing Became My Ultimate Workout

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Written September 26, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

This morning started like any other—I finished breakfast, charged my headset to full, and headed outside to battle the lawn. After a week of warm weather and rain, the grass had been growing like it was still mid-summer, even though the forest behind our house had already started to show its autumn colors.

For several days, I had been waiting for a clear sky. Finally, the weather cooperated. I set a three-hour alarm so I wouldn’t miss our take-out order later, then started mowing with determination. The grass was longer than I’d hoped, which made the task slower. By the time my alarm went off, I had only managed half the lawn. The hilly back area alone can easily take more than three hours. Realistically, it’s a two-session job. So, I gave in, showered quickly, and went to grab lunch.

But after eating, I laced back up and went out for round two. Another three hours of mowing later, I was finished. My wife asked why I insisted on doing it all in one shot, but I was stubborn—I just wanted the lawn done.

A Workout I Never Expected

The surprising part? I could handle it. My years of consistent cardio and resistance training gave me the endurance to push through. My wife kept encouraging me with this project of stroke recovery through exercise. Even before my brain stroke, I doubt I could have managed this much work in a single day. The experience reminded me that recovery is possible with discipline and exercise.

When I had my stroke, I couldn’t walk for three months. Even after leaving the rehabilitation center, I needed a walker and my wife’s help. Noise overwhelmed me, and I suffered constant neurofatigue. It felt like the exhaustion I used to experience after playing multiple chess games in a day.

Six months later, I was walking short distances with frequent rests. By 18 months, my wife returned to work, and I was managing my own medication. It was slow progress, but it was progress.

Finding Strength in Small Victories

I lost some mobility, and I still can’t drive or travel as I once did. My wife keeps a close eye on my health, especially with my kidney condition, so we live more cautiously. But at the same time, I’ve gained something—strength and resilience I never thought I had.

So when I finally put away the mower after nearly six hours of work, I felt more than just relief. I felt grateful. Grateful to finish what I started, grateful for the progress I’ve made since my stroke, and grateful for the strength that lets me tackle challenges like this head-on. I made a remarkable stroke recovery through exercise.

Next week, I’ll trade the mower for a rake to collect leaves—a much lighter chore by comparison. For now, I can enjoy at least a couple of weeks without wrestling the grass.

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Cold-Weather Running and Cookie Emergencies

Written September 14, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Today officially marks the start of my cold-weather running schedule. Translation: my sneakers are now bracing themselves for frostbite, and I’m mentally preparing to turn into a human popsicle on the sidewalk.

Over the summer, I had been relying on puff pastry to keep my weight steady. Why puff pastry? Because with my kidney issues and a long list of food restrictions, flaky dough filled with my wife’s homemade jam is basically the culinary equivalent of winning the lottery. Grocery store premade dough + jam = the fastest way to eat happiness.

This summer was more fabulous than usual. I didn’t even mow weekly—my lawn got to cosplay as a wild prairie, and I didn’t complain. But since mowing season has ended, my activity level plummeted faster than a cookie jar in a toddler’s hands. So, no puff pastry this week. Instead, it was time to deal with something far more sacred: my emergency cookie supply.

Now, what is an “emergency cookie supply”? Glad you asked. Six months ago, in a stroke of pure genius (or hunger-induced paranoia), I stashed a package of ready-to-bake cookie dough in the downstairs freezer. This was a just-in-case backup plan for those dark days when the grocery store failed me or when I forgot to buy cookies—which, let’s be real, is a tragedy that no human should endure.

Being me, I even set a Google Calendar reminder to pop up six months later: Bake those cookies or banish them forever. You see, I don’t believe in freezer purgatory. If I wasn’t going to eat them, I’d at least bake them and let the house smell like victory.

So today was the day. The oven fired up, the cookies baked, and soon the upstairs smelled like a Hallmark movie marathon. Oddly, these heavenly aromas don’t tempt my wife—she’s not into sweets. (I know, I don’t get it either.) She only took half a cookie out of politeness and declared, “Not so bad.” Translation: “Thanks, but no thanks.” She’s cautious about diabetes since it runs in her family. I, on the other hand, am cautious about running out of snacks. Different priorities.

To avoid eating each cookie like it was the size of a steering wheel, I baked them extra small—bite-sized, calorie-friendly, and perfect for sneaky nibbling between runs. Mission accomplished: cookies baked, freezer cleared, snack emergency avoided.

And honestly? Nothing feels more triumphant than winning both at baking and freezer organization on the same day.

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The Not-So-Great Shoe Debacle (But Progress Was Made)

Written 08/20/2025

Hello Dear Readers,

This morning, I was rudely awakened—not by an alarm, but by a rebellious cramp in the back of my left thigh. A charming start to the day, really. My prime suspect? The shiny new pair of running shoes I recently introduced to my feet. It’s like they met on a blind date and instantly agreed they were not compatible.

The shoes are the same model as my last beloved pair, so in theory, this shouldn’t be a big deal. But as every runner knows, shoes have personalities. Some are loyal sidekicks, others are just fancy-looking foot traps. I guess mine are still deciding which path they want to take.

Despite the cramped beginning (literally), I laced up and hit the road. My ankles still muttered complaints from previous runs, but they didn’t outright revolt. So… small victory? The pace was slower than I’d like, but hey, I made it through the entire distance without feeling like my lower limbs were on strike. That’s progress. Limping progress, but progress nonetheless.

Honestly, I expected to be breaking in these shoes faster. I’ve already had two failed attempts at conquering a 10K with them—both derailed when my ankle started sending distress signals halfway through. But today? Today felt different. Not “I can crush a marathon” different, but “maybe I won’t need to ice my feet for an hour” different. It’s the little things.

My wife, the wise one, reminded me that all shoes need time to mold to your feet—and feet, in turn, need time to stop being drama queens. She’s right (as usual). So, I’ve decided to stop glaring at my shoes like they’ve betrayed me and start giving them the benefit of the doubt. Patience, grasshopper.

In other athletic news, my planking routine is going strong-ish. I recently had to reduce the time a bit—mainly because my abs filed a formal complaint—but I’m still going for over 3 minutes. That’s miles better than where I started (which was more like “floor faceplant after 30 seconds”).

Like everything else lately, it’s a jagged progress graph. Some days I feel like a fitness superhero. Other days, I feel like I’ve been defeated by a foam mat. But I’m learning that “hard but doable” is actually the sweet spot. It means I’m pushing myself, but not to the ER. So here’s to small wins: less foot rebellion, slightly happier ankles, and core muscles that are screaming just a little less. With a little luck—and a little more patience—Friday’s run might just feel like the start of a comeback.

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Breaking in New Running Shoes: Why 5K Felt Smarter Than 10K

Written August 17, 2025

Reviewed 8/26

Hello ,Dear Readers,

This morning I laced up my brand-new pair of running shoes, ready to conquer a glorious 10K. The shoes looked sharp—clean, crisp, and full of promise—even though they’re identical to my old pair. (Funny how a new version of the same thing feels so much more exciting. Humans are weird that way.)

But here’s the plot twist: I called it quits at 5K.

The reason? A deadly combo—rising heat and the dreaded “new shoe syndrome.” My left ankle kept threatening to roll with every stride, and I wasn’t about to limp home like a tragic marathon meme. New shoes are stiff, unyielding, and about as cooperative as a cat during bath time. My wife usually ends up with blisters. I, on the other hand, get sore feet and near-miss ankle sprains. Either way, not ideal for the long run.

I’ve been down this road before. Every new pair puts me through the same initiation ritual. Still, I secretly hope that one day a new pair of shoes will turn me into Usain Bolt overnight. I’ll never forget my first authentic running shoes—the way they felt so light I swore I’d dropped five pounds just by lacing them up.

For now, my old pair graduates to “walking shoe” status, still good enough for daily steps but no longer up for the big leagues. The best part? My running app now tracks mileage per shoe. No more clunky Excel logging. It automatically records distance, pace, and ties everything neatly to the shoe’s lifespan. Pretty slick.

I’ll admit I was a little disappointed. I wanted that solid 10K, especially since recent Saturdays have been hijacked by other plans. But next weekend, I’ll try again. With the laces cinched a little tighter and the shoes a little more forgiving, I’m hopeful they’ll finally cooperate.

Until then, I’ll settle for the small win: no blisters, no twisted ankle, and a shiny new pair of shoes with their whole running life ahead of them.