Tag: Stroke Recovery

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How to Be Patient With Rainy Day Leaf Collection

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Written October 7, 2025

Hello, Dear Readers,

Today, the weather decided to misbehave—again. After yesterday’s run, I had mentally committed to my next big adventure: Rainy Day leaf collection. It’s the kind of chore that feels noble in theory but suspiciously endless in practice. I even checked the forecast like a responsible adult and saw only a “chance” of early morning rain. Perfect, I thought. I’ll just wait until early afternoon, when the sun peeks out, and get it done.

Instead, I woke up to the sound of a downpour so aggressive it could’ve washed away my motivation. This wasn’t a “light drizzle” situation—it was the kind of steady, unapologetic rain that makes you reconsider your life choices and your roofing. Looking outside, I saw my ambitious leaf plans swirling down the gutter, literally.

This year has been unreasonably rainy—as if Mother Nature subscribed to the “water your lawn… excessively” school of thought. So, it is not uncommon that I need to do rainy day leaf collection. Temperatures have dropped, too, with my wife grumbling that mornings have dipped into the 50s. She’s up early for work, while I, on the other hand, can afford to pick my weather battles. I’d like to call that “flexibility,” though it might also be “strategic procrastination.”

The trees in front of our house have clearly joined the rebellion. They’re producing leaves faster than I can collect them, forming crunchy layers that mock my efforts. The rain, meanwhile, turns those leaves into heavy, sticky mats that cling to the ground like soggy lasagna. I use my leaf vacuum, normally as my trusted companion, but it becomes a glorified paperweight with the wet leaves.

Adding to the comedy, our house sits conveniently at the end of the court—an unfortunate spot where all the neighborhood leaves come to rest. It’s as if every gust of wind plays a game of “let’s dump it on his yard.” I sometimes think my trees are innocent; it’s everyone else’s that are plotting against me.

After days of rain delays, the leaves have piled up so much that I could probably lose a small pet in there. The irony? The rain doesn’t stop the trees from shedding more. It’s like the universe saying, “Oh, you’re behind? Let’s make it worse.”

Still, I try to look on the bright side—

Still, I try to look on the bright side—or at least the dry side. The forecast says Thursday will finally clear up. If it does, I’ll be out there with my vacuum and rake, reclaiming my yard one soggy pile at a time. I like to think of this as a test of patience and persistence—kind of like gardening, but with less zen and more muttering under your breath.

Diligence really is the secret weapon with chores like this. You show up, even when the sky looks like it’s about to ruin your plans. Maybe that’s the quiet lesson hidden under all the damp leaves: nature may win a few battles, but persistence (and a good weather app) usually wins the war.

So, for now, I’ll sip my coffee, watch the rain mock my to-do list, and wait for Thursday. When the sun returns, I’ll be ready—leaf vacuum charged, gloves on, and playlist queued. Because if the weather’s going to conspire against me, I might as well make it a stylish defeat.

Next

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Why I Gained Four Pounds Overnight—and Why It’s Actually Good News with My Kidney Condition

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Written September 29, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

My legs and I are currently on speaking terms again—barely. Yesterday’s 10K run left me hobbling like I’d just completed a marathon with bricks strapped to my ankles. Recovery is not my strong suit; thanks to my kidney condition, I heal slower than the average adult male, and unlike gym bros, I can’t just down a mountain of chicken breasts to bounce back.

My doctor did let me nudge up my protein intake a bit, but it’s still a delicate balancing act. During summer, I was burning calories faster than an ice cube melts in Nashville heat, so keeping my weight steady was like playing nutritional Jenga.

Today’s run was… let’s call it “character-building.” I aimed for 10K, but my body voted strongly for “more like 5K.” Fatigue, poor sleep, temporary weight gain, and a side of sore legs made sure my performance stayed humbling. And speaking of sleep—last night mine was about as restful as trying to nap during a fire alarm test.

Dinner probably didn’t help. My wife, who avoids meat like it’s auditioning for a horror movie, made vegetarian chili to sneak in some extra protein. Tasty, yes. But let’s just say it left me producing enough gas to qualify as a renewable energy source. Add to that the three liters of water I downed, and I was on first-name terms with our bathroom.

The scale added its own drama this morning: four pounds heavier than Saturday. It is not as bad as you think when you have a kidney condition like mine. But before I accused my chili of conspiring against me, I noticed the breakdown. According to the fancy metrics, over half of that gain is muscle, and a quarter is water weight. My wife—now practically a part-time sports medicine researcher thanks to her own fitness challenges—reminded me that recovery often means muscles hoard water like dragons hoard gold.

So yes, the numbers will bounce around, but in a couple of days, I’ll be back in my target range. In the meantime, I’ll keep running, keep eating cautiously, and maybe keep a safe distance from vegetarian chili before long runs.

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Rice Runs, Frozen Tofu Experiments, and the 10K That Got Away

Brian’s fitness journal after brain stroke

Written September 20, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Saturday morning in my household is a delicate dance between errands, exercise, and the eternal quest for puff pastry sheets. This week’s adventure began at the local Asian grocery store, because, well—running out of rice in an Asian household is basically the culinary equivalent of running out of oxygen. My wife needed vegetables, too, which meant the trip was officially sanctioned. So today, we went Asian grocery shopping.

Now, a trip to the Asian grocery shopping isn’t just a “pop in, pop out” operation. It’s a small expedition. The store recently started opening at 8 a.m., but let’s be honest: that’s early enough to threaten my carefully choreographed Saturday 10k schedule. My wife doesn’t mind—she has her own routines to juggle. But me? I get twitchy when my long run collides with cabbage shopping.

Back home, my wife immediately switched into surgeon mode, chopping vegetables with precision, bagging them up, and sealing them tighter than Fort Knox. Freezer prep is her art form. She even went bold this week, sneaking tofu into the vegetable bags. This was a first—frozen tofu. The great experiment. She worried about texture changes, but she sealed everything like she was shipping supplies to the International Space Station.

And here’s the thing: Asian groceries are magical, but they’re also heartbreakers. Prices are climbing faster than I can sprint a downhill kilometer. Bean sprouts—bean sprouts!—cost more than they have any right to. Tofu leapt from $1.69 to $2.33, and cabbage is flirting with the one-dollar-per-pound mark. My wife, ever the philosopher-economist, shrugged it off: “Vegetables are cheaper than getting sick.” She calls it an investment in future health, which is hard to argue with—even if I did want to whine about my wallet.

Meanwhile, my run schedule was wobbling. By the time we’d sorted rice, veggies, and freezer logistics, the Nashville sun was already plotting against me. I laced up for the 10k, determined to salvage the morning. The first half went fine—better than fine, actually—but by the second half, the temperature had risen to “why am I doing this again?” levels. Let’s just say I did not become the hero of my own running story that day. Half a run, half a victory.

Of course, I promised myself I’d make up the distance on Monday. I even checked the week’s forecast like it was my personal redemption arc. But life, as always, threw a curveball: mowing season isn’t done yet. And yes, I had to factor in pastry bites, because apparently, my errands also involve making sure puff pastry sheets are in stock for the week ahead. (Don’t ask how pastry became part of my training diet—it’s a long story involving taste buds and denial.)

Here’s the truth: seasonal transitions don’t happen in a neat, dramatic shift. They creep up on you. The weather hasn’t bullied me into full winter running mode yet, so I’m keeping things flexible. Saturday schedules will shift. Runs may be cut short. Puff pastry will mysteriously appear in the cart. But patience—and maybe a little tofu experiment—will get us through.

And in the meantime, there’s rice in the pantry, vegetables in the freezer, and a 10k penciled into my calendar with suspicious optimism. That’s what I call balance.

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Rain, Runs, and Relentless Grass: A Nashville Tale

Brian’s Journal after Brain Stroke

Written September 24, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Nashville’s weather has been auditioning for the role of “most indecisive character in a soap opera.” One minute, sunshine. Next minute, a full-on rain performance with dramatic flair. Naturally, my lawn has been the stage victim—too soggy to mow the other day, yet somehow already plotting its overgrowth revenge.

Today’s to-do list included a 5 km run. Did the rain stop me? Not exactly. Did it try to slow me down? Absolutely. Imagine running while the sky wrings itself out like a wet towel over your head—that was me. By the midpoint, I felt as if the rain wasn’t just falling on me but siphoning my energy straight out of my legs. The cool air stiffened me up, and my pace slowed, but hey, I still finished. That’s a victory in my book.

Meanwhile, the lawn continues to mock me. Mowing is no small affair here—our backyard is hillier than a rollercoaster ride. My wife used to mow it with a non-electric push mower, which I now realize was basically a medieval torture device disguised as gardening equipment. She took breaks between passes; I just sweat and pray.

The funny part? Last summer was so scorching hot that the grass barely grew, and we actually wished it would. This year, it’s making up for lost time—rain, warmth, repeat. Nashville weather is playing chess, and I’m just a pawn with a lawnmower.

When I got home from my run, I weighed myself and noticed I was down four pounds compared to yesterday. Before you think I discovered some magic weight-loss hack, don’t get excited—it was probably the difference between “pre-breakfast” vs. “post-liter-of-water.” For the record, one liter equals about 2.2 pounds. Math: not glamorous, but it explains a lot.

The weighing ritual has become part of my daily routine, thanks to our electric scale. My doctor loves the log—apparently, sudden spikes or drops are like plot twists in my health story. I keep myself steady around 150 pounds, with about 132 of that being muscle (the other 18? Let’s just call them “personality”).

On the food front, my wife has recently developed a habit of stockpiling bananas. She snacks on one before her workouts. Bananas may contain potassium, which I need to watch with my kidneys, but I figure one or two won’t send me straight to the ER. Plus, potassium helps with energy—something I probably could’ve used before running in the rain like a damp tortoise.

Slow or not, I ran today. The grass may wait, the rain may fall, but showing up matters more than the stopwatch. Someday, I’ll be a faster runner. For now, I’ll settle for being the guy who outpaces his lawn.

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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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Running the Seasons: How Nashville Weather Keeps My Schedule on Its Toes

Written August 31, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

The timing of seasonal shifts is like Nashville traffic—unpredictable, occasionally frustrating, and always in charge of my schedule. Every year, I play this little game of musical chairs with my running times. In the summer, I’m out the door around 7 a.m., sprinting before the sun decides to fry me. But when winter comes? You’ll find me jogging closer to noon, because I’d rather not reenact Frozen on the sidewalk.

Lately, the mornings have been sneakily chilly. I lace up expecting a mild breeze, only to feel like I’ve stumbled into an early winter audition. My gut tells me this week is when the seasonal baton officially passes: Friday will probably be my first “post-breakfast run” of the year. In winter, that little delay makes a world of difference—Nashville temperatures love to bounce around like a yo-yo, and waiting a few hours can turn a run from misery to manageable.

Of course, my body adds a bonus challenge. Thanks to my brain stroke, my thermoregulation works about as fast as a dial-up modem. Cold or hot, it doesn’t matter—my system takes its sweet time catching up. So I’ve become a professional “sweet spot” hunter, timing my runs and chores to avoid temperature whiplash.

At home, we keep the thermostat close to whatever’s happening outside. Once it’s above 90°F or below 55°F, we finally surrender and turn on the AC or heat. Otherwise, I try to let my body adapt naturally. Grocery stores, though, are a different beast—stepping into one during summer feels like walking into an Arctic exhibit, and my body protests the climate shift like it’s on strike.

I’ve learned that running earlier in summer helps me conserve energy. Last year, my pace actually improved as the season wore on—apparently, avoiding temperature drama frees up power for speed. These days, I’m glued to weather reports like a stock trader, shifting my running schedule and yard work around whatever Nashville decides to throw at me.

And here’s the kicker: August is technically still “summer” here. So while I’m pulling out hoodies for morning runs, I wouldn’t blink if next week brings a heatwave encore. In the meantime, I’ve penciled in mowing for Tuesday and Thursday. The cooler weather has slowed the grass’s growth compared to last year, but let’s be honest—my lawn and Nashville’s climate probably have a secret pact to keep me guessing.

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Sunday 10K in Nashville: Beating the Heat, Healing the Brain

Written August 10, 2025

Hello, Dear Readers,

Most Sundays start slow. This one started with a Saturday do-over: a make-up 10K because errands muscled my regular schedule out of the way. Weekend life happens—birthday cakes, family gatherings, and those “we’ll do it Saturday” tasks that somehow multiply like fruit flies on ripe bananas.

In most seasons, I don’t mind the shuffle. But in summer? Nashville turns the heat up like it’s auditioning for a sauna convention. If I don’t start early, I’m basically running on a griddle. My wife solves this by finishing her workout by 6:00 a.m. I, on the other hand, am a medically certified extra-sleep person. After my brain injury, my doctor explained that more sleep is normal—healing brains are busy. Add kidneys that get tired faster than a phone on 1% battery, and yeah, I guard my sleep like it’s a rare collector’s item.

Running, though, is part of my mission to get better. Moving my legs helps my brain rewire. I’ve regained abilities since the stroke, and my doctors cheer on the consistency. I watch what I put in my mouth (not my mouse—been there), and most importantly, I refuse to give up on getting better.

Here’s the twist: I never expected to take running this seriously. At first, it was medicine—do the miles, take the dose. Then it turned into satisfaction—set a goal, hit the goal. Somewhere along the way, I started running better than pre-stroke me. I plan to keep going.

Progress hasn’t been a straight line. My pace improves overall, even if it stalls or dips here and there. Zoom out, and the trend is up—and faster.

Today’s run? Full 10K: target pace in the first half, not quite in the second. Still, I snagged my second-fastest 10K ever and nudged closer to my year-end target. I’ve got a little over three months to shave off another 4 seconds per kilometer. After this week’s wins, that feels more “probable” than “maybe.”

The biggest summer obstacle remains the Nashville furnace. Even if 7:00 a.m. starts friendly, by 10:00 a.m. it’s flirting with the high 80s. I try to outrun the sun; sometimes the sun wins. We’ve had a few mercifully comfortable days, but the heat is sneaking back next week. That’s okay. I’ll control what I can, run smart, and let the dice fall where they may.

TL;DR: Errands happen, heat happens, life happens. I’m still out there—healing, hustling, and inching faster. See you on the road (preferably before the pavement starts sizzling).

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Stormy Skies, Jedi Robes, and a Surprisingly Cool 80 Degrees:

Written July 19, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

After days of heat so intense it felt like we were living inside a convection oven, the skies finally cracked open—dramatically, as if someone upstairs decided enough was enough. About an hour before bedtime, the long-threatened storm rolled in with theatrical flair, dumping buckets of rain and dropping the temperature like a mic.

My wife had been watching the brooding sky all evening, eyeing those dark gray clouds like they owed her money. And when the rain came, it brought with it that earthy, nostalgic smell—part petrichor, part soggy forest floor. The little wooded patch behind our house soaked it all in, sending up the scent of wet leaves and wood.

The temperature drop was swift and sweet. By sunset, it had dipped to a breezy 80°F. That may not sound like sweater weather, but after multiple days of 90+ degree punishment, it felt practically alpine. What’s wild is how 80°F now feels cool to me—a reminder of how my body has changed since my stroke and kidney issues. I used to roast like a lizard under a heat lamp. Now I’m grateful to feel any kind of comfort at all.

Meanwhile, my wife was feeling chilly, which brought back a funny memory: last Independence Day at my mother’s place. She had the thermostat at 78°F, and we were both huddling like penguins in a wind tunnel. I ended up donning my emergency Jedi robe—the one my sister gifted me for my birthday, complete with big sleeves and dramatic flair. It’s followed me across states and seasons, now upgraded to a thicker version for maximum cozy defense.

Before my stroke, I was a walking contradiction—loved the cold but couldn’t regulate it well. I’d fling open windows in the dead of Canadian winter, much to my wife’s horror. She, ever the voice of reason, kept our homes in balance—never too warm, never too cold. Her temperature philosophy? Let nature do its thing, and open the windows at night. It’s worked well in Nashville’s climate, where summer nights still offer a break from the scorch.

So, yes, the weather was finally nicer. I still didn’t hit my personal best pace on my run, but I got it done. According to my app, it was my 11th fastest 10k. Not too shabby for a guy in a heatwave who once wore a Jedi robe to survive a 78°F living room.

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Sew It Goes: How Sewing a Button Became My Unexpected Rehab Win

Written June 25, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Yesterday, a small but mighty victory took place in my household: I finally sewed a button back onto my shorts. Yes, the shorts that have been silently judging me from the mending pile for weeks. My original goal was to wear them to my blood draw appointment, but threading that needle turned into an Olympic-level event—and, spoiler alert, I did not win gold.

Part of the challenge? My left hand. It’s been on a bit of a go-slow strike since my stroke. While most of my mobility has returned (with a slow but steady comeback tour), my left hand still dances to its own rhythm—one that is less ballet and more interpretive chaos. I practice piano daily to retrain it, and while progress is real, threading a needle still feels like trying to put a shoelace through a keyhole. While blindfolded. On a moving train.

Oh, and let’s not forget my eyesight. Between the rebellious hand and less-than-stellar vision, sewing that button felt like performing surgery with oven mitts.

Despite it all, I managed to get the thread through, stab the shorts a few dozen times (mostly intentionally), and reattach the button. My backup pair of shorts had just emerged from the dryer at that moment, so I wore those instead. Still, I went back to my sewing mission post-appointment, and this time, I finished the job.

And let me just say: shout-out to my middle school home economics teacher. Without those long-forgotten lessons, I’d have had to look up a YouTube tutorial or ask my wife for help. Both totally valid options, but nothing beats a minor domestic triumph all on your own.

In the end, this wasn’t just about the button. It was about dexterity. Determination. Brain-hand coordination. This tiny, stubborn project turned out to be its own form of rehab—and it counts.

I’d been putting it off because, well, life. Doctor visits, lab work, and the glorious chaos of summer have been eating up my time. But yesterday, I did the thing. I fixed the shorts. I now officially have two wearable pairs for the season. The repaired button has held firm—so far, so good. Fingers crossed. Or in my case, sort-of-crossed.

Tomorrow brings my annual eye appointment, and I’ll be mowing the lawn beforehand (because nothing says “adulting” like trimming grass before checking your retinas). So yes, having an extra pair of shorts is not just fashion—it’s function.

Until next time, keep your threads tight and your victories celebrated—no matter how small they seem. Sometimes, sewing on a button is the big win of the week.

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Mow, Sweat, and Labs: A Kidney-Friendly Workout With a Side of Weather Nerdiness

Written Jun 24, 2025

Reviewed 7/7

Hello Dear Readers,

Today’s agenda was brought to you by the letters M (for mowing), B (for bloodwork), and S (for sweat. So. Much. Sweat).

It was a race against the sun this morning—me versus the jungle formerly known as our lawn. I usually take my time trimming the terrain, but today, I had a hard deadline: a date with a phlebotomist. Nothing says “productive morning” quite like pushing an electric mower up a steep hill, then heading off to donate a vial or five of blood.

Let’s rewind a bit. My kidneys and I have a bit of a complicated history. Back in 2015, my function had dipped so low that I made the transplant list. Dramatic, I know. But through some dietary ninja moves, medication management, and sheer stubbornness, I climbed back up to stage 3. Some days I flirt with stage 4 (I like to keep my nephrologist on their toes). Hence the quarterly blood draws—my body’s version of a quarterly report card, minus the spreadsheets.

Exercise has become non-negotiable for me. Not just to stay fit, but to keep my kidneys pumping (or filtering?) as best they can. Ever since my stroke, I’ve realized that motion isn’t just medicine—it’s mission-critical.

Until 2022, my wife was the queen of the lawn. She’d spend hours on weekends battling the grass while working full-time during the week. Eventually, I took over. Now I handle both cooking and mowing—basically, I’m evolving into a domestic ninja with a touch of yard warrior.

Our lawn, by the way, is no gentle meadow. It’s steep enough to make you question your life choices mid-mow. Even with our electric mower, I need two battery swaps—and usually still don’t finish it all in one go. Today, I gave myself three hours and managed to tame the front yard and half of one side before calling it quits. Thursday, the saga continues.

I was drenched in sweat by the end, having chugged a full liter of water like it was my sidekick. Honestly, I might need a medal. Or at least a Popsicle.

On a brighter (and cooler) note, we’ve gone full nerd and ordered a fancy weather station! It has a remote sensor that sits in our bedroom, while the main display lives in my office. Now I can spy on the upstairs temperature without even standing up. Efficiency, thy name is gadget.

The new system should help us decide when to fling open the windows or turn on the fan, because let’s be real—when your body doesn’t regulate heat so well post-stroke, indoor climate control is a tactical operation.