Tag: Nashville Weather

Posted on

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.

Posted on

Goodbye Heat Wave: A Cool Morning in Nashville and the Surprising Perks of Weather Whiplash

Written August 1, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

This morning brought an unexpected guest: the end of our latest heat wave. Not the “it’s a bit warm” kind, but the sort of swelter that makes you feel like a rotisserie chicken—no matter how much water you drink. Even ceiling fans just serve hot air on a platter. Eventually, we caved and turned on the air conditioning, though we kept ours set to a toasty 86°F. It still felt like sweet relief.

Then, almost overnight, the temperature took a nosedive—nearly 20 degrees cooler than it’s been in weeks. By April standards, today’s mid-to-high 70s would have felt warm and cheery. But after roasting for days, we both found ourselves… cold. This morning, I actually burrowed under my beloved weighted blanket for the first time in weeks. I even woke up chilly—something I’d forgotten was possible in August.

By the time I shuffled into the kitchen, my wife had already finished her morning run and moved on to the rest of her routine. She greeted me with a warning: “It’s chilly out there.” She knows my body takes longer to adjust to sudden shifts in weather—whereas hers seems to have a built-in thermostat that switches seamlessly between sauna and sweater mode.

Oddly enough, our bodies handle the Nashville heat better than artificially chilled air. We only switch on the AC when temperatures become truly unbearable, so our summer adaptation is strong. If you’re used to living in an artificially cooled 72°F bubble, 80°F still feels stifling. But for us, today’s drop in temperature was downright comfortable.

The forecast promises friendlier weather for at least the next two weeks. Between bouts of heat and heavy rain, our yard has turned into a stubbornly green (and occasionally weedy) project zone. My wife, ever the vigilant groundskeeper, is determined to put in some weekend yard work. The weeds may be relentless, but thanks to her efforts, our yard never tips into chaos.

The strange part? The intense heat has confused our trees. Some of them, clearly convinced autumn has arrived, have started dropping leaves. Now the front yard looks like a confused mix of July and October. My wife says she’ll be vacuuming them up this weekend—because in our household, even the seasons are not excused from tidiness.

And so, another month of summer is behind us. Just one or two more to go. I thought today’s cooler air might give me an edge in my morning run, but while I did beat last week’s average pace, my target speed remained elusive. Apparently, it takes time to turn heat-seasoned endurance into cool-weather speed. Patience, I suppose—after all, I’ve had enough heat training to prepare me for the surface of the sun.

Posted on

Stormy Skies, Jedi Robes, and a Surprisingly Cool 80 Degrees:

Written July 19, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

After days of heat so intense it felt like we were living inside a convection oven, the skies finally cracked open—dramatically, as if someone upstairs decided enough was enough. About an hour before bedtime, the long-threatened storm rolled in with theatrical flair, dumping buckets of rain and dropping the temperature like a mic.

My wife had been watching the brooding sky all evening, eyeing those dark gray clouds like they owed her money. And when the rain came, it brought with it that earthy, nostalgic smell—part petrichor, part soggy forest floor. The little wooded patch behind our house soaked it all in, sending up the scent of wet leaves and wood.

The temperature drop was swift and sweet. By sunset, it had dipped to a breezy 80°F. That may not sound like sweater weather, but after multiple days of 90+ degree punishment, it felt practically alpine. What’s wild is how 80°F now feels cool to me—a reminder of how my body has changed since my stroke and kidney issues. I used to roast like a lizard under a heat lamp. Now I’m grateful to feel any kind of comfort at all.

Meanwhile, my wife was feeling chilly, which brought back a funny memory: last Independence Day at my mother’s place. She had the thermostat at 78°F, and we were both huddling like penguins in a wind tunnel. I ended up donning my emergency Jedi robe—the one my sister gifted me for my birthday, complete with big sleeves and dramatic flair. It’s followed me across states and seasons, now upgraded to a thicker version for maximum cozy defense.

Before my stroke, I was a walking contradiction—loved the cold but couldn’t regulate it well. I’d fling open windows in the dead of Canadian winter, much to my wife’s horror. She, ever the voice of reason, kept our homes in balance—never too warm, never too cold. Her temperature philosophy? Let nature do its thing, and open the windows at night. It’s worked well in Nashville’s climate, where summer nights still offer a break from the scorch.

So, yes, the weather was finally nicer. I still didn’t hit my personal best pace on my run, but I got it done. According to my app, it was my 11th fastest 10k. Not too shabby for a guy in a heatwave who once wore a Jedi robe to survive a 78°F living room.

Posted on

How to Make A Kidney-Friendly Summer Reset

Written July 16, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Another scorcher in Nashville. Since the end of last summer, I’ve been trying to outsmart the heat by waking up earlier and starting my runs before the sun fully clocks in. My wife’s been doing this from the get-go—she actually likes it. For her, that early run is like nature’s espresso shot. She has low blood pressure, so getting her heart pumping first thing in the morning helps set the rhythm for her day.

I, on the other hand, started my run at 7 a.m., thinking I was ahead of the heat. Nope. It was already warming up, and the rising temperature slowed me down halfway through my 5K. My wife had taken yesterday off to help me with extra chores, so today she was back at the office, while I was sweating it out solo.

Last June, I had a minor gout flare-up, which led to a check-up with my nephrologist. That’s when I got the disappointing news: my kidney function had slipped into stage 4. I’d held steady at stage 3 for so long that the sudden drop felt like a punch in the gut. But these things usually have a culprit, so my doctor and I retraced my steps.

Everything else checked out fine—heart rate, blood pressure, diet—all good. But then I admitted something: I’d been struggling to maintain my weight and had started leaning a little too hard on sugary comforts. Ice cream, specifically. Guilty.

Turns out, that was likely the culprit. So I made a switch—out with the ice cream, in with homemade yogurt and cantaloupe. The result? My weight stayed stable, and my kidneys got a break. With my doctor’s approval, I also upped my protein intake slightly, which has helped too.

Exercise remains a must. My doctor emphasized it again, especially after my rehab. But hydration is key—especially in a Nashville summer, where the humidity hugs you like a damp wool blanket. Changing my run time has made a world of difference. At 7 a.m., it’s still a bearable 73–74°F (23–24°C), though it climbs quickly once the sun kicks into high gear.

I’m counting the days until fall. Cooler mornings mean faster runs and less sweating just from tying my shoes. Honestly, summer running feels like training with a weighted vest—once autumn hits, I expect to feel lighter, quicker, and a whole lot happier out there.

Posted on

The Great 10K Redemption Run (a.k.a. Oops, I Forgot—Again)

Written July 9, 2025

Reviewed 7/26

Hello Dear Readers,

Ah, Saturday. The day I had grand 10K ambitions… that ended halfway through. I was determined to make up for it on Monday. But here’s the plot twist: I completely forgot. I mean, the kind of forgetfulness where you only remember after you’re cooling down, patting yourself on the back like you nailed it. Spoiler: I did not nail it.

So, Wednesday became the new redemption day. This time, no forgetting, no excuses. I tied my shoes like a warrior preparing for battle and hit the pavement early—like, pre-sunrise early—because in Nashville, once that sun is up, you’re basically jogging through a sauna.

Last year, I used to run around lunchtime. Which sounds bold until you realize I was just marinating in humidity with each step. But I’ve since evolved. These days, I run before the cicadas even start singing, and I must say—it’s a game-changer. Cooler temps, fewer bugs, and I get to feel smugly accomplished before most people even finish their first cup of coffee.

Now, Nashville weather has been acting like a moody teenager this year—storms, rain, sudden downpours that cancel both my runs and my yard work. My schedule’s been bouncing around like a squirrel on caffeine.

Still, there’s something magical about running in bearable weather. I used to crawl through summer runs, but now I glide (okay, maybe “glide” is generous—let’s go with “lumber efficiently”). It also helps that I finish my workout early enough to make the rest of my day feel productive instead of… sweaty and sluggish. My wife’s been team Morning Everything for years—turns out she was right. Again.

Did I hit my target pace today? Nope. But let’s be honest, trying to increase speed and distance at the same time is like trying to cook a five-course meal while juggling flaming swords. A noble idea, but not exactly sustainable.

I’ve also been doing a ton of yard work lately, so my legs are staging a silent protest. I’m learning to listen to my body—well, mostly. Sometimes I still push it to the edge of “nap-or-collapse” territory. But I remind myself: even if my pace isn’t perfect, I’m still out there. Still moving. Still logging the miles.

Running is a fickle friend—affected by the weather, your sleep, your breakfast, and even your mood. One off-day doesn’t mean failure. When I zoom out and look at the big picture, I am getting better. And that’s what really matters.So here’s to Wednesday’s redemption run: a full 10K in the books, a slight smile on my face, and hopeful legs for Friday. Who knows? Maybe next time I’ll remember my plan before the run. Stranger things have happened.

Posted on

Running on Cool Air and Accidental Kilometers

Written June 9, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Yesterday was a scorcher—the kind of heat that makes you question your life choices, your wardrobe, and maybe your decision to live on Earth. We sweated through it with as much dignity as possible (read: none), but thankfully the heat retreated overnight. This morning, my wife emerged from her walk announcing it was “chilly.” I was still burrowed under blankets like a hibernating bear, and I had to agree—comfortably so.

We’ve developed a quirky philosophy around indoor climate control. Our goal? Keep the indoor temperature close enough to the outdoor one that our bodies don’t go into seasonal whiplash. Yes, we have central AC. Yes, it technically still works. But it’s old enough to remember dial-up internet, so we try not to lean on it unless the weather turns dramatic—which, living in Nashville, it frequently does.

And here’s the twist: after my brain stroke, my internal thermostat retired early. I can no longer regulate body temperature like a normal human radiator. Fortunately, we’ve always preferred a “seasonally appropriate” indoor vibe. No saunas in winter or ice caves in July. But when Nashville cranks the weather dial to “chaos,” even our stoic system has to bend. That’s when the AC gets its rare moment of glory.

Now, about today’s run—by the time I laced up and hit the pavement, it wasn’t chilly anymore, but it was that perfect middle ground: warm enough to get the blood flowing, cool enough to pretend I was in a Nike ad. I felt good. Too good, maybe. So good, in fact, I forgot to check my distance and accidentally ran an extra kilometer.

The wild part? I still hit my target pace. I know. Who is this person?

Back when I first started running, one kilometer felt like trekking across the Sahara. In 2017, I managed just over a mile, and it nearly took my soul with it. Then came the real game changer: proper shoes. My wife gifted me a glorious pair of Nikes—shoes that whispered, “You got this,” with every step.

Consistency, not magic, built my endurance. Last year, I got curious about pace. Sometimes I plateau, sure. There are weeks where progress is flatter than a pancake in Kansas. But in the long haul, I’ve improved.

And today? I ran farther than I planned, faster than I expected, and finished with enough breath left to write this blog.

Not bad for a guy with a malfunctioning thermostat.

Posted on

Chilly Mornings, Running Shoes, and a Piano Sonata

Written May 23, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

The temperature in Nashville has taken a nosedive—and no, it didn’t pack a parachute. After last year’s fiery summer that had us questioning our life choices (and our air conditioning bills), this sudden chill feels like Mother Nature hit the rewind button. Yes, it’s still May, but she seems to be flirting with November.

This morning was especially nippy. When I peeked out the window and saw my breath waving back at me, I knew it was time to suit up: long running pants, my trusty jacket, and—wait for it—gloves. In May. Gloves. It’s like my wardrobe thinks I’m training for a winter marathon in the Alps.

Now, you might think it’s odd to go full snowman mode when summer’s supposed to be knocking. But here’s the thing: my internal thermostat took early retirement after my brain stroke. Temperature control? Not my strong suit. Sudden swings in weather throw my body into a melodramatic performance that would win awards in the “What Is Happening?” category.

Air conditioning? Pure nemesis. Walking into an airport or my sister’s house in summer is like being tossed into a meat locker. I’ve learned to show up in long sleeves—even when it’s 90 degrees outside—because otherwise I’ll be shivering like a chihuahua in a thunderstorm. The cold can be layered against. The heat? That’s a whole different beast. I guzzle water like a desert camel on payday, hoping to keep my body cool and my kidneys happy. Two birds, one hydration strategy.

Once I get going, though—especially on my morning runs—my body usually catches on. “Ah, right, we’re moving now,” it says, and cranks up the internal furnace. I ran early today, when most sane people were still snuggled under blankets. Despite my janky autonomic nervous system, running helps me feel a bit more human. Hot and cold sensations still get confused in my body, like a thermostat designed by committee, but I’ve learned to manage.

At home, we keep things pretty natural—by which I mean we try not to live in a wind tunnel or a sauna. We only use the heater or AC when the weather gets truly unruly. My wife likes to keep our indoor climate close to what’s going on outside, which I suspect is part philosophy and part compassion. She knows if we blast the AC, I’ll feel like I’ve been slapped by a snowball every time I step outside and come back to the house.

Our house helps with this too. It’s cleverly built into a hill—like a Hobbit home, but with better Wi-Fi. From the front, it looks like a charming one-story cottage, but the backside reveals a full two-story surprise. One side of the lower floor is completely underground, which keeps the house naturally cool in the summer and cozy in winter. The front storage room has no windows, making it a perfect hideaway if a hurricane decides to visit. On the flip side—literally—the back has big windows and faces a forest with a stream trickling behind it. You can’t see the stream from the house, but just knowing it’s there is oddly comforting, like a secret whisper from nature.

After my run and a gloriously hot shower (ah yes, the sweet revenge on the morning chill), I sit down to play the piano. This is my favorite time of day—body warm, mind clear, fingers alive. There’s something beautifully simple about it.

As for tomorrow, the plan is to tackle a 10k after our trip to the hardware store. Normally, I’d run first, but with another crisp morning ahead, I figure I’ll wait until later. Timing is everything—even in running shoes.

Posted on

When Spring Forgets It’s Spring (and My Lawn Forgets Its Manners)

Written 04/08/2025

Hello, Dear Readers,

Ah, Nashville. The only place where you can sip iced tea on the porch one day and contemplate lighting the fireplace the next. This week has been a bit of a rollercoaster—weather-wise, that is. One moment we were basking in spring-like sunshine, and the next, the temperature nosedived, flirting with frostbite. On the bright side, no tornado warnings or thunderous chaos today—just a brisk chill and a confused lawn behaving like it’s late May.

Thanks to a cocktail of warm days and buckets of rain, our grass—and its less welcome cousin, the weeds—had a growth spurt. They clearly got the wrong seasonal memo. I swear, our yard is acting like it’s auditioning for The Secret Garden reboot.

Meanwhile, the birds have declared our backyard the brunch spot of the season. Robins, sparrows, maybe a few freeloading grackles—all pecking around like they’re foraging for truffles. They might be after the worms surfacing from the soggy ground or the random berries our backyard insists on producing. Whatever it is, the backyards become a feathered frenzy.

As for me, I had one noble mission today: taming the jungle. Lawn-mowing season has officially begun.

Normally, I wait until the day warms up a bit before stepping outside—especially on mornings that feel more like winter’s encore than spring’s overture. But today, I got an early start. The backlog from last week’s storms and rain had left our lawn looking more like a meadow, and I needed to catch up.

And catch up I did—until both of our large mower batteries tapped out. I was surprised by how much ground I covered and equally surprised by how much still remained. I had grand ambitions, but alas, when the batteries say they’re done, it’s nature’s way of saying, “Time for a break.”

Not too long ago, mowing this much would have wiped me out for the day. Back then, our mower was… let’s call it “modest.” My wife and I would tag-team the yard whenever time (and energy) allowed. Then came the upgrade: five years ago, we invested in a proper mower—a real game-changer. Thanks to that and my regular workouts, I now have the stamina to mow for hours without turning into a puddle of regret.

Fun fact: my wife used to mow nearly an acre of land back in Canada. With a push mower. Not electric. Not gas-powered. Just pure muscle. Every week. For four hours. Apparently, Canadian grass is better behaved and less aggressive than ours—but still, that’s some serious yard cred. She says mowing was great exercise, and oddly enough, she even enjoyed it. (Remind me to ask her again in July.)

Today, I managed to tackle about half the yard. Not bad, considering the battery drama and the early chill. If the weather behaves, I’m hoping to wrap things up on Thursday. Maybe I’ll sneak in a few strips tomorrow after my run, just to lighten the load.

Until then, the lawn can enjoy its semi-groomed half-makeover. It’s a work in progress—just like spring in Tennessee.

Posted on

Certified Mail, Windy Days, and Weeds in Disguise

Written April 2, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Today’s schedule decided to throw on a costume and pretend it was someone else entirely. The usual rhythm was shuffled because my wife had an unexpected mission: delivering an important document to a P.O. Box—for her boss, no less. Apparently, some government agencies still insist on this paper-and-ink ritual, as if the internet is just a passing fad.

To make matters more official (and more stressful), it had to be sent by certified mail. Proof of mailing, proof of existence, proof that we’re still living in 1997—take your pick. She could have asked her office staff to handle it, but she prefers the old-fashioned way: doing it herself. She says it’s paranoia; I say it’s perfectionism with a stamp.

So off she went early in the morning while I stayed behind, holding down the fort (and the coffee). She asked me to join her at the post office later, which I knew was code for: “Let’s make a mini date out of bureaucracy.”

Meanwhile, I tried to stick to my usual routine—well, minus the fact I got up half an hour earlier than planned. I filled the extra time pulling weeds. Yes, weeds. It’s spring, which means those green freeloaders are popping up like they own the place. Some of them were already suiting up in their cotton-seed armor. I caught them just in time before they turned into airborne invaders.

The weather? A whole drama in itself. Just a few days ago, we had a bone-chilling cold and a tornado siren serenade. Today? Practically beach weather—minus the beach. It was warm enough to tempt me into mowing the lawn, but after my morning run, I had all the energy of a sunbaked lizard. Mowing was postponed due to “low battery.”

My wife eventually returned—slightly later than expected. Something must have held her up at the office. As soon as she got back, it was time for our grand postal adventure. She likes dragging me along for these errands, claiming it’s good to “go for a drive.” Translation: “I need someone to talk to while she is driving.”

It was a nice day to be out… if you ignored the wind trying to steal your hat and slap your face with your own hair. My wife mentioned that her morning run was a battle against the breeze. And apparently, more storms are on the horizon. Classic Nashville spring: three days of sunshine, followed by tornado warnings, and then a cold snap that makes you question reality.

She’s been meaning to tackle the front yard, but weekends haven’t been kind. Every Saturday and Sunday seem to come with a side of thunderstorms, served cold and soggy. She’s also planning to repaint the washroom while it’s not scorching hot. She’s hoping to sneak that in between rain clouds, if possible.

As for me? Tomorrow’s forecast still shows mercy. I’m aiming to mow the lawn before the next act in this weather soap opera begins. Fingers crossed that the mower cooperates—and that the weeds don’t regroup overnight.

Posted on

Running, Allergies, and the Scream of the Trees

Written February 26, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

After what felt like an eternal deep freeze in Nashville, the sun has finally decided to warm us up. Naturally, this means one thing: pollen. And right on cue, my wife has been sneezing non-stop since morning. It’s like a seasonal ritual—warmer weather rolls in, and she starts performing an allergy-induced symphony of sneezes.

Between sniffles, she told me a rather unsettling story from her immunology class. Apparently, the best way to cure allergies is… worms. Yes, actual worms in your stomach. The idea is that our hyper-sanitized modern lives have made our immune systems overly sensitive, so introducing a little parasite helps balance things out. While it’s a fascinating scientific tidbit, she’s understandably not rushing to swap antihistamines for a side of tapeworms. Some problems are better left unsolved.

Still, she prefers to tackle allergies with extra sleep rather than loading up on medication. Fair enough. Meanwhile, I’m celebrating this brief weather perfection by ditching my winter layers and running in shorts. Days like this—neither too hot nor too cold—are rare gems in Nashville. Perfect running weather. If my legs cooperate, I might even push my pace below my long-standing goal of nine minutes per kilometer. No promises, but a man can dream.

Unlike my wife, my sensitivity isn’t to pollen—it’s to temperature. Nashville has a talent for bouncing between extremes, making truly comfortable days feel like accidental miracles. Back when we lived in Portland and Vancouver, those mild, in-between days seemed more frequent. But while I may grumble about the temperature swings, my wife is perfectly content here. She’s lived all over—Japan, several places in Canada, different spots in the U.S.—and yet, Nashville is her favorite. Even with the pollen.

Funny enough, her allergies only started after we moved to British Columbia. Then, in Portland, it was even worse—like a never-ending pollen parade. I used to think the Pacific Northwest was peak pollen country, thanks to all those trees. Yet somehow, even here, where we don’t see those same towering forests, the pollen finds us. For me, it’s a year-round struggle. For her, it’s spring and fall.

Speaking of pollen, she mentioned that Japan is expecting an especially rough season this year. According to her, pollen is basically trees screaming for help. When forests are overpopulated with aging trees, they try to produce more young ones, blasting the air with pollen in the process. In a balanced ecosystem, natural tree cycles would take care of this, but human intervention has thrown things off. Too many fast-growing trees like pines were planted after aggressive deforestation, and now, some older trees are being preserved way past their natural lifespan. The result? More pollen than anyone signed up for.

Of course, she takes everything with a grain of salt. She avoids social media feeds, especially when it comes to environmental topics. Too much noise. Too many hidden agendas. And honestly, she’s not wrong.

So here we are—pollen in the air, the trees in distress, and our bodies struggling to keep up. Is it us, or is it the world around us? Maybe both. Either way, I’ll keep running through it, and she’ll keep sneezing through it. Nature does what it wants, and so do we.