Tag: healthy lifestyle

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Running the Seasons: How Nashville Weather Keeps My Schedule on Its Toes

Written August 31, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

The timing of seasonal shifts is like Nashville traffic—unpredictable, occasionally frustrating, and always in charge of my schedule. Every year, I play this little game of musical chairs with my running times. In the summer, I’m out the door around 7 a.m., sprinting before the sun decides to fry me. But when winter comes? You’ll find me jogging closer to noon, because I’d rather not reenact Frozen on the sidewalk.

Lately, the mornings have been sneakily chilly. I lace up expecting a mild breeze, only to feel like I’ve stumbled into an early winter audition. My gut tells me this week is when the seasonal baton officially passes: Friday will probably be my first “post-breakfast run” of the year. In winter, that little delay makes a world of difference—Nashville temperatures love to bounce around like a yo-yo, and waiting a few hours can turn a run from misery to manageable.

Of course, my body adds a bonus challenge. Thanks to my brain stroke, my thermoregulation works about as fast as a dial-up modem. Cold or hot, it doesn’t matter—my system takes its sweet time catching up. So I’ve become a professional “sweet spot” hunter, timing my runs and chores to avoid temperature whiplash.

At home, we keep the thermostat close to whatever’s happening outside. Once it’s above 90°F or below 55°F, we finally surrender and turn on the AC or heat. Otherwise, I try to let my body adapt naturally. Grocery stores, though, are a different beast—stepping into one during summer feels like walking into an Arctic exhibit, and my body protests the climate shift like it’s on strike.

I’ve learned that running earlier in summer helps me conserve energy. Last year, my pace actually improved as the season wore on—apparently, avoiding temperature drama frees up power for speed. These days, I’m glued to weather reports like a stock trader, shifting my running schedule and yard work around whatever Nashville decides to throw at me.

And here’s the kicker: August is technically still “summer” here. So while I’m pulling out hoodies for morning runs, I wouldn’t blink if next week brings a heatwave encore. In the meantime, I’ve penciled in mowing for Tuesday and Thursday. The cooler weather has slowed the grass’s growth compared to last year, but let’s be honest—my lawn and Nashville’s climate probably have a secret pact to keep me guessing.

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Sunday Strolls, Plant Apps, and Fancy Coffee: Our Weekly Walk-and-Talk Ritual

Written June 15, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

A Walk, a Chat, and a Breeze of Domestic Bliss

Ah, Sunday. The day of rest, recovery, and—for us—rambling around the neighborhood like curious kids on a field trip. No running shoes, no dumbbells, no burpees in sight. It’s our official “just walk and talk” day. I don’t work out on Sundays, and my wife only does if her weekday workout schedule goes off-script. This time, she floated the idea: “Why don’t we walk together?” As if I’d say no to strolling beside my favorite chatterbox.

Now, let me tell you—my wife’s morning routine is a masterpiece of consistency. Weekends? Holidays? Zombie apocalypse? Doesn’t matter. She’s up at the same time every day, while I’m still making peace with my alarm clock. Today, she beat me to it by two hours, sipping her tea while I was probably still dreaming of croissants.

Summer mornings, of course, come with a ticking heat clock. If you miss the early window, the sidewalk turns into a skillet. And today? Well, I had my doubts. The rain had pulled an all-nighter, and by morning, it still hadn’t punched out. I thought our Sunday ritual might get rained out—but then, like a polite guest, the storm cleared just in time for a late but lovely 3km wander.

Our walk? Classic. We chatted about everything and nothing. My wife, true to form, had a full playlist of topics: books she’s read, projects she’s juggling at home, and the book she’s writing (yes, plural “books”—she’s got more plots than a garden center). Occasionally, we switch to my favorite subject: my running progress, which she politely pretends to find fascinating.

As we strolled through the neighborhood, we exchanged hellos with friendly neighbors—some by name, others by nod-and-smile status. That’s one of the underrated joys of living in Nashville: people are genuinely nice, the kind who’ll compliment your tomato plant and mean it.

Speaking of plants, I’ve got a plant ID app and a shameless curiosity. If something leafy catches my eye, I snap a photo and hope to discover it’s not just another weed. There’s something endearingly nerdy about playing plant detective. Who knows, maybe one of these will find a new home in our backyard.

Despite the late start and the sun reminding us who’s boss, we managed to stay reasonably cool under the shade and with help from the occasional breeze. Honestly, I’m not complaining. We walked, we talked, and it felt good.

Once home, I whipped up our Sunday fancy coffee—because plain drip just won’t do after a proper stroll—and now I’m rolling up my sleeves to prep next week’s pastry bites. Life’s little rituals? I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

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The Case of the Missing Kilometers: A Summer Running Mystery

Written May 17, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Today began with ambition: a 10K run was on the agenda. Shoes laced, legs stretched, I was off. I breezed through the first 5K like a gazelle who’d had a double espresso… then promptly jogged home—not for coffee, but for a much less glamorous reason: nature called, and she wasn’t leaving a voicemail.

Mid-bathroom break, a revelation struck me (because naturally, my most productive thinking happens next to a toilet): I had only done half the distance I intended. Oops. Apparently, my brain thought it was a 5K day. Distracted? Possibly. Possessed by lazy Saturday energy? Likely.

But hey, silver lining: I usually run the same 5K loop twice for a full 10K. So, I just slapped on my shoes again and headed out for round two. Voilà! A split-level 10K.

I use the Adidas Running app to track my kilometers, pace, and whatever else it measures while silently judging my life choices. It’s a free app—yes, free—and surprisingly robust. A nephrologist (yes, kidney doctor turned running app guru) recommended it. Now both my wife and I are part of the Adidas app cult. There’s a premium version, but the free one already does everything short of making you breakfast.

Of course, the app doesn’t understand “bathroom detour logic.” It logged my run as two separate 5Ks. According to my phone, I didn’t complete a 10K—I just got wildly enthusiastic about doing the exact same 5K twice. Technically true. But also deeply unhelpful.

To be honest, I’ve felt mildly off-schedule lately. My weekends have been a flurry of activity—Indiana trips, birthday parties, unexpected chaos. My new summer routine has been more “choose your own adventure” than “disciplined athlete.” Today was, in fact, my first proper Saturday 10K since adopting the summer schedule. That explains the weird déjà vu and temporal confusion.

Why the switch-up? Simple: summers in Nashville are hot and humid. Not just “sweat-a-bit” humid—more like “is-the-air-soup?” humid. My wife, the smart one, runs at 5:30 a.m. to dodge the worst of it. Even then, she sometimes returns looking like she swam the route. If you’re thinking of running later in the day, don’t. Just don’t.

I’ve shifted to morning runs too—not just to beat the heat, but because it makes the whole day run smoother. Early run means early shower, early breakfast, and fewer “hangry while vacuuming” episodes. Trust me, those are not pretty.

Still, I’m baffled that I forgot I was doing a 10K today. Maybe it’s summer brain. Maybe I was subconsciously hoping to avoid it. Maybe my legs staged a tiny rebellion. Who knows? What I do know is that I’ve missed three Saturday 10Ks in a row thanks to life’s little curveballs, and today finally felt like a return to the groove—even if it came with a bathroom intermission.

Next week, I’ll be more focused. Or at least I’ll try not to confuse a 10K with a 5K. But if I forget again, maybe I’ll just start calling it “interval training with plumbing awareness.” Sounds fancy, doesn’t it?

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My Water Bottle is Now My Boss

Written March 8, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Yesterday, I embarked on a noble quest—one that involves discipline, perseverance, and a very bossy water bottle. My wife, in her infinite wisdom (and slight exasperation with my forgetfulness), got us matching bottles with a hydration schedule printed on the side. Every hour, there’s a new line taunting me, reminding me to drink up before I inevitably fail my kidneys again. The concept is brilliant: sip gradually instead of realizing at 3 p.m. that I haven’t had a drop of water all day and then chugging a ridiculous amount like I’m a lost traveler in the desert.

As someone with chronic kidney disease, hydration isn’t just a good idea—it’s non-negotiable. But here’s the problem: I forget. A lot. When I do remember, I go into panic mode and overcompensate, leading to an uncomfortable, sloshy-stomach situation that’s about as pleasant as wearing wet socks. This bottle might just save me from myself.

Of course, the real test will be summer. When the sun’s out, I’m outside more, blissfully unaware that my body is slowly turning into a raisin. Dehydration and I have a long history, and my lab results have suffered for it. My doctor gently (read: sternly) reminds me that my kidneys don’t appreciate my forgetfulness. So, this summer, I plan to stick to the hydration schedule like my health depends on it—because, well, it does.

This whole thing got me thinking: where was this hydration discipline when I was younger? I never had the instinct to reach for water like my wife does. Not that I was drowning in soda or anything, but I definitely consumed more sugary drinks than necessary. Meanwhile, my wife has always been ahead of the health game. She avoids sugar like it’s plotting against her (which, in fairness, it kind of is—diabetes runs in her family). No soda, no alcohol, and a highly disciplined approach to carbs. She loves pasta and rice, but you’d never know it from how sparingly she eats them. Instead, she fills her plate with sweet potatoes, carrots, and the occasional apple in her salad. Apparently, those count as her sweet treats.

For me, adopting a healthier lifestyle isn’t so much a choice as it is a medical necessity. But I have to admit, having a wife who’s already on board with the whole “let’s not wreck our bodies” philosophy makes things a lot easier. She’s seen firsthand what happens when health is neglected, so she naturally supports my restrictions without making it a big deal. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: marrying her was my best decision.

This hydration experiment means I’ll be consuming a solid two liters of water daily. Right now, I’m still adjusting to this new reality where my bottle dictates my drinking habits. But with summer just around the corner, I have a feeling this little routine will become second nature. My kidneys, my doctor, and my wife will all be pleased. And hey, maybe I’ll finally stop feeling like a dried-up sponge by midday. One can dream.

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From Level 5 to Thriving: My Kidney Recovery Journey

Written March 6, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Ah, the quarterly nephrologist appointment—an event marked on my calendar like a mini health report card. Today was the day.

Once upon a time (and not in a fairytale way), my kidneys decided to stage a dramatic exit, dropping to level 5. For those unfamiliar with the kidney hierarchy, level 5 means you’re not just playing the waiting game—you’re officially in line for a transplant. That’s when my recovery story began.

While waiting for a kidney that might never come, the doctors handed me a to-do list. First up: peritoneal dialysis. That meant getting a catheter—a thin, flexible tube—implanted in my abdomen. My wife, ever the rockstar, took on the role of my personal dialysis technician, administering treatments four times a day. Since dialysis waits for no one, she had to put her job on hold. Meanwhile, I was also dealing with double vision thanks to a stroke, just to keep life extra interesting.

Next on the list? A complete dietary overhaul. Protein—limited. Dairy—cautioned. Even seemingly harmless greens—monitored. And salt? Not a big loss, since we’ve never been big fans anyway. But the adjustments weren’t easy. Every meal felt like a science experiment in portion control and kidney-friendly nutrition.

Then, one day, my doctor hit me with a plot twist: “Well, your kidneys are somehow recovering.” Just like that, dialysis was out, the catheter came off, and my wife could return to work. We stuck to the diet, kept up with regular check-ups, and—miraculously—my kidneys climbed back up to level 3. No more waiting lists. Just a whole lot of monitoring.

That’s why I wear a special watch that tracks everything from my blood pressure to my heart rate. I also keep an eye on my weight because, with my kidneys, even small fluctuations can mean trouble. And speaking of health habits—my wife had the brilliant idea of introducing exercise. At first, even walking with a walker felt like an uphill battle. But we stuck with it. Over the years, the walker turned into casual strolls, which turned into steady jogging. Now, I run. A lot. And somewhere along the way, I traded in excess fat for a leaner, healthier body.

Of course, I still have to be extra cautious. A simple flu or cold can throw my whole system into chaos. But for the most part, I’m in control.

As for today’s appointment? Smooth sailing. My nephrologist gave me the green light—no major concerns, no urgent changes. I did bring up a small worry about my blood pressure occasionally dipping too low, but since my averages are stable, it’s a ‘wait and see’ situation.

The only hiccup? The waiting room. Nearly an hour before I got called in. But hey, patience is a virtue, right? Plus, I got my quarterly visit checked off without any surprises.

Next appointment? Another Wednesday—aka my running day. No problem, I’ll adjust my schedule accordingly.

For now, I’ll keep doing what I’ve been doing. Because somehow, against the odds, it’s working.

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The Grand Canyon Didn’t Break Me, So Neither Will My 10K Pace

Written March 1, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Yesterday, I was on top of the world—or at least, on top of my running game. My 5K was a total success, smashing my target pace and dipping under 9 minutes per kilometer for the first time. Naturally, my mind started racing faster than my legs: If I keep this up, I’ll be setting a whole new goal for the year!

And then came today.

While my pace wasn’t quite as speedy, I still clocked my fastest 10K yet—just a few seconds per kilometer shy of my yearly goal. Not bad, right? But it got me thinking: so many factors affect my running pace. Distance, my body’s condition on the day, the weather—whether I’m battling a light breeze or running headfirst into a windstorm. Today, it was all about the distance.

There’s a world of difference between a 5K and a 10K. Some runners barely blink at the distinction; they lace up and conquer either without breaking stride. My wife told me about her old running buddies in Canada who were exactly like that. She, however, worked tirelessly to get there—only to realize that natural aptitude plays a role too.

But she also says consistency can take you far. Maybe not to the Olympics, but certainly further and faster than you’d expect. When she first mentioned it, I brushed it off. I wasn’t that serious about running. But over the years, as I watched my progress unfold, I started to appreciate the power of steady effort.

A prime example? The Grand Canyon.

A while back, we visited, and my wife—ever the hiking enthusiast—decided we’d walk everywhere. Skip the bus? Sure. Wander the steep, winding trails? Why not? By the time we finished, we had covered well over 10 miles, including a particularly hilly section of the canyon. And yet, I felt strong. Years ago, I would have needed to sit and rest every few minutes just to try to walk again. That day, though? No problem. My endurance had improved more than I’d ever realized.

So, yeah—consistency works.

That’s why I keep running. That’s why today’s run, even if not as fast as I’d hoped, was still an essential step forward. If I put in the effort this week, next week will be even better. And who knows? By the end of the year, I might just be chasing the 8-minute-per-kilometer mark.

One step, one run, one breakthrough at a time.

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A Comedy of Errors: My Morning Adventure in Forgetfulness

Written February 25, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

This morning was a disaster of my own making—an entirely avoidable one, at that. It all started with a simple yet catastrophic decision: going back to sleep.

My wife had to leave early for work, so I woke up with her, saw her off, and then—because I am, at times, my own worst enemy—I crawled back into bed. When my alarm rang at its usual time, I reasoned that there was no immediate need to rise and shine. Why rush? The world could wait. I could bask in the warmth of my blankets for just a little while longer.

Ah, but then—the horror! Like a bolt of lightning, it struck me. I had an appointment at the phlebotomy lab. This morning. In a moment, I went from blissful comfort to full-blown panic mode.

Suddenly, I was a man on a mission. Breakfast was a frantic affair—more a feeding frenzy than a meal. I barely finished swallowing before summoning an Uber to whisk me across town. Somehow, by sheer force of will (and the generosity of traffic lights), I arrived roughly on time. My reward? A needle in my arm and the satisfaction of knowing I had narrowly avoided disaster.

The Saga of the Quarterly Lab Visit

This whole lab ordeal isn’t a weekly thing, thank goodness. It happens once every three months—a fun little prelude to my nephrologist appointments. The lab used to be conveniently located within walking distance, but those were the good old days. Now, thanks to the ever-evolving world of healthcare logistics, both my doctor’s office and the lab have migrated to opposite ends of the city. Since my wife was at work, Uber was my chariot of choice.

A Kidney’s Hard-Won Victory

Once upon a time, my kidneys were in such dire shape that a transplant was on the horizon—stage five of kidney disease, the final boss level. But through some miracle of discipline (and possibly sheer stubbornness), I clawed my way back to stage three. Even my doctors were impressed. Kidneys don’t just bounce back like that. It’s been an uphill battle—strict diet, exercise, a truckload of medication—but I intend to keep it that way. If my kidneys have fought this hard, the least I can do is not sabotage them.

The Curious Case of the Urgency-Driven Wife

Speaking of discipline, my wife operates on a completely different level. She thrives on urgency. More time? Not helpful. More deadlines? That’s where she shines. She has goals stacked like dominos—lifelong ones, yearly ones, monthly ones, and even daily ones. Meanwhile, I apparently struggle with remembering a single appointment that’s been on my calendar for months.

A Morning Lost in Translation

In my defense, I used to have a built-in scheduling assistant—my wife. For years, she managed my appointments with an efficiency that I now recognize I took for granted. But since 2017, I’ve been the proud (if slightly forgetful) owner of my own calendar. And today, that system failed spectacularly. I’m fairly certain I ignored every phone alarm. Maybe I was half-asleep. Maybe I was just being me.

The Aftermath of Chaos

Once I got back home—blood drawn, dignity slightly bruised—I tried to restore order to my day. I worked out, did my language practice, and checked off my morning to-do list. By some miracle, I still had time before dinner prep to catch my breath and, of course, write about my self-inflicted chaos. What is the moral of the story? Maybe don’t ignore your alarms. Or better yet, don’t trust a half-asleep brain to make scheduling decisions. It does not have your best interests at heart.

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 Snow Day Struggles: Running Plans Thwarted, but Perspective Gained

Written February 19, 2025

reviewed 3/2

Hello Dear Readers,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Written February 9, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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A Walk to the Doctor’s Office (and a Well-Earned Cupcake)

Written February 4, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

It’s that time of year again—my annual checkup with my general practitioner. Not my nephrologist this time, just the standard “let’s make sure nothing unexpected is brewing” kind of visit. Although, if I’m being honest, “annual” checkups feel almost quaint in my world. Thanks to my kidneys, I’m on a much more frequent schedule.

When we bought this house, my wife and I made sure we had all the essentials within walking distance—our dentist, doctor, and a few favorite spots for coffee. It makes life easier, and today, it means my appointment is just a short stroll away. The weather isn’t as pleasant as yesterday, but it’s decent enough. Besides, I won’t be outside long, so why complain?

There’s something oddly comforting about these little hubs of life—places where errands mix seamlessly with leisure. My doctor’s office is nestled in a small mall, surrounded by restaurants, coffee shops, and even a cupcake store. My wife isn’t big on cupcakes, but I certainly am. And today, I just might reward myself with one.

Before my brain stroke, I never imagined I’d be visiting doctors so regularly. Back then, checkups felt optional—something you did when absolutely necessary, not something you scheduled like clockwork. Now? Every few months, I’m back in an exam room, getting my blood pressure, heart rate, and kidney function scrutinized. It’s not my favorite pastime, but I’ve learned to accept it. There’s no use questioning how important these visits are. They keep me informed, and more importantly, they keep me alive.

A lot of it comes down to choices—small, daily decisions that keep my health in balance. My wife and I eat in a way that supports my kidneys: more fresh produce, fewer processed foods, and carefully measured protein. I can’t just mindlessly grab a steak or overindulge in anything salty. Even something as minor as a cold or a slight miscalculation in my water intake can send my numbers in the wrong direction. It’s a delicate system, and I have to respect it.

That’s why I no longer mind these doctor’s visits like I used to. They aren’t just about checking boxes; they’re about staying ahead of problems before they spiral. I listen to my doctors, take their advice seriously, and adjust accordingly. It’s a partnership, not a battle.

Still, a little reward never hurts. After my checkup, I plan to take a detour to the cupcake shop nearby—nothing excessive, just a small indulgence to mark another successful visit. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that balance is everything. Taking care of my health is non-negotiable, but finding joy in the little things? That’s just as important.

So, here’s to another routine checkup, another step in the right direction, and maybe—just maybe—a well-earned cupcake at the end of it all.