Tag: Productivity

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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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Backwards Legs, a Stubborn Cable, and a Surprisingly Good 10K

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

This morning, after breakfast and settling in at my desk, I returned to what I believed was the final phase of assembling the stretching machine. I was confident. Dangerously confident.

A closer look at the schematic revealed the truth: I had installed the stabilizing legs backwards. Naturally. That meant undoing the last few steps, which turned into a couple of hours of careful disassembly, reassembly, and quiet self-criticism.

Problem solved—briefly.

Immediately after, I discovered a new issue. There’s a cable that runs from a lever to the legs, used to pull them apart. The cable was wound so tightly on its reel that it simply refused to reach the attachment point. I stared at it. It stared back. Neither of us budged.

At that point, I declared a tactical retreat and shifted focus to my weekly 10K run.

It was chilly, but my new warm running pants made it tolerable—and, thankfully, it was above glove temperature. I hit my target pace for the first 5K, which felt great. I couldn’t quite pull off the rare double success for the full distance, but I still logged my second-fastest 10K ever. I’ll take that win without argument.

Back home, I moved through the Saturday checklist: vacuuming, a shower, and then making soup for my wife and me—comfort food earned the honest way. After dishes, it was time for our weekly grocery run. Our water cooler was completely empty, so forgetting water was not an option. I’d already staged the empty bottles upstairs to make loading easier. Organization: achieved.

Transportation: complicated.

The city has closed the main intersection that exits our neighborhood—the one that leads directly to the grocery store. We discovered this last week, and the rumor is it’ll stay closed until April. So now every trip involves scenic backroads and low-grade grumbling. There’s not much to do except adapt and complain quietly.

This closure may also affect my annual physical appointment, which I normally walk to. I’ll need to scout the route on foot to see if it’s still passable—or accept the indignity of calling an Uber to drive me a mile.

Meanwhile, my brain kept circling back to the stretching machine. I searched online, fiddled with the reel and crank, and hunted for a release switch that would allow more cable to unwind. Nothing. The manual was unhelpful. The internet was silent.

So I’ve resolved to call customer service on Monday.

Do I have high hopes? No. Based on the manual, communication may not be their strongest skill. Still, it’s the only path forward. Maybe I’ll get lucky. Stranger things have happened.

The good news is that everything else is assembled correctly. Once the cable mystery is solved, the machine will be ready for use. Until then, it stands as a monument to perseverance.

By the end of the day, I was completely worn out—but in the good way. The kind where things didn’t go perfectly, but enough went right to make it count.

Monday will bring customer service.
Today brought effort.
And for now, that’s enough.

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When I Optimized for Temperature and Forgot About Time

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

This morning, I made what felt like a perfectly reasonable decision: stay in bed a little longer because it was cold. Very cold. Also, there was no immediate pressure to run—it wasn’t even close to the warmest part of the day yet.

This logic was flawless.
Unfortunately, it was also dangerous.

I waited too long.

By the time I finally started my day, my carefully imagined schedule had already begun to unravel. Saturdays are chore-heavy for me. I do a lot around the house and fit in a 10-kilometer run on top of it. Delaying the start meant everything else slid later… and later… and later.

When I returned from my run, dinner was already behind schedule. I could tell immediately—my wife was not thrilled.

My wife runs life on a timeline. She schedules days and weeks in advance. Cold days and hot days do not interfere with her morning exercise routine. Her internal clock does not negotiate. Sometimes I think she wishes I were more like her. Today, I wished that too.

I felt bad knowing I’d disrupted her carefully structured day.

Normally, when things go wrong because of me, my wife quietly adjusts her tasks so she doesn’t waste time waiting. Today, though, the ripple effects were harder to contain.

Saturday evening is grocery time—specifically a very precise window when the store is less crowded. She also meal-preps for the following week, packing ingredients with recipes so cooking is easy for me. Any delay pushes everything later, including bedtime. She doesn’t like food sitting around unorganized. Neither does her conscience.

By the time I started washing dishes, we were already 45 minutes past our usual grocery time. I panicked, stopped mid-dish, and suggested finishing later—without realizing that this decision now blocked her from organizing groceries afterward.

Efficiency, I had learned, was optional today.

While I was scrambling, my wife quietly rearranged some of her Sunday tasks just to keep the day moving. Then she tackled grocery sorting anyway, because that’s what she does. Later, she gently reminded me of a lesson I apparently needed to relearn: schedule backward.

Start with the fixed commitments.
Work back to the run.
Then decide when sleeping in is actually allowed.

So yes, next time I’m tempted to wait for optimal running temperatures, I’ll also remember this: time waits for no one—and neither does the grocery schedule.Warm legs are nice.
An undisturbed household system is nicer.

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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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Three Bags of Leaves and the Stubborn Tree That Won’t Quit

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

I scheduled today as an official Leaf Day. The morning was cool, but the forecast promised warmth later, which meant it was finally safe to commit to the mission. With determination (and mild dread), I headed outside to clear our lawn of fallen leaves.

Recent windy days had turned our trees into enthusiastic confetti machines. Naturally, every single leaf seemed to land in our front yard. We try to keep things tidy, but I skipped this chore on Tuesday—and leaves, like unread emails, multiply when ignored. Some of our neighbors let their yards turn into a brown carpet museum, but we live under the cheerful supervision of an HOA, where “neatly maintained” is not a suggestion but a lifestyle.

I confidently assumed this would be a one-bag job.

It was not.

One bag became two. Two became three. At that point, I began to question both my math skills and my life choices. I had cleared the yard just last week, so the sheer volume of leaves felt borderline disrespectful. It took a few solid hours to finish, but thankfully, it was still nowhere near the level of suffering known as summer lawn mowing.

Despite the surprise workload, the chore was strangely satisfying. With every pass of the leaf vacuum, the front yard visibly transformed from “abandoned forest floor” to “suburban responsibility.” After emptying the third bag, I finally stopped—mostly because my motivation had also reached full capacity. The yard looked noticeably neater, and I felt just proud enough to justify a future complaint about it.

For reasons known only to nature, the tree in our front yard still hasn’t finished shedding its leaves, while the neighbor’s tree is nearly bald. An arborist once told us our tree is weakened by its much larger neighbor and suggested we remove it. That suggestion was immediately vetoed by my wife, who has a deep sentimental attachment to trees.

A few years ago, we had to remove a massive tree behind our house because it was threatening the structure itself. It was so tall that owls used to visit it at night—often waking my wife around 2 a.m. with dramatic hooting. Even our kitten loved leaping from branch to branch. Cutting that tree was emotionally difficult, which is why the front-yard tree still stands today… heroically dropping leaves every autumn.

I powered through the task and completed it to my own satisfaction. Living at the bottom of a hill means we naturally collect more than our fair share of wind-blown leaves—especially near the storm gutter, which today was completely buried under a dense mat of leafy ambition.

Three bags. One stubborn tree. Zero regrets.
Well… maybe mild regret.
But the yard is clean.

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Sunday Waffles Breakfast with Secret Jam

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

This morning, my wife asked me to make waffles. She had been drawing pancakes and suddenly decided she wanted to eat something fluffy. I, being a reasonable adult with access to a waffle maker, I accepted the mission.

So I woke up earlier than usual—early enough to sneak into the morning before my wife completed her full non-working-day routine. On her days off, she transforms into a productivity machine. One of her regular Sunday rituals is sorting ingredients for the entire upcoming week.

She plans a full weekly menu and pre-packs the ingredients into labeled bags. Monday’s bag equals Monday’s meal. It’s brilliant. It reduces waste, prevents impulse grocery shopping, and makes cooking so easy that even I rarely mess it up. The only problem? This operation completely occupies our very small kitchen.

So I waited.

Patiently.
Hungrily.
Strategically.

Once she completed her meal-kit assembly line and stepped away from the counter, I made my move and claimed the kitchen.

Our waffle maker is nearly two decades old and still performs beautifully, like a seasoned breakfast veteran. When we first moved to Tennessee, we made waffles almost every Sunday—until we realized that frequent waffles come with frequent weight gain. Since then, waffles have become a rare and highly celebrated event.

Today was one of those special days.

I sliced up some strawberries that were right at the edge of their peak deliciousness and made us two waffles each. Unfortunately, I had wildly miscalculated the strawberry-to-waffle ratio. Just as disaster loomed, my wife calmly produced a jar of strawberry jam she had made last spring—homemade, of course.

She’s created three varieties of strawberry jam in the past, including a spicy version. Sadly, I had already devoured all the spicy ones during the summer. What remained was the classic strawberry—and it saved breakfast.

After waffles and our weekly “fancy” coffee, the day drifted peacefully until lunchtime. As is now tradition, I offered to make my wife an omelet. She accepted immediately and requested two eggs instead of the usual one.

She’s been working hard on her strength training and trying to keep her protein intake high to protect her muscle mass. I took this as both a nutritional assignment and an honor.

It was one of those rare days with waffles, homemade jam, careful routines, and quiet teamwork in a small kitchen. Nothing dramatic. Nothing rushed.

Just a very pleasant Sunday.

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A Chilly Fall Chore and a Surprise Yard Visitor in Nashville

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today’s primary objective: leaf collection. Also known as the annual reminder that trees never clean up after themselves. Fall yard work in Nashville can be challenging since we never know what the weather will be like.

We have two enormous trees in the front yard—well, one is technically the neighbor’s tree, but its leaves have firmly pledged allegiance to our property. Since our house sits at the very end of the court, we also receive a generous donation of leaves from the surrounding yards. I like to think of it as a natural tax for living at the bottom of the hill.

For this noble task, we use a leaf vacuum. My wife tried it the other day and immediately announced it was heavy. I wouldn’t call it heavy… but after a few hours, it does begin to feel like you’re dragging around a small, stubborn elephant. Still, I try to keep our front yard as leafless as possible. It’s part pride, part stubbornness, part denial about how wind works.

Fall in Nashville is a game of weather roulette. Rain pops in whenever it feels like being dramatic, so timing outdoor work requires strategy. This morning was dry—but brutally chilly, with wind that felt personally offended by my existence. I waited until early afternoon, when the temperature finally decided to show mercy, and then I went out to tackle the day’s biggest chore.

After a few solid hours of vacuuming, blowing, and questioning my life decisions, the yard was almost clear. I was just about to celebrate when I spotted a surprise guest: a small snake gracefully slithering across our gravel patch like it had scheduled an appointment.

Of course, I wanted photographic proof. I pulled out my phone to show my wife and family. The snake, however, had zero interest in becoming an internet celebrity. By the time my camera was ready, it vanished—clearly a professional at avoiding publicity.

That led to the inevitable follow-up: What kind of snake was it? A quick round of online detective work (powered by memory and mild adrenaline) suggested it was most likely a common garter snake.

I was surprised to see a snake this time of year. Last fall, we had a small one in our garage too. My wife tried to photograph that one as well. Same result—instant disappearance. Sadly, a sudden cold spell wasn’t kind to that little visitor, and we found it a few days later.

The good news is that common garter snakes in Tennessee are harmless. Their coloring varies, but most have three light stripes running down their bodies. They’re active in spring and fall and hibernate during winter—so today’s snake was probably doing exactly what I did: waiting for the afternoon warmth before venturing out.

So yes, today was leaf duty, cold air, and a surprise wildlife encounter—all part of the deluxe Nashville fall experience. Apparently, when you clean your yard, nature occasionally sends you a live bonus feature.

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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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How Lawn Mowing Became My Ultimate Workout

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Written September 26, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

This morning started like any other—I finished breakfast, charged my headset to full, and headed outside to battle the lawn. After a week of warm weather and rain, the grass had been growing like it was still mid-summer, even though the forest behind our house had already started to show its autumn colors.

For several days, I had been waiting for a clear sky. Finally, the weather cooperated. I set a three-hour alarm so I wouldn’t miss our take-out order later, then started mowing with determination. The grass was longer than I’d hoped, which made the task slower. By the time my alarm went off, I had only managed half the lawn. The hilly back area alone can easily take more than three hours. Realistically, it’s a two-session job. So, I gave in, showered quickly, and went to grab lunch.

But after eating, I laced back up and went out for round two. Another three hours of mowing later, I was finished. My wife asked why I insisted on doing it all in one shot, but I was stubborn—I just wanted the lawn done.

A Workout I Never Expected

The surprising part? I could handle it. My years of consistent cardio and resistance training gave me the endurance to push through. My wife kept encouraging me with this project of stroke recovery through exercise. Even before my brain stroke, I doubt I could have managed this much work in a single day. The experience reminded me that recovery is possible with discipline and exercise.

When I had my stroke, I couldn’t walk for three months. Even after leaving the rehabilitation center, I needed a walker and my wife’s help. Noise overwhelmed me, and I suffered constant neurofatigue. It felt like the exhaustion I used to experience after playing multiple chess games in a day.

Six months later, I was walking short distances with frequent rests. By 18 months, my wife returned to work, and I was managing my own medication. It was slow progress, but it was progress.

Finding Strength in Small Victories

I lost some mobility, and I still can’t drive or travel as I once did. My wife keeps a close eye on my health, especially with my kidney condition, so we live more cautiously. But at the same time, I’ve gained something—strength and resilience I never thought I had.

So when I finally put away the mower after nearly six hours of work, I felt more than just relief. I felt grateful. Grateful to finish what I started, grateful for the progress I’ve made since my stroke, and grateful for the strength that lets me tackle challenges like this head-on. I made a remarkable stroke recovery through exercise.

Next week, I’ll trade the mower for a rake to collect leaves—a much lighter chore by comparison. For now, I can enjoy at least a couple of weeks without wrestling the grass.

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Leaf It to Me: Adventures in Yard Work

Written March 23, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

This morning, I found myself engaged in a rare and noble quest: yard work. Not my usual weekend ritual, mind you. I typically leave the gardening to people with a stronger back and a greener thumb. But alas, when you live on a hill, gravity, and nature team up like villains in a buddy cop movie—always ready to make things harder than they need to be.

Now, our yard has a bit of a wild streak. If left alone, it doesn’t just grow—it plots. One year, we made the rookie mistake of letting the ivy do its thing. “It’ll look charming,” we said. “Like an English cottage!” What we got instead was a full-on plant invasion. The ivy crept up the side of our house like it was trying to break in. And since the exterior isn’t fully bricked, my wife was convinced it would start dismantling our home from the foundation up. We ended up yanking it off the wall like it owed us money and then spent the rest of the day cleaning up its leafy aftermath. Never again.

This week, my wife decided it was time to bring order to the front yard. She had asked me earlier to vacuum—yes, vacuum—the leaves from the front yard so she could tame some decorative plants that had begun asserting their independence. I agreed, of course, then promptly forgot. Saturday came and went in a blur of other tasks. Classic.

Luckily, the weather today was cooperative. My weather app promised rain… just not yet. So I suited up and got to it. Leaf vacuum in hand, I tackled the neglected zone while my wife charged in later with a weedwhacker, swinging it like a hedge-knight with a hedge-trimming sword. She’s been clearing weeds too—methodically, heroically, like she’s one step away from turning the whole place into a botanical museum.

Now, my wife is a loyal reader of Eat That Frog! by Brian Tracy. She’s constantly organizing, scheduling, and maximizing productivity. However, she claims she struggles with “putting things away,” though I think the real issue is her to-do list has more pages than War and Peace. When she blames herself for not getting everything done, I remind her we’re human, not calendar apps with arms.

Ironically, it was her beloved frog book that nudged me into action today. One of its golden rules? Don’t put off the tough stuff. So next time I’m assigned an oddball task, I’ll let my phone remember for me. Set a reminder. No excuses.

Because if you’re going to eat the frog, you may as well season it and serve it hot.