Tag: Running

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Post-Storm Yard Cleanup After the Ice Storm and Running Comeback

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today felt like a small but meaningful return to normal life. I was able to run again—and even more impressively, I did it without gloves. That alone felt like a seasonal milestone. Winter is clearly loosening its grip, even if only slightly.

The run itself went well. I reached my target pace, which was satisfying not just physically but psychologically. After days of icy hesitation and cautious movement, it felt good to move forward at a steady rhythm instead of tiptoeing across frozen uncertainty.

But the real workout began after the run.

Armed with a wheelbarrow and a sense of responsibility, I turned my attention to the yard, which still looks like it lost an argument with the last storm. Branches are scattered everywhere, as if the trees held a dramatic meeting and collectively decided to shed their limbs all at once.

We have a forest behind our house, which is usually peaceful and beautiful—until a storm arrives and rearranges everything. One particularly strong storm even uprooted a tree, leaving behind a noticeable pit where the roots once lived. Since then, that pit has unofficially become my natural disposal zone for branches and yard debris. Not elegant, but undeniably efficient.

So, after my run, I filled a wheelbarrow with fallen branches and hauled them down to the pit. One trip later, the yard looked slightly less chaotic. Slightly. There are still plenty of sticks scattered across the ground, quietly reminding me that nature always leaves follow-up tasks.

Our neighbor’s tree suffered a far worse fate during the ice storm—it split in half and still stands there looking tragically frozen in time. Compared to that, our damage was relatively mild, though we still have several large branches from the front trees that needed dragging and tossing into the ever-growing branch pit. Smaller sticks are everywhere, hiding in the grass like tiny obstacles waiting for lawn mower season.

And yes, lawn mowing season is approaching… eventually.
The weather this month has been extraordinarily fickle—one day icy, the next day mild, then back to unpredictable again. It makes planning yard work feel less like scheduling and more like guessing.

My goal is to clear as many branches as possible before mowing season begins, even if that is still a few weeks away. I suspect at least one more wheelbarrow trip is in my future. Possibly several. The yard, unfortunately, has a long memory after storms.

Around the neighborhood, signs of recovery are visible but incomplete. Broken branches still line some roads, like quiet evidence of the storm’s passing. The good news is that power has finally been restored to the houses nearby, and with electricity comes something that feels almost symbolic—people are outside again. Movement, conversation, normalcy.

However, I have heard that some households are still without power, which is especially concerning in the middle of winter. Cold weather without electricity is not merely inconvenient; it is genuinely difficult and sometimes dangerous.

So today felt like a day of small victories:
a successful run, a partially cleared yard, restored power nearby, and the gradual sense that life is piecing itself back together after the storm’s disruption.

There is still work to do, of course—more branches, more cleanup, and more unpredictable weather—but at least progress is visible, one wheelbarrow at a time.

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Running in Ice and Snow: Saving My 100-Week Streak Against the Weather

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today, my running app delivered a quiet but deeply threatening message:
“Two more days to log a run before your 100+ week streak is interrupted.”

Nothing motivates quite like the possibility of digital judgment.

Normally, I would not panic. My plan was simple—run tomorrow, maintain the streak, and continue life as a responsible and consistent human being. However, winter had other narrative ambitions.

A quick glance at tomorrow’s forecast revealed snow, thunder, and temperatures about ten degrees colder. In other words, the weather equivalent of saying, “Perhaps stay inside and reconsider your life choices.”

The recent bad weather has already disrupted my running schedule. After the ice storm just a few days ago, the ground is still suspiciously slippery in places. I had hoped tomorrow would be my triumphant return, but the forecast strongly suggested otherwise.

So, in a rare plot twist, I chose to run today—an unusual running day—purely out of strategic necessity. When the weather becomes unpredictable, flexibility becomes a survival skill.

Meanwhile, my wife continues exercising as if icy conditions are merely a mild inconvenience. She owns an extreme cold-weather running jacket imported from Canada, where winters apparently function as advanced training environments. Compared to that, Tennessee’s ice probably feels like a beginner level.

Inspired (and slightly pressured by my own running streak), I prepared for battle:
new warm pants, gloves, a hat, and a cautious mindset.

Road conditions after the ice storm persists

Stepping outside felt like entering a carefully disguised obstacle course. Some areas were clear, others were icy traps waiting patiently for overconfidence. I slowed down in several spots, prioritizing dignity and bone preservation over speed. Falling would have been memorable, but not in a good way.

Surprisingly, the run went exceptionally well.
Not only did I avoid falling, but I also completed my third-fastest 5K.

At that moment, victory felt less like athletic excellence and more like a successful negotiation with winter. The streak remains intact, which is perhaps the most satisfying outcome of all. Consistency, after all, is built on small decisions made under inconvenient conditions.

I do hope the ice disappears soon. These lingering icy patches have been quietly restricting our outdoor activities and daily plans. Even appointments have surrendered to the weather. The recent operation was postponed due to storm-related issues, possibly including power concerns, and rescheduled for Presidents’ Day.

My wife’s dentist appointment was also moved to the same day. Fortunately, she is off that day, which means no PTO required—a rare administrative win courtesy of bad weather.

So while the ice has delayed routines, altered schedules, and turned sidewalks into tactical zones, it has not defeated the running streak. For now, I will consider that a successful week: no falls, a fast 5K, a preserved streak, and a respectful truce with winter.

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After the Ice Storm: Melting Roads, Returning Power, and a Careful Return to Routine

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

At last, the ice has begun its slow and reluctant retreat.

Today’s temperature rose about fifteen degrees compared to yesterday, which in winter logic qualifies as “practically tropical.” It is still cold, of course, but no longer the kind of cold that feels personally offended by your existence. Instead, it has settled into something far more reasonable—if winter can ever truly be called reasonable.

My wife, meanwhile, has taken it upon herself to conduct unofficial neighborhood inspections. While most people cautiously peer out from their windows, she ventures outside like a field researcher documenting the aftermath of a frozen experiment. She reports that although our power returned after several hours, many of our neighbors are still living in the candlelight era.

Our area is densely wooded, which is wonderful in spring, poetic in autumn, and deeply problematic during ice storms. Ice accumulates, branches snap, cables fall, and electricity quietly exits the conversation. Nature, it seems, prefers dramatic chain reactions.

According to her morning observations, the neighborhood at dawn is almost pitch dark. With no street lights functioning in several sections, it looks less like a suburban street and more like the setting of a philosophical novel about resilience. Curiously, if you walk just a few houses north, power returns as if nothing happened. Entire rows remain powerless, except for two mysteriously fortunate houses whose power lines are connected to a different street. Fate, it appears, also plays favorites in infrastructure.

To be fair, this is not a matter of incompetence. Tennessee rarely experiences this kind of ice storm, and the crews have been working long shifts to restore power under genuinely difficult conditions. Extreme weather does not politely follow regional expectations. It simply arrives, unannounced and unapologetic.

We still remember when a tornado hit north of Nashville several years ago and we lost power for days. Back then, it was near spring, so the cold was manageable. This time, however, the cold is far less forgiving. When the power went out, the temperature inside the house dropped noticeably, reminding us very quickly that electricity is not just convenience—it is survival. Shelters opened the very day the outages began, which speaks volumes about how serious prolonged cold can be.

My wife also discovered the most obvious culprit: fallen trees. In one section of the road, nearly a third of the path is occupied by broken branches and debris, with power lines dragged down alongside them. It is less a mystery and more a very visible cause-and-effect demonstration courtesy of physics and ice.

Thankfully, progress is visible. Roads are gradually being cleared, which is especially encouraging since my wife is planning to drive to the office tomorrow. Civilization, one cleared road at a time.

As for me, I may finally return to my running schedule tomorrow—assuming the road visible from our front window passes the safety inspection. It will still be cold, naturally, but no longer the extreme, bone-chilling cold of yesterday. In winter recovery, expectations are simple:
melting ice, stable power, clear roads, and perhaps—if fortune is especially generous—a fully normal routine returning without further dramatic weather plot twists.

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Icy Roads and Missed Runs: Choosing Safety Over Winter Ambition

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Icy Roads and missed Runs

The icy road conditions remain undefeated, and today’s strategic decision is simple: cancel the run, preserve the bones. We had ice roads, and I missed Runs.

With the temperature stubbornly parked at 32°F, the ice has no intention of melting. It is merely existing—quietly, confidently, and dangerously. Our area is also quite hilly, which transforms every frozen surface into a potential skating rink with consequences.

The road in front of our house, however, is a rare exception. My wife salted it early, well before the ice storm reached its dramatic peak. She remembers, quite vividly, that during severe conditions, no delivery vehicles—not even the garbage truck—will dare descend our steep road. Apparently, gravity plus ice is a combination that logistics companies respectfully decline.

The irony?

The main road was cleared rather quickly, yet the smaller neighborhood roads remain untouched. As a result, no garbage truck, no deliveries, and no signs of modern convenience bravely approaching our hill. Civilization stops at the flat parts, it seems.

Ice Storm Preparation

My wife, ever vigilant, has been obsessively ensuring that no one slips on our property. During the storm, she kept the driveway and entryway almost entirely ice-free. She insists there is a “method” to it, which I suspect is the result of over twenty years of Canadian winter survival experience. That kind of knowledge may look excessive in Tennessee—until an ice storm arrives and suddenly she becomes the neighborhood’s unofficial winter strategist.

She continues to wander outside occasionally, fully equipped in a winter outfit imported from Canada. Where she used to live, temperatures could drop to -35°C (-31°F), so Tennessee’s icy chill likely feels like a mild inconvenience rather than a threat. Still, she moves carefully, because even seasoned cold-weather veterans respect ice. Confidence does not cancel physics.

Fortunately, the steep hill in front of our house is now mostly safe, thanks to her early salting efforts. A preventative mindset, it turns out, is far more effective than reactive panic.

As for my running routine, it has been temporarily suspended. My wife has strongly advised against going outside, describing the conditions as “deceptively slippery,” which is winter’s polite way of saying “you will fall with dignity but also with bruises.”

Unlike her, I do not own a jacket built for extreme cold. She bought hers as a teenager and is still using it—a testament to both quality craftsmanship and long-term winter planning. I also struggle with body temperature regulation, so extreme weather is less of a challenge and more of a negotiation I prefer to avoid. In this case, skipping the run is not laziness. It is risk management.

Surprisingly, there has been one unexpected benefit to missing my last three runs: recovery. My weight has returned to my target range, and I even regained a pound of muscle since yesterday’s weigh-in. Not exactly the result one expects from inactivity, but winter seems to enforce its own training philosophy—rest, adapt, and resume wisely.

Now that the temperature has finally crept slightly above freezing, there is cautious optimism. If the gradual thaw continues, Friday may mark the triumphant return of my running schedule.Until then, the plan remains clear:
avoid ice, maintain balance (literally and metaphorically), and respect winter’s quiet but very persuasive authority.

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Running In Cold Weather Because Goals Don’t Care About Temperature)

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

The chilly morning didn’t deter my wife from her early exercise routine. It also didn’t deter her from running errands. She planned a trip to the UPS Store to return an Amazon package and invited me along. I happily agreed. Marriage sometimes means love; sometimes it means carrying the return receipt.

Because the morning air was brutally cold, I decided to delay my run until later in the day. Ever since my brain stroke, temperature regulation hasn’t exactly been my body’s strong suit. My neurologist explained that my autonomic nervous system took a hit. In practical terms, that means my body takes longer to warm up—and running in freezing air feels like negotiating with winter while already tired.

When it’s cold, my body spends energy heating itself before it even starts running. It’s like paying an entrance fee before the workout even begins.

Still, cold weather does not cancel Saturday’s 10K.

Goals don’t reschedule themselves.

Starting the run was the hardest part. My muscles felt stiff, and the air felt unfriendly. But once I got moving, rhythm returned. The first half of the run went surprisingly well—I actually hit my target pace. I briefly entertained the idea of conquering the entire distance at that speed.

The second half had other ideas.

I couldn’t quite maintain the pace, but the overall result was still strong enough to earn my third-fastest 10K ever. That’s not perfection, but it’s progress—and progress is what counts.

What encourages me most is the trajectory. I’m slowly getting faster. Not dramatically. Not magically. But steadily.

There’s still plenty of work ahead if I want to hit this year’s goal. But it’s early in the year. Improvement doesn’t require heroics; it requires repetition. As long as I keep showing up, struggling a little, and pushing just past comfort, I’ll keep improving.

Winter can complain all it wants.

I’ll keep running.

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A Rainy Morning Run and a Strong Finish Elsewhere

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Despite the heavy rain early this morning, my wife still went out for her morning exercise—and got thoroughly soaked. She owns a proper running jacket designed for rain and snow, a relic from her years in Canada. Unless there’s ice on the road, the weather is more of a suggestion than a deterrent for her.

I, on the other hand, was mildly concerned about becoming a soggy runner.

By the time I headed out, the rain had cleared completely—and somehow it was warm enough for shorts. A rare weather plot twist. Unfortunately, this unexpected kindness from the sky did not translate into a target-paced run.

Running pace is a fragile thing. Sleep quality, body condition, temperature, humidity—almost anything can tip it off balance. If I don’t sleep well, my pace suffers. If the weather shifts suddenly, my pace notices. So I try not to get too discouraged when a run doesn’t go exactly as planned.

Today was one of those days.

Still, the workout wasn’t a loss. Pull-ups were on the schedule, and those went well. I completed all 21, finishing the first 10 without dropping off the bar—a small but satisfying benchmark. Planking and stretching followed, both completed without complaint from my body.

While the run didn’t cooperate, the rest of the system performed.

I’ll have one more chance this week to hit my target pace. Tomorrow’s weekly 10K will be the real test. If I can’t hit my goal across the full distance, I’m hoping to at least lock it in for one strong half.Not every run is fast.
Not every workout shines.
But consistency still counts—and today, that box is firmly checked.

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A Skunk Alarm Clock and My Fastest Start to a New Year

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

My New Year didn’t start with an alarm clock—it started with a skunk alert.

About an hour earlier than I planned to wake, my wife called me to open the garage door so she could get back into the house after her morning walk. Apparently, she’d spotted a skunk casually loitering near our front porch and decided that direct negotiation was not the safest strategy.

Reasonable.

She’d just returned from her morning exercise, and it was still dark outside. When I turned on the porch light, the skunk immediately fled—clearly not interested in confrontation or homeownership. Crisis resolved. Sleep, however, was not.

Being awake an hour early left me groggy and disoriented, but I did my best to reset into my normal routine. Eventually, I laced up and headed out for my run.

And then something unexpected happened.

The first quarter kilometer felt fast—suspiciously fast. I checked my pace and realized I was already about 30 seconds ahead of my target. Concerned I might burn out early, I shifted focus to simply maintaining speed instead of chasing numbers.

By the end of the first kilometer, I was over a minute ahead of my target pace.

At the two-kilometer mark, my average pace had dropped below 8 minutes per kilometer. That’s the kind of number that starts doing dangerous things to your optimism. If I could hold it for another three kilometers, I’d set a new personal best and potentially smash my end-of-year goal on the first run of the year.

That part felt slightly unreal.

I couldn’t quite maintain that pace through the final kilometer and drifted back above 8 minutes per kilometer—but it didn’t matter. I still set a new personal best and ran significantly faster than my previous run on Wednesday.

More importantly, it confirmed something:
If I just keep doing what I’m doing, my goal is absolutely reachable.

I only need to shave 22 seconds off my pace to hit sub-9 minutes per kilometer.

That’s not magic.
That’s consistency.

For a year that began with a skunk encounter and a disrupted sleep cycle, it turned into a surprisingly perfect first run. Strong, fast, confident, and full of momentum.

Not a bad way to start a new year at all.

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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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Nashville Weather Changes: Spring Yesterday, Winter Today

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

True to the forecast, the temperature dropped 40 degrees since yesterday. This is classic Nashville behavior. Our weather doesn’t transition—it teleports. One day you’re contemplating spring allergies, the next you’re questioning your glove choices.

Just yesterday, it felt so warm that we spotted early spring flowers on the trees. My wife’s allergies immediately noticed. Apparently, pollen doesn’t wait for official permission. Spring showed up briefly, caused chaos, and left.

The shift happened fast. It stayed warm through the evening, but around 10 p.m., the wind started howling like it had a personal vendetta. The temperature plunged, and for a while, I was mildly concerned about losing electricity. My wife, meanwhile, slept soundly through it all—completely unaware of the weather drama unfolding outside.

To be fair, she had already checked today’s temperature before bed. She always does. Her running clothes are selected and staged based on the forecast, prepared calmly in advance like a seasoned field commander.

This morning, I waited for the day to reach its warmest point—which was still just below freezing—then reluctantly pulled on my gloves and headed out for my run. I was annoyed, but annoyance is practically a Tennessee weather survival skill.

Sometime overnight, a large branch snapped off a tree behind our house. I’m fairly certain I heard it crack. The tree itself survived, thankfully—it chose to sacrifice an arm rather than topple over onto our deck or house. Strategic, if unfortunate.

In the daylight, the damage was clear. The tree lost its largest limb and now looks thoroughly defeated. It was already struggling against neighboring trees, and since the one next to it fell last year, the ground may be too disturbed for it to stay upright much longer. This is likely a conversation I’ll need to have with my wife later.

On a brighter note, her Christmas present finally arrived today. I wrapped it up so it’ll be ready when she gets home—a small victory amid the wind, cold, and fallen branches.

So yes:
  • Yesterday: spring
  • Today: winter
  • Tomorrow: who knows

That’s Nashville. And somehow, we keep running anyway.

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Running After Poor Sleep and Even Less Patience

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Some days, sleep simply refuses to cooperate. Last night was one of them.

I woke up around 1 a.m. and stayed awake for hours, staring into the darkness while my brain ran its own unsolicited marathon. By morning, my body made it very clear that it had not signed up for this level of sleep deprivation.

Fridays come with their own fixed set of chores, and today was no exception. My wife took the day off—strategically—because she needs to work an extra day next week. She had already been up for hours, moving briskly through chores she scheduled a month ago. That’s just how she operates. Planning is her superpower.

Despite feeling tired down to my bones, I got up at my normal time. Routine has a way of carrying you when energy doesn’t. After breakfast, I felt marginally more human and decided to go for my run. This was not enthusiasm—it was willpower.

My wife, already finished with her morning exercise, cheerfully reported how wonderful it was outside. And she was right. By the time I stepped out, it was already above 65°F—shockingly warm for winter in Tennessee. She’s thoroughly enjoying this mild American winter, having lived in Canada long enough to expect a white Christmas.

I remember Canadian winters vividly. One year, we shoveled nearly a foot of snow. If you live in the snow belt, snow removal becomes a lifestyle choice.

Today’s run felt great weather-wise. Shorts made another appearance. Speed, however, did not. I didn’t hit my target pace, and I’m placing full responsibility on poor sleep and lingering exhaustion.

My wife mentioned the other day—backed by her usual deep dive into nearly 100 academic journals—that sleep quality has a direct impact on cardio and resistance training performance. She doesn’t repeat common wisdom; she verifies it. That level of professional skepticism likely comes from her accounting background. Admirable? Yes. Exhausting? Also yes.

Despite the fatigue, I managed to complete everything on today’s to-do list. Still, there was a quiet sense of dread hovering over the day—the kind that only poor sleep can bring.

Now that it’s early evening, I’m nearly caught up. Once I finish my pullovers, I’ll officially be in the clear. The hope is simple: better sleep tonight, a stronger run tomorrow, and fewer arguments with my pillow.

One tired day down. Tomorrow gets another shot.

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