Tag: Running

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Running in Shorts on Warm Christmas Eve (and Other Seasonal Confusions)

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

It’s eerily warm this Christmas Eve—warm enough that I ran in shorts. Seasonally inappropriate, yes. Thermodynamically accurate, also yes.

When I woke up, my nose felt congested. After one decisive blow, it started bleeding. Festive. I’m blaming the unusually low humidity we’ve had over the past few weeks. My skin has also been itchy enough to qualify as a minor distraction, though lotion keeps things from escalating.

This Christmas in Nashville has been strange. One day we hit the high 60s Fahrenheit, which immediately reminded me of Vancouver, where we lived briefly. Vancouver summers rarely go above 72–73°F, so a nearly 70-degree day there feels like a heatwave. Today had that same confused energy—winter pretending to be spring.

I did pause to worry about the nosebleed. These days, anything involving blood earns a moment of concern. Nosebleeds can signal high blood pressure, but after checking, mine was fine. Dryness seems to be the real culprit.

My wife, ever the source of oddly specific medical trivia, once told me she used to get nosebleeds from eating too much chocolate. She also had frequent nosebleeds during sudden temperature or pressure changes—so frequent, in fact, that she had the nasal veins cauterized in her teens. She hasn’t had a nosebleed since, though she remains cautious around chocolate and rapid weather shifts.

I worry more than I used to. Knowledge does that to you. Once you know what could be wrong, your brain insists on checking every possibility.

Unfortunately, my run didn’t go particularly well either. I felt distracted and held back, partly because I was worried my nose might start bleeding again if I pushed too hard. Running in shorts usually feels like an automatic speed boost, but not today.

Still, it wasn’t a total loss. I matched Monday’s pace, which means there’s at least some improvement from earlier this week. And with three more runs before the week ends, I still have chances to hit my target pace.

So:

  • Warm Christmas Eve ✔️
  • Shorts in December ✔️
  • Festive nosebleed ✖️
  • Perfect run ❌

Not ideal—but manageable. And on Christmas Eve, that’s good enough.

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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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Why You Shouldn’t Drink a Milkshake Before a 10K

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today’s plan was simple and efficient: visit the running shoe store to get my wife a fresh pair of shoes, then stop for a milkshake on the way home. We had a flier for a free milkshake, so naturally, we synchronized errands like responsible adults.

My wife takes running attire very seriously—and for good reason. She firmly believes that the wrong shoes invite injury, and improper clothing invites heat stroke, hypothermia, or, at the very least, regret. I don’t argue with this logic.

While we were there, I also replaced my aging cold-weather running pants. My old pair had reached the end of their honorable service, so I upgraded. Once we got home, I immediately put the new pants on and decided to break them in properly—with a full 10K run.

We don’t go out much on her days off because she usually has a long list of chores. But she’d already declared weeks ago that her running shoes were overdue for replacement. This outing had been scheduled in the household calendar long before the milkshake entered the story.

The milkshake, however, was my personal motivation.

My wife isn’t interested in milkshakes. She always takes one sip of mine, politely declares it “too sweet,” and hands it back. I, on the other hand, was thrilled. I hadn’t had a milkshake in years. Years.

And then I made a terrible decision.

I drank the entire milkshake right before heading out for my run.

Running with a belly full of milkshake is… not ideal. No matter how delicious it is, milkshake-fueled jogging is not a performance-enhancing strategy. This is a lesson I will absolutely remember: milkshakes belong after runs, not immediately before them.

The run itself was hard. I fought to keep my pace from collapsing more than 50 seconds below my target. I finished 49 seconds under instead—which is technically better, but emotionally still rough. By the end, my legs were fully aware that I had tried very hard.

They may become even more aware tonight.

I’m considering doing my weekly squats this evening instead of tomorrow. That would give me an extra recovery day before my Monday run, which should—at least in theory—help me be faster then.

So today’s takeaways:
  • New shoes: excellent
  • New pants: promising
  • Free milkshake: delicious
  • Timing of milkshake: catastrophic

Still, lessons were learned, gear was upgraded, and the run got done.
Next time, I’ll earn my milkshake the hard way—after the finish line.

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Too Cold to Run, Smart Enough to Plan Around It

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

I have been exceptionally cold in Nashville lately. We’ve had mornings starting at 11°F, which feels less like weather and more like a personal challenge from the universe.

My wife, unfazed, went out for her morning workout anyway. Her internal temperature sensor is clearly miscalibrated, I blame her time living in the frozen wastes of Canada. She claims her winter running jacket feels perfectly warm at 11°F. Apparently, such jackets exist. I have never owned one and therefore remain skeptical.

Last night, it snowed. Snow itself doesn’t concern us unless it requires manual labor. We are fully prepared—with two bags of salt and a snow shovel standing by like emergency supplies. Fortunately, the snow didn’t stick. The temperature crept above freezing just long enough to melt it away.

Unfortunately, that did not mean warmth was coming back.

Once I realized we wouldn’t see anything above 40°F, I immediately began dreading my run. Since I’ve already hit my yearly running goals, a dangerous thought appeared: Maybe I can take a break.

And just like that, I declared today a no-run day.

That said, I know the rule my wife lives by: skip once, and you must go back next time. Otherwise, skipping becomes a habit, and habits quietly erode commitment. This is probably why she still works out in conditions better suited for polar research.

I, however, have a different constraint: my body does not cope well with extreme weather. This is less a motivational issue and more a survival preference.

Looking ahead, Saturday promises temperatures in the 40s. Not pleasant—but tolerable. I’ll definitely be running a 10K then. A 10K in the 40s isn’t fun, but it’s manageable with the right layers and the correct amount of complaining.

This has led me to consider a new idea: a temperature-based exception rule.

Something like:

  • If it doesn’t get above 40°F by 1 p.m.
  • And I’ve already hit my current year’s goals
    → I’m allowed to skip the run without guilt.

I suspect this would reduce unnecessary stress and make running feel less like a punishment issued by the weather. It may also be wise to establish an upper temperature limit as well—though running early in the morning usually solves that problem.

For now, winter and I have reached a temporary ceasefire. I skipped today.
I will run next time.
And that, I think, is a reasonable compromise.

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Ending It Nearly Completed All Tasks With Time Management Skills

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today, I forced myself out of bed—feeling surprisingly rested and recovered—but immediately remembered one inconvenient truth: it was cold. Very cold. Cold enough to make running sound like a poor life choice. Still, I started my day on time.

I checked the weather app and plotted the optimal moment for my run like a general preparing for battle. Cold-weather gear would be required, but I could afford to wait a bit for marginally better conditions. Unfortunately, waiting too long wasn’t an option—I had a long list of chores left over from yesterday.

Thanksgiving 2025 was a genuinely lovely family gathering. The food was excellent. The company was even better. But holidays have a way of borrowing time from the future, and today was the repayment day. With a full slate of chores waiting, time management suddenly mattered a lot.

Despite my worry that I’d overworked the evening after returning from my sister’s house yesterday, I managed to power through. As soon as we got home, I transferred clothes from the washer to the dryer, then went upstairs to finish the dishes while the kombucha water boiled. Multitasking isn’t glamorous, but it’s effective.

Once those tasks were underway, I checked the dryer timer and realized I had just enough time to eat a piece of leftover pizza before the next wave of responsibilities arrived. On days like this, I have to work systematically—doing the task that fits into the gaps while something else runs in the background.

When the laundry finished, I folded and put away everything except the sheets. Those had twisted themselves into an impressive knot and hadn’t fully dried, so they earned another spin in the dryer and a postponement until tomorrow. At that point, the sheer volume of tasks was starting to feel heavy.

By the time I finally stopped moving, I was completely exhausted and very ready for sleep.

My Time Management Method

To manage days like this, I rely on task chains—doing one thing that naturally leads to the next—so I don’t have to hold everything in my head at once. These are coping strategies I’ve learned since my brain stroke. When your brain has been injured, remembering things isn’t automatic. Systems matter.

Out of curiosity, I checked on my wife. She’s been off since Wednesday and will be until the end of the week, which usually means more chores—not fewer. But she had already completed most of her tasks yesterday, knowing how packed the week before our family gathering had been. Planning ahead: her specialty.

I’m still working on my time-management skills. But today, I got most of what needed to be done—and that’s good enough. The rest can wait until tomorrow. Progress doesn’t always look energetic.
Sometimes it looks like finishing the day tired—and still satisfied.

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A Day of Labs, and Strategically Skipping a Run Without Guilt

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

After checking the weather forecast yesterday and mentally mapping out today’s schedule, I reached a firm conclusion: squeezing in a run would be heroically unpleasant. I have a blood draw scheduled for 1:30 p.m., which makes a midday run less “healthy habit” and more “logistical nightmare.”

My wife kindly took the day off to drive me to the lab. My nephrologist recently changed lab locations, and what used to be a walkable errand is now a 39-minute drive. Progress, apparently, comes with mileage.

Since she already had the day off, my wife suggested stopping by a secondhand bookstore on the way home. We haven’t been in nearly a year, but we like wandering through shelves where books cost less and come with mysterious past lives. Used books don’t bother either of us—stories age well.

The drive itself was pleasant. Being driven to a lab is significantly nicer than walking there, especially when the destination includes an underground parking garage shared by two identical buildings. Naturally, we took the wrong elevator and ended up in the wrong building.

Everything looked… medical. That was the problem. After a moment of quiet confusion and mutual suspicion, I realized we were definitely not where we were supposed to be. Medical offices are impressively interchangeable. We regrouped, descended, ascended again, and eventually found the correct lab.

Afterward, we rewarded ourselves with a visit to the bookstore. My wife browsed happily and found Lolita, which she’s wanted to read but avoided because of its eye-watering Amazon price. The secondhand copy solved that problem instantly. She didn’t care that it wasn’t new—victory is victory.

Once we returned home, reality resumed. Supper needed cooking. Pies need to be baked for tomorrow’s feast. And just like that, the run officially exited today’s agenda.

Lessons Learned

I usually try to schedule appointments on non-running days to avoid this exact situation, but the lab’s availability didn’t cooperate this time. So it goes.

Being out for several hours tightened the rest of the day’s schedule—for both of us. Even on her day off, my wife had to reshuffle everything to fit the lab visit. Efficiency never truly clocks out.

At least I’ve already completed my running goals for the year, so I feel no pressure to “make up” today’s missed run. If anything, the extra rest might help me recover fully and push harder on Friday.

Sometimes progress looks like running.

Sometimes it looks like skipping a run—with intention, books, and pie preparation waiting at home.

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When Snow Is on the Schedule but Motivation Is on Hold

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Last night, I made the mistake of checking the weather forecast. There it was in bold, unforgiving clarity: snow scheduled for today. I don’t mind running in the cold, but snow running? That’s where my enthusiasm politely exits the building.

This morning, the very first thing I did was rush to the window like a weather detective. No snow yet. Victory—for the moment. The temperature had dropped, though, and it was barely going to crawl past 40°F all day.

We’ve had a suspiciously mild autumn this year. Just recently, we enjoyed a 70-degree day. I think that spoiled me. Cold now feels rude. Still, I reminded myself: at least it’s not snowing. Our neighborhood is hilly, and I vividly remember my wife and I nearly slipping just walking up the hill in front of our house on a previous snow day. Ice plus gravity is not a friendly combination.

Had it been snowing, the day’s running plans would have been instantly canceled—no debate. But since the ground was still clear, I was forced to consider actually going out into the cold. I wasn’t thrilled, but I figured that after breakfast, it might be slightly more tolerable.

Meanwhile, my wife casually goes out for exercise at 5:00 a.m., when the temperature is even lower. I still don’t understand what kind of heroic software runs her internal system.

I, on the other hand, require mental push-ups just to step outside in cold weather.

After feeding both my kitten and myself, I consulted my weather app for the optimal escape window—only to be informed that snow was still very much expected. The app cheerfully announced it would start within the hour. In other words, science had just handed me a perfectly legitimate excuse to make my run short.

And I accepted it without protest.

The exercise journey, I’m learning, is full of negotiations—with weather, with the body, and especially with the mind. A decade ago, my resistance to running was far worse. Now the resistance is mostly emotional… but I still show up more often than not.

Even a little bit of exercise counts. Even showing up mentally counts. And looking ahead at the week, both Wednesday and Friday promise better running weather—so I’m choosing not to feel too guilty today.

Sometimes progress means running.
Sometimes it means strategically retreating from snow.

Both are survival skills.

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Shorts Weather, Long Distance, and a 10K Victory

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today’s mission depended on one critical variable: temperature. I waited patiently for it to rise just enough to justify running in shorts—quite possibly my final bare-legged appearance of the year. Once conditions were approved by the unofficial weather committee (me), I headed out for my 10K run with one ambitious goal in mind: hit my final speed target for the year.

The last two runs were hard 5Ks, and I’d pushed aggressively for pace. Somehow, my body had recovered better than expected, which gave me hope. Dangerous hope. The motivational kind.

After the first quarter kilometer, I was well ahead of target. That early success flipped a switch in my brain: Maintain this at all costs. Each pace announcement reinforced the fantasy that today might actually be the day. Naturally, I pushed harder.

Now, the body is essentially an energy budget. Spend too much too early, and you go bankrupt before the finish line. I knew I was overspending. By the end of the first kilometer, my head start had shrunk—but I was still safely ahead, so I continued the dangerous strategy known as optimism. By the 5K mark, I had beaten my target pace by a comfortable margin.

But I wasn’t content with “comfortable.”

I wanted a new personal best 10K.
I wanted my first ever sub-9-minute-per-kilometer 10K.
And I still had half the distance left to survive.

The final two kilometers were brutal. My lead evaporated faster than my confidence during those last pushes. Every step felt like a negotiation. With three seconds to spare—three—I crossed the line under my sub-9 goal.

I did it.
New personal best.
Goal achieved.
Shorts weather honored.

For a brief moment, I considered retiring for the rest of the year. After all, it’s still early November. Why not celebrate with a well-earned vacation from running? That thought lasted exactly as long as the walk home.

Instead, I doubled down.

Next year’s goal is already on the table: shave off another full minute from my pace. Is it realistic? I honestly don’t know. But it’s achievable to try—and that’s the part that still matters most.

So on Monday, the next mission begins.

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Cold Weather Running, Frustration, and Nietzsche: A November Runner’s Tale

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

I can’t believe it’s already November. One week we’re basking in warm weather, and the next we’re suddenly living inside a refrigerator. But cold or not, I refuse to stop running. I simply layer up like an onion with cardio goals.

This morning, my fitness tracker declared I had “high energy” and was in a “cardio-ready state.” Lies. All lies. My 5k quickly turned into a comedy of disappointment.

I blasted out of the gate so strongly that by the first quarter kilometer, I was a glorious 40 seconds ahead of my goal pace. Unfortunately, by the time I hit the first full kilometer, that 40-second buffer had vaporized—like steam on a cold morning—and I was actively fighting gravity, time, and possibly physics to keep from slowing further.

My running app updates me every quarter kilometer like a friendly but brutally honest coach. Each announcement informed me that my pace was either the same or a second slower. Meanwhile, I felt like I was pushing harder than a Black Friday shopper. Yet the data said otherwise.

Cold weather is always more brutal for me. Ever since my brain stroke, my body adapts to temperature changes about as gracefully as an old computer installing a software update. So I have to be very deliberate about my clothing: too cold and I stiffen up; too warm and I overheat. Dressing for a winter run feels like preparing for a NASA spacewalk—one wrong layer and the mission goes sideways.

Even with all the challenges, I finished my 10k only 21 seconds behind my target pace. Not ideal, but far from a disaster. And I was much faster than last week’s 10k, so progress is still happening—just slowly, like a stubborn download progress bar.

Running is one of those long-term investments that requires patience… and more patience… and then even more patience. I’ve been running for nearly a decade, and while 5k used to feel like medieval torture, once I learned to run 10k consistently, the shorter distance stopped scaring me, but chasing a target pace? That always requires grit, stubbornness, and the willingness to suffer a little.

Cold days make it harder—pushing harder doesn’t guarantee results. Sometimes your body simply files a complaint.

My wife always reminds me: One day at a time. One step at a time. Every project has ups and downs, and effort still counts even when the outcome isn’t what we imagined.

Nietzsche might call today’s struggle a small act of “self-overcoming”—choosing the higher challenge instead of the comfortable shortcut. So instead of dwelling on today’s frustrations, I’m choosing to see it as another step toward a stronger version of myself.

And honestly? That feels like its own victory.

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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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