Tag: Personal Growth

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 A Quiet Halloween With My Family, the Power of Small Traditions

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today is Halloween—a day for candy, costumes, and the annual realization that we bought way too many treats for the number of children who actually show up at our door. My wife, ever the organized one, stocked up a full month in advance so she wouldn’t have to run to Target in a last-minute panic. We didn’t buy much this year, partly because we’ve learned our lesson: our neighborhood has fewer children than a retirement village during nap time.

My wife still feels a little sad about it. Back when she lived in Canada, she used to get over 130 eager trick-or-treaters in a single night. Meanwhile, in Portland, we got zero. Nashville is somewhere in the middle—technically there are children, they just don’t seem particularly motivated to walk to our house.

Since supply far exceeds demand, each tiny visitor gets the full VIP candy upgrade. But tonight, the doorbell barely rang. Maybe kids nowadays collect candy with efficiency—three neighborhoods, one Tesla-chauffeured parent, and they’re done. Or maybe the cold weather scared them back into their cozy living rooms. Either way, we were ready; they were not.

My nieces, on the other hand, were thrilled. My sister started sewing her daughter’s costume in August. August. That is Olympic-level parenting. She loves crafting, so Halloween is basically her personal Super Bowl.

I don’t wear a costume, but seeing kids dressed up always brings back happy memories from my childhood—when Halloween meant adventure, sugar, and a truly questionable amount of independence. But tonight, with even fewer visitors than last year, I eventually turned off the porch light and declared the event officially concluded.

In better news, our cat had a fantastic Halloween. We got her a festive Halloween-themed collar, and she strutted around as if she were the CEO of Spooky Season. My wife has already purchased a Thanksgiving-themed one, too, so clearly the cat is celebrating more enthusiastically than we are. I took some photos to send to friends and family. When your cat is basically your child, this is entirely acceptable.

Halloween is also my toothbrush-switching day. My birthday sits exactly six months away, so it works as a built-in reminder. And when I change toothbrushes, I also check the thermostat batteries and the smoke detectors—basically a seasonal home maintenance celebration.

After my brain stroke, I had to rebuild my habits from scratch. Memory becomes unpredictable when your brain has taken a hit. My wife helped me retrain my routines, one slow step at a time. In the beginning, my hands didn’t cooperate well, so even simple tasks felt like climbing a mountain. But I kept going. Today, I’m proud to say my routines are stronger—and more intentional—than ever before.

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A Day of Small Chaos and Sweet Rewards

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

I woke up this morning to the gentle sound of rain tapping on the window—nature’s way of saying, “Good morning, here’s a free car wash for your soul.” My wife informed me that earlier, it had been raining so hard that she abandoned her morning workout. This is shocking because she usually treats her exercise routine with the seriousness of a NASA launch checklist. If she skips, something dramatic has happened. And yes—when I peeked outside, I understood. It was cold, gloomy, and the kind of rain that makes even Halloween candy nervous.

Today was also my “second attempt” at a dentist appointment—because I completely missed the first one. (If Forgetfulness were an Olympic sport, I’d have a medal by now.) My wife kindly offered to drive me, even though the clinic is within walking distance, but my weather app swore on its digital life that the rain would stop. And for once, it didn’t lie. Several hours later, the rain paused, and I set off on foot.

I told my wife I didn’t need the ride, and since she was on a work call, I quietly snuck out of the house like a teenager breaking curfew—except I was headed to get my teeth cleaned, not to a party.

The appointment went smoothly, but as soon as I stepped outside, the sky decided to rejoin the conversation. It started raining again on my way home. This was inconvenient, because my grand plan was to run right after the dentist. My schedule was already wobbling like a badly balanced washing machine, so I knew I had to get home and sprint back out immediately.

Luckily, the rain downgraded itself from “dramatic monologue” to “occasional sprinkle.” Still, it was cold enough to remind me it is indeed autumn. After 30 minutes of running in this half-rain, half-air situation, I was soaked, chilled, and squinting through water-speckled glasses, which is perhaps the least aerodynamic condition imaginable. I didn’t hit my target pace, but I was close enough to blame it on meteorology with dignity.

Now, here’s the best part: every time I go to the dentist, I treat myself to a cupcake from the bakery nearby. Tradition is important, after all. I asked my wife if she wanted one, but she declined—as she usually does. She does not share my passionate, borderline-philosophical relationship with sweets. Her loss, I say. I thought about that cupcake during my entire run like it was the Holy Grail. And yes—I ate it after my shower, and it was spectacular.

One dentist appointment down. Another one set—six months from now. This time, I saved it in my Google Calendar with enough alerts to wake the dead. May I never miss it again.

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Lesson Learned from Missed a Dentist Appointment

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today, I had a dentist appointment—emphasis on had. As in: it existed, it was scheduled, it was on my Google Calendar, it came with not one but two automated reminders… and yet somehow my brain decided to treat it like deleted spam. The dentist’s office called asking where I was, and I had the audacity to be surprised.

I apologized profusely, of course. Thankfully, they squeezed me in for tomorrow. Pure luck. I still remember when my wife had to reschedule once because of a last-minute work emergency—she waited ages for a new slot, partly because she’s extremely particular about her appointment times. Early morning only. Never the first several days of any month, end of the month, quarter-end, year-end, or audit days. Her calendar has more rules than the IRS handbook.

Meanwhile, I’m flexible. If the dentist said, “We have a 3:17 p.m. slot behind the storage closet,” I would simply say, “Great, see you then.”

What Made Me To Miss The Appointment

Still, I’m annoyed with myself. Missing medical appointments is no small thing—especially when doctors plan their schedules months in advance. We book our dental visits six months out for a reason, not because I enjoy committing to events half a year before I know what my face will look like.

After my brain stroke and the possibility of a kidney transplant came up, my doctor told me to keep every tooth in perfect shape—no cavities, no surprises. So for the last decade, I’ve treated my mouth like a priceless museum artifact.

One of the reasons we chose our current home was that the dentist (and my other doctors) are within walking distance. My wife made sure of that. She wanted me to be able to walk over anytime something unusual happened—loose retainer, chipped tooth, mysterious twinge—without relying on Uber or coordinating schedules. I love that freedom more than I care to admit.

And that’s why missing today’s appointment felt unacceptable. I pride myself on keeping things under control, and yet my brain decided to take a personal day.

Next To Do Action

So tomorrow, I’ll walk to the dentist just after noon, reshuffle my entire schedule, and run later in the day. I checked the weather—it might rain, but at least the temperature looks friendly. If nothing else, this whole ordeal taught me one thing: I need a better reminder system… or maybe a personal assistant whose only job is to drag me to medical appointments.

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When Your Run Falls Apart, but Your Progress Doesn’t

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today’s run was… let’s call it “character-building.” On Wednesday, I set a new personal best and thought, “Ah yes, this is who I am now—Speed.” Today, however, my legs politely reminded me that I’m actually more of a seasonal subscription: sometimes fast, sometimes not, and occasionally buffering.

I use a free running app that announces my pace every quarter kilometer. Think of it like a personal pacer—except instead of a cheerful human holding a sign, it’s a disembodied voice that calmly informs me I’m behind… again. I originally set it up because my wife once told me that beginner runners tend to sprint at the start and then collapse like poorly made soufflés. Fair point. So now I let the app dictate a sustainable pace—my own digital pacer, minus the neon outfit.

Usually, the system works—until it doesn’t. By the third kilometer today, I was more than a minute behind my goal. I spent the rest of the run trying to negotiate with my legs like a hostage negotiator. I managed to finish the 5k slightly less behind schedule, but still not close to what I hoped for.

I’ve been running for nearly a decade, so none of this should shock me. Pace goes up, pace goes down—it’s basically the stock market in sneakers. Weather, sleep, body condition, last night’s workout, and whether the universe feels benevolent all factor in.

My kidneys, of course, love to complicate things. With barely 20% function on my last lab test, they’re like coworkers who contribute very little but still demand regular attention. In the summer, my numbers dip even more, and I have to be careful with protein like it’s contraband. One extra hour of outdoor chores can knock my cardio readiness off a cliff. Yet my doctor still encourages me to run, because running keeps my health from slipping further.

Given everything, I try to stay positive. After all, compared to surviving a brain stroke, a slow run is just a slightly dramatic inconvenience. I’m not the fastest runner—not even close—but running has helped me maintain my kidney health and sanity.

Still, disappointment is real. When you’re pushing so hard and don’t get the result you hoped for, it stings. But as I was cooling down, walking home like a Victorian poet contemplating fate, I remembered something important: even on a bad day, I’m faster than I was a year ago, when I was desperately trying to break a 10-minute pace. Progress isn’t a straight line. Sometimes it looks like a toddler’s scribble. Yes, today was slow. But I am faster overall. I am stronger overall. And as long as I keep showing up—even limping slightly—I will keep getting better. One imperfect run at a time.

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A Lesson in Routine and Resetting With One Small Change

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Hello Dear Readers,

Today began in a way that completely threw off my usual rhythm. We had planned a trip to the Asian grocery store to pick up some essentials — tofu, fried tofu (aburaage), and miso. We don’t go often, but when we do, it’s serious business. My wife stocks up and preserves everything carefully so it lasts. For her, one grocery trip means the next one to two hours are dedicated to washing, prepping, and storing, which also means she has to rearrange her entire weekly schedule. She plans these things like military operations — I usually know about Asian grocery day a week in advance.

But today, I failed the mission briefing. I overslept. By the time I woke up, it was already the time we were supposed to leave. So I rushed: got dressed, shoveled cereal into my mouth, and skipped my usual morning routine entirely. No planks, no language study, no texting my sisters. All of it postponed until after the grocery run.

This small shift — waking up late — changed the energy of the whole morning. My wife had already finished her entire morning routine before we left, of course. Meanwhile, I felt like I was sprinting from behind the entire day. Still, once we returned home, I told myself: just start. So I began working through my to-do list.

I wanted to run my 10k before the temperature climbed too high, so I pushed some other tasks to later and headed out. Normally, I check my headset while stretching after my plank session — but since I skipped everything, I also skipped the headset check. And just 2 kilometers into the run, my headset battery died. Complete silence.

I pushed through one more kilometer, but imagining another hour of silent running felt like an emotional desert. So, I stopped.

For me, having an audiobook during a run is more than background noise — it keeps me moving, keeps me focused. Without it, everything feels heavier. But despite the rocky morning, I still managed to get my chores done later, just like any other Saturday.

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Running Through The Seasons is How I Reclaimed Strength After Stroke

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Written October 15, 2025

Hello, Dear Readers,

This morning, I woke up feeling a little foggy. The air has turned noticeably colder, and lately it’s been harder for my body to bounce back from running and everyday tasks. Sudden temperature shifts have always affected me, but ever since my brain stroke, my autonomic nervous system just… clocks out when the weather changes. If the temperature swings, my body goes, “Nope. That’s enough character development for today.”

So, every morning, I check the weather carefully and layer up like I’m preparing for a small expedition. Over time—and plenty of trial and error—I’ve learned which clothing works for which temperature range. Still, when the seasons shift, my body needs time to adjust. Winter cold and summer heat both make it difficult for me to feel “comfortable” in my own skin.

Over the past few days, I’ve been pushing myself to run a little more because I felt motivated. But this morning, I felt the effort in every muscle. Even so, I headed out the door. And something surprising happened—I ended up hitting my 4th-fastest run time ever, meeting and beating my pace goal. I averaged 9 minutes per kilometer, something I didn’t expect on a tired day. Oddly enough, the fatigue helped me focus. And I was proud.

Now that we’re down to the last few months of the year, I checked in on my annual goals. One of them was logging 1,000 km of running. Thanks to adding a weekly 10km run, I should reach that milestone by the end of October—weeks earlier than last year. Another goal was improving my running pace, and I’ve already accomplished that one.

It still amazes me. Ten years ago, I was relearning how to walk with a walker. Today, I’m running consistently. I’m not the fastest runner out there, but I am improving—steadily, patiently, year after year.

My brain stroke once took away my independence. Regaining my leg mobility felt like reclaiming a part of myself. Every completed run reminds me that I’m capable. Running has become easier over time—not just physically, but emotionally. It’s no longer something I resist; it’s part of my life.

My wife recently read something in a neuroscience journal: One key to forming habits is reducing emotional resistance.

A new habit often feels uncomfortable in the beginning. But when you keep showing up, that discomfort fades. I think my mind and body have finally agreed—running isn’t temporary. It’s home.

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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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How to Be Patient With Rainy Day Leaf Collection

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Written October 7, 2025

Hello, Dear Readers,

Today, the weather decided to misbehave—again. After yesterday’s run, I had mentally committed to my next big adventure: Rainy Day leaf collection. It’s the kind of chore that feels noble in theory but suspiciously endless in practice. I even checked the forecast like a responsible adult and saw only a “chance” of early morning rain. Perfect, I thought. I’ll just wait until early afternoon, when the sun peeks out, and get it done.

Instead, I woke up to the sound of a downpour so aggressive it could’ve washed away my motivation. This wasn’t a “light drizzle” situation—it was the kind of steady, unapologetic rain that makes you reconsider your life choices and your roofing. Looking outside, I saw my ambitious leaf plans swirling down the gutter, literally.

This year has been unreasonably rainy—as if Mother Nature subscribed to the “water your lawn… excessively” school of thought. So, it is not uncommon that I need to do rainy day leaf collection. Temperatures have dropped, too, with my wife grumbling that mornings have dipped into the 50s. She’s up early for work, while I, on the other hand, can afford to pick my weather battles. I’d like to call that “flexibility,” though it might also be “strategic procrastination.”

The trees in front of our house have clearly joined the rebellion. They’re producing leaves faster than I can collect them, forming crunchy layers that mock my efforts. The rain, meanwhile, turns those leaves into heavy, sticky mats that cling to the ground like soggy lasagna. I use my leaf vacuum, normally as my trusted companion, but it becomes a glorified paperweight with the wet leaves.

Adding to the comedy, our house sits conveniently at the end of the court—an unfortunate spot where all the neighborhood leaves come to rest. It’s as if every gust of wind plays a game of “let’s dump it on his yard.” I sometimes think my trees are innocent; it’s everyone else’s that are plotting against me.

After days of rain delays, the leaves have piled up so much that I could probably lose a small pet in there. The irony? The rain doesn’t stop the trees from shedding more. It’s like the universe saying, “Oh, you’re behind? Let’s make it worse.”

Still, I try to look on the bright side—

Still, I try to look on the bright side—or at least the dry side. The forecast says Thursday will finally clear up. If it does, I’ll be out there with my vacuum and rake, reclaiming my yard one soggy pile at a time. I like to think of this as a test of patience and persistence—kind of like gardening, but with less zen and more muttering under your breath.

Diligence really is the secret weapon with chores like this. You show up, even when the sky looks like it’s about to ruin your plans. Maybe that’s the quiet lesson hidden under all the damp leaves: nature may win a few battles, but persistence (and a good weather app) usually wins the war.

So, for now, I’ll sip my coffee, watch the rain mock my to-do list, and wait for Thursday. When the sun returns, I’ll be ready—leaf vacuum charged, gloves on, and playlist queued. Because if the weather’s going to conspire against me, I might as well make it a stylish defeat.

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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.