Tag: personal health story

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Life with Kidney Restrictions and Weight Challenges

Written June 13, 2025

Hello, Dear Readers,

Well, I survived another workout today—barely. And to add a plot twist, the scale tells me I’ve lost three pounds since yesterday. I didn’t misplace them on purpose, I swear.

Now before you start sending congratulatory fruit baskets (please don’t, I can’t eat most of them), let me explain. My kidneys have been staging a quiet rebellion for some time now, and part of their protest involves limiting my diet. Combine that with a surprisingly high level of activity, and voilà—I’m losing weight faster than a sock in a dryer.

Summertime brings its own delightful chaos. I have to become a hydration ninja, dodging lab abnormalities like I’m in some kind of medical obstacle course. One wrong move—too little water—and my lab results go haywire. Last year, my cholesterol levels pulled a disappearing act. I wasn’t even mad. Just impressed.

To keep some order in our culinary kingdom, my wife and I plan our weekly menu. Not because we’re gourmet masterminds, but because food waste makes us both twitchy. That, and we’ve basically built our diet around chicken breasts. Mostly chicken breasts unless we go for occasional salmon or plant-based protein. Why? Well, pork doesn’t agree with my wife—upsets her stomach. Same goes for shrimp and crab, so those little delicacies are benched.

Now me? I’m working with a whopping 36 grams of meat protein a day. Thirty-six. That’s like…a sad scoop of shredded chicken. On days with family dinners or special events, I may tiptoe over the limit, but I know my wife will quietly adjust the weekly menu like a stealthy nutritional accountant.

Grains? Limited. Protein? Monitored like a suspicious package. Bananas? Handle with caution. Basically, if it tastes good or feels indulgent, I probably have to negotiate with my kidneys first.

That’s why I bake mini pastry puffs every weekend—a humble little treat to keep my weight from disappearing entirely. I don’t devour them. I ration like I’m on a space station. Ice cream? That’s my red alert dessert. I only pull it out when I notice I’ve lost too much weight. Like today. (Silver linings, people.)

After my stroke, things shifted. But rewind to when I first moved to Nashville—oh, I was running not as much, but enough to build muscles in my calves. I built so much muscle that my mom was surprised. True story. 

Back then, my wife did everything—a full-time job and most of the house chores. It took me some time, but I eventually wrestled the outdoor responsibilities away from her. When you’re exercising and doing yard work in Tennessee heat, weight loss isn’t a question—it’s a guarantee. For me, the diet restrictions added another layer. It’s not that I’m sick and therefore underweight. It’s more like… I got strong, and my kidneys decided, “Cool, but no extra calories for you.”

Just yesterday, I finally hit my target weight again. And now? Boom—dropped below it. It’s irritating, sure, but not the end of the world. I’ve got my strategy: tiny pastries, sneaky scoops of ice cream, and a carefully curated menu. Let’s be honest—if the solution to a problem is “eat more dessert,” I’m not going to complain too loudly.

Until next time,
Stay hydrated, stay balanced, and treat your kidneys like the finicky coworkers they are.

—Yours in protein math and pastry puffs.

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Planking Debt and Dental Drama: A Cautionary (Core) Tale

Written April 30, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Yesterday’s schedule came with extra side quests—including an unexpected journey into the land of Root Canal—which left me with a zero on the plank scoreboard. Not a single session. Nada. Zilch.

Now, before the Fitness Police come knocking, let me plead my case. First, I was out of the house for hours because a dentist decided to drill into my soul (well, technically my tooth, but same vibes). Second, I was warned that once the anesthesia wore off, my jaw would throb in sync with my heartbeat like an EDM concert. So anything that might elevate my heart rate—say, planking—was officially off the table. Because nothing says “bad idea” quite like throbbing pain in your skull while pretending to be a human ironing board.

So yes, I had a good excuse. But I also know: excuses don’t cancel consequences. They just soften the guilt.

Today, however, was redemption day. I rolled out my mat and got to work, attempting to chip away at the planking debt like a fiscally responsible core warrior. I’ll try to sneak in more sets before the day ends, because… just because. (Discipline is mysterious like that.)

My wife once told me that missing a day of piano practice set her back a whole week. So, during her serious piano era, she would tap those keys every chance she got—like a caffeinated Mozart. But muscles aren’t like piano scales. You can’t binge your way back to strength. Hit the same muscles too soon, and you’re more likely to get a complaint letter from your own body.

Still, skipping a workout unsettles me—way more than it logically should. After my stroke, when I couldn’t move at all, I made a quiet promise to myself: if I ever got mobility back, I’d use it. Every skipped session feels like I’m letting that promise fade a little.

I’ve made peace with the past. I carry it with me—not as baggage, but as a reminder. My wife has this old car that’s nearly 20 years old. She maintains it like it’s a classic Ferrari. Not because it’s fancy, but because it’s hers. She’s grateful it still runs. I guess I treat my body the same way. It may not be shiny, but it still moves, still works, still gets me through the day—and for that, I’m deeply grateful.

I’ve never been a super athlete. I don’t sprint past people or crush personal bests on leaderboards. But I show up. I work. I move.

As of now, I’ve done two planks. The goal is to hit five today—six if I’m feeling spicy. That way, I’ll be one session closer to balancing my plank budget. And tomorrow? I’ll settle the score.

Because the only thing worse than sore abs… is regret.

Posted on

Planking Debt and Dental Drama: A Cautionary (Core) Tale

Written April 30, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Yesterday’s schedule came with extra side quests—including an unexpected journey into the land of Root Canal—which left me with a zero on the plank scoreboard. Not a single session. Nada. Zilch.

Now, before the Fitness Police come knocking, let me plead my case. First, I was out of the house for hours because a dentist decided to drill into my soul (well, technically my tooth, but same vibes). Second, I was warned that once the anesthesia wore off, my jaw would throb in sync with my heartbeat like an EDM concert. So anything that might elevate my heart rate—say, planking—was officially off the table. Because nothing says “bad idea” quite like throbbing pain in your skull while pretending to be a human ironing board.

So yes, I had a good excuse. But I also know: excuses don’t cancel consequences. They just soften the guilt.

Today, however, was redemption day. I rolled out my mat and got to work, attempting to chip away at the planking debt like a fiscally responsible core warrior. I’ll try to sneak in more sets before the day ends, because… just because. (Discipline is mysterious like that.)

My wife once told me that missing a day of piano practice set her back a whole week. So, during her serious piano era, she would tap those keys every chance she got—like a caffeinated Mozart. But muscles aren’t like piano scales. You can’t binge your way back to strength. Hit the same muscles too soon, and you’re more likely to get a complaint letter from your own body.

Still, skipping a workout unsettles me—way more than it logically should. After my stroke, when I couldn’t move at all, I made a quiet promise to myself: if I ever got mobility back, I’d use it. Every skipped session feels like I’m letting that promise fade a little.

I’ve made peace with the past. I carry it with me—not as baggage, but as a reminder. My wife has this old car that’s nearly 20 years old. She maintains it like it’s a classic Ferrari. Not because it’s fancy, but because it’s hers. She’s grateful it still runs. I guess I treat my body the same way. It may not be shiny, but it still moves, still works, still gets me through the day—and for that, I’m deeply grateful.

I’ve never been a super athlete. I don’t sprint past people or crush personal bests on leaderboards. But I show up. I work. I move.

As of now, I’ve done two planks. The goal is to hit five today—six if I’m feeling spicy. That way, I’ll be one session closer to balancing my plank budget. And tomorrow? I’ll settle the score.

Because the only thing worse than sore abs… is regret.