Tag: Motivation

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Ending the Year Shaking, Sweating, and Still Standing

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

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

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

It took three attempts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, I’m satisfied.

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

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

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

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

  • a little stubborn
  • a little reflective
  • and still moving forward
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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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When Nashville Freezes and Productivity Moves Indoors

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Tragically, today is 30 degrees colder than yesterday, which was already rude. That puts us squarely in literally freezing territory. My wife reported that it was 11°F when she went out for her morning workout—casually, as if that’s a normal thing to say.

She wore her legendary winter ski jacket from Canada. It’s over 30 years old and still looks brand new. At this point, I’m convinced it’s immortal.

Nashville, for context, is in the southern United States. We are not in Minnesota or in Texas.. We live in the awkward middle zone where winters usually aren’t this aggressive and summers don’t actively try to kill you. I honestly don’t remember it being this cold before.

My wife, however, treats temperature like background noise. Hot, cold—it’s all just “weather.” Her routine does not bend. She’s deeply influenced by Stoicism and admires Marcus Aurelius. While she doesn’t take Meditations as literal doctrine, she lives the spirit of it remarkably well. Marcus Aurelius: philosopher king, cold-weather champion, probably would have approved of that jacket.

Fortunately, I had no outside activities planned today. Instead, I redirected my energy toward indoor productivity—specifically, tidying up.

I still had boxes and random packaging debris left over from assembling the stretching machine, and I needed to find a sensible permanent spot for it in my room. Equipment without a home is just clutter waiting to become emotional.

Meanwhile, my wife has been on a house-cleaning streak. She also has two broken former desk chairs in her room that she’s asked me to dismantle and dispose of. She briefly entertained the idea of fixing and reselling them after seeing someone do that online—but the person who could help is booked for months. The chairs, meanwhile, are occupying valuable mental space.

So the verdict was clear: let them go.

My wife strongly dislikes having too many things in the house. She says clutter makes it harder to focus—and worse, it encourages buying even more things. This is, unfortunately, correct.

So today’s plan is simple and achievable:
  • Disassemble and remove one broken chair today
  • Deal with the second one next weekend

Progress without burnout. Stoic, even.

When the weather is this cold, staying inside isn’t laziness—it’s strategy. And if that strategy results in fewer boxes, fewer broken chairs, and a calmer space, then honestly, winter can stay mad outside.

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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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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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Early Wake-Ups, Asian Groceries, and a Very Organized Saturday

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today’s plan was simple: visit the Asian grocery store and then pick up flea medication for our kitten on the way home. Both places open at 8:00 a.m., which left me with that uniquely uncomfortable block of time between my normal wake-up time and when departure is actually allowed. It is because I have a long list of a Saturday morning routine.

I usually wake around 7 a.m. I need more sleep than my wife—about 7.5 to 8 hours—thanks to a brain injury that politely requires extra rest. One doctor told me I’d need it. An occupational therapist told me to keep a consistent schedule. So now I live in a delicate alliance with both science and my alarm clock.

My wife, on the other hand, operates like a Swiss watch. Saturdays do not alter her internal firmware. She wakes up roughly two hours earlier than I do, workday or not. She says it’s because her brain works best when her schedule is regulated. I believe her. I also fear her efficiency.

This left me with too much time to do nothing… but not quite enough time to comfortably start my usual full Saturday morning routine.

Fortunately, my wife, our kitten, and my bladder formed a secret alliance and woke me up an hour early. I briefly considered going back to sleep. Then I remembered that future-me would be grateful if present-me used the bonus hour wisely. So I stayed up.

Our kitten, as always, was thrilled. She waits patiently on the bed every morning until I open my eyes—sometimes even dragging her beloved toy mouse with her. I’ve been hiding that toy before bedtime because otherwise she launches nighttime solo parkour sessions and loses it somewhere in the house. This morning, she didn’t need the toy. She already had me. Her happiness upon my awakening was… overwhelming.

I fed the kitten, poured my cereal, completed my texting and language-app practice, and even finished my morning exercises. And just like that, I had less than thirty minutes before departure—perfect timing to work on this post.

It turns out doing part of my routine before the grocery run is surprisingly satisfying. That’s one less task waiting for me when I return home.

So thanks to Artemis, my wife, and my kidneys, my day already feels strangely coordinated.

Once we return, I’ll prep for my weekly 10K run, cook supper, and then head out again for our regular grocery trip. I sincerely hope my wife’s perfectly structured day forgives the extra logistics.

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When Snow Is on the Schedule but Motivation Is on Hold

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Last night, I made the mistake of checking the weather forecast. There it was in bold, unforgiving clarity: snow scheduled for today. I don’t mind running in the cold, but snow running? That’s where my enthusiasm politely exits the building.

This morning, the very first thing I did was rush to the window like a weather detective. No snow yet. Victory—for the moment. The temperature had dropped, though, and it was barely going to crawl past 40°F all day.

We’ve had a suspiciously mild autumn this year. Just recently, we enjoyed a 70-degree day. I think that spoiled me. Cold now feels rude. Still, I reminded myself: at least it’s not snowing. Our neighborhood is hilly, and I vividly remember my wife and I nearly slipping just walking up the hill in front of our house on a previous snow day. Ice plus gravity is not a friendly combination.

Had it been snowing, the day’s running plans would have been instantly canceled—no debate. But since the ground was still clear, I was forced to consider actually going out into the cold. I wasn’t thrilled, but I figured that after breakfast, it might be slightly more tolerable.

Meanwhile, my wife casually goes out for exercise at 5:00 a.m., when the temperature is even lower. I still don’t understand what kind of heroic software runs her internal system.

I, on the other hand, require mental push-ups just to step outside in cold weather.

After feeding both my kitten and myself, I consulted my weather app for the optimal escape window—only to be informed that snow was still very much expected. The app cheerfully announced it would start within the hour. In other words, science had just handed me a perfectly legitimate excuse to make my run short.

And I accepted it without protest.

The exercise journey, I’m learning, is full of negotiations—with weather, with the body, and especially with the mind. A decade ago, my resistance to running was far worse. Now the resistance is mostly emotional… but I still show up more often than not.

Even a little bit of exercise counts. Even showing up mentally counts. And looking ahead at the week, both Wednesday and Friday promise better running weather—so I’m choosing not to feel too guilty today.

Sometimes progress means running.
Sometimes it means strategically retreating from snow.

Both are survival skills.

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When Muscles Protest but Motivation Wins the Argument

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today, I fully expected to fail my target pace before I even tied my running shoes. My legs were still filing formal complaints from yesterday’s effort—the direct result of pushing hard for that shiny new personal best the other day. Consecutive personal bests are a bold request of the universe, and I had already braced myself for disappointment. Pre-disappointment, if you will.

And yet… the goal refused to leave my head.

The first pace announcement came in, and to my surprise, I was slightly ahead of target after the first quarter kilometer. That tiny lead was just enough encouragement to make a reckless decision: push harder. Hope is powerful—and occasionally unwise.

For a while, it worked.

Then reality caught up. By the end of the second kilometer, that early lead had completely evaporated. My legs stiffened like they had clocked out early. I tried to push again, but my body had officially entered “no further negotiations” mode. No matter how much I argued with my pace, it refused to come back down.

In the end, I missed my target—but only by about ten seconds. I also logged my eighth-fastest run ever, which is not exactly a tragedy. I was still more than a minute faster than Monday’s run, so overall, progress was very much alive… just not wearing a gold medal today.

Now the focus shifts to recovery. My next run is a 10K, not a 5K, and that’s a different kind of negotiation altogether. Pace management over 10 kilometers is much trickier—start too fast, and the second half will collect its revenge with interest. I’ve been running for nearly a decade, and yet I still struggle with pacing like it’s a lifelong riddle.

My body condition and temperature affect my running more than I’d like to admit. Recovery is especially tricky with my kidney condition. Even after a few days of rest, it’s not unusual for my body to feel like it hasn’t fully recharged. The last two sessions were particularly hard pushes, so caution is now my training partner. I may not be improving at the speed I imagine in my head—but I am moving forward. And more importantly, I still have something to run toward. These days, the hope matters more than the stopwatch. Performance fades. Motivation, when treated kindly, sticks around.

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Warm Weather, Fast Legs, and a New Personal Best

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

As forecast, today’s weather finally decided to be kind. After nearly a week of cold and rainy misery, I was able to run in shorts again—which, this time of year, feels like winning the fitness lottery. I waited out a brief cool morning delay, and then I was off. Pure luxury.

There are fewer than two months left in the year now. I’ve already hit my original year-end running goals, so naturally, I moved the finish line. Running, after all, is highly negotiable with the weather. Temperature rules everything: my pace, my motivation, and occasionally my mood. The last few cold days were rough, and hitting my target pace felt like negotiating with gravity.

But when I checked today’s forecast, I knew. Today is the day.

And my body agreed.

From the first kilometer, everything felt smoother—lighter, faster, less like I was dragging winter behind me. My running app announced my pace each kilometer like a tiny motivational coach. Each update sounded better than the last. By the end, my target pace had dropped to just under 9 minutes per kilometer. Not only did I beat my target—I crushed it. I even set a new personal best, running more than a full minute faster than my run just two days ago.

Weather is powerful. But on my cooldown walk home, curiosity kicked in. Why was today so much better?

Then it hit me—I was also a pound lighter than I was on Monday. Add in less water weight, and suddenly I was carrying about two pounds less than my last run. And while two pounds doesn’t sound dramatic, try hauling it around for five kilometers and see how heroic you feel.

Between the warmer temperatures, time-change recovery, and lighter load, everything lined up perfectly.

My last running goal for the year is simple but stubborn: finish a 10K at under 9 minutes per kilometer. I only attempt a 10K once a week, so the weather still holds all the bargaining power. A cold or rainy day can turn that goal into a negotiation with reality.

Still, I haven’t given up. There are nearly two months left in the year—and at least a few more warm days hiding in the forecast. Somewhere out there, my next breakthrough is waiting, probably wearing shorts.

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