Tag: stroke recovery journey

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Running in Nashville: Chilly Mornings, Falling Leaves, and the Headset Saga

Written August 27, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

This morning greeted me with a chill that made me briefly question my wardrobe choices. But stubbornness won, and I set out in shorts, bracing for regret. Turns out, the gamble paid off—Nashville’s weather decided to play nice, warming up nearly 10 degrees during my hour-long run. From shivering at the start to comfortable by the end, it was like running through two seasons in one workout.

Sadly, my legs weren’t as cooperative as the thermometer. I missed my target pace by 5 seconds per kilometer, and my legs felt oddly sore right from the start. Since my shoes have already broken in, I can’t pin the blame there. Oh well—Friday will be another chance to chase that elusive pace.

Meanwhile, autumn has barged in early. The cooler weather nudged our trees to drop their leaves weeks ahead of schedule. My wife was already vacuuming them last week, but I try not to let her shoulder too much yard work—weekends are packed enough for her. Collecting leaves is a race against nature: once it rains, they become a soggy, clingy mess, and if they slip between the bushes, cleanup turns into a full-scale excavation. Yesterday’s thorough session might buy me a day off, but one gusty morning could bury the yard all over again. So my mental checklist includes: “Check the battlefield after breakfast.”

On a brighter note, my replacement headset finally arrived after a nine-day odyssey (for something estimated at one day, that’s practically geologic time). I rely on it constantly—for running, chores, and audiobooks. My wife had signed up for Audible but realized multitasking and audiobooks weren’t her thing. Lucky for me, I swooped in before she canceled, and it’s been a lifeline. When my vision dropped to double and reading became nearly impossible, audiobooks kept my love for stories alive.

The last headset died from what I’ve been told is “death by overcharging.” Apparently, leaving it plugged in too long is a slow battery murder. Lesson learned. I’m now plotting a new charging routine to keep this one alive for the long haul. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: leaves will always fall, runs will always surprise, but headsets? They deserve protection at all costs.

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Small Steps, Giant Wins (and a Few Flea Battles)

Written May 11, 2025

reviewed 5/24

Hello Dear Readers,

Good news: my shoulder is feeling better today! Not back to its full glory, but at least it’s no longer threatening to sabotage my every deep breath. Rest seems to be doing its job, so I’ll stick with it—doctor’s orders by way of common sense (the best kind).

Yesterday was a lovely disruption. My wife and I visited my family, and though it threw our usual routine out the window (probably landed somewhere in my sister’s garden), it was worth every minute. On our way home, we stopped by a grocery store near her place—a new battlefield for the weekly shop. The store layout was familiar enough to avoid total confusion, but alas, I forgot to grab cereal and almond milk. A breakfast betrayal. I’ll probably survive until next weekend, but this small oversight inspired a groundbreaking revelation: maybe I should start making a shopping list.

Yes, a list. Revolutionary.

My wife has always been a proud advocate of baby steps. “Kaizen,” she reminds me. Continuous improvement. (And yes, she built this website.)

For me, baby steps weren’t a motivational slogan—they were survival. After my brain stroke and subsequent surgery, many basic bodily functions simply clocked out. Skin sensation? Gone. Moving my legs? Like trying to command two uncooperative noodles. For months, it felt like I was locked inside myself. But slowly—achingly, infuriatingly slowly—I started to recover.

“Never give up,” my wife repeated like a mantra. Some days I believed her. Some days I just nodded while silently screaming. But now? Now I run 10 kilometers. Let that sink in. From immobile to 10k—powered entirely by small steps and pure stubbornness.

Eventually, my wife handed me the reins to this site. She told me people like me—stroke survivors, fighters, turtle-paced improvers—should share their stories. And she’s right. If someone like me can claw their way back into mobility and routine, maybe someone else out there won’t give up either.

Lately, my “kaizen” has taken the form of tweaking our weekly routine. I’m oddly proud of these tiny changes. They’re my breadcrumb trail to a more efficient life—though I don’t believe in a perfect routine. That’s a unicorn I’ve stopped chasing. But improvements? I’ll take all I can get.

Take laundry, for instance. Last week, I added a second wash day to deal with the stealthy flea army I unwittingly invite in every time I mow the lawn. We used to only wash clothes after Thursday mowing. But that left a two-day window for Tuesday’s flea squad to stage an escape from the laundry basket. Now I wash on Tuesdays, too—cutting their freedom window down to an hour or two. I call that a flea lockdown. (Sorry, guys. No soft landing this year.)

Back when we had a cat, she did most of the flea-fighting for us—like a soft, purring sacrifice with flea poison. But now it’s just us, the washing machine, and a growing pile of yard clothes.

So yes, these are small things: a shoulder healing, a forgotten carton of almond milk, a laundry schedule shift. But they add up. And step by step, list by list, run by run—I’m moving forward.