Tag: Time Management

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A Free Day, a Mowed Yard & a Wife’s Post-Op Checkup

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

There is something deeply satisfying about waking up and realizing: no doctor’s appointments today. Today, my wife had her post-op checkup. For the past few months, my calendar has been cluttered with visits to a hematologist across town, a 20- to 30-minute Uber ride that, thanks to Nashville’s legendary downtown traffic, somehow manages to swallow an entire afternoon. So, when do I get a free day like today? I guard it like a precious gem.

And what did I do with this gleaming gem of a day? I mowed the yard. Very glamorous, I know. But honestly? There’s something therapeutic about knocking a chore off the list. After breakfast and a brief, guilt-free sit-down, I fired up the mower and got it done. The rest of the to-do list is still waiting patiently, but I’m on schedule, and at this rate, I’ll be ticking everything off well before bedtime. Small victories!

Tomorrow is a different story. My wife had surgery exactly a week ago, and we’ll be heading to her post-op checkup. She’s been a champ in recovery, though not without some pharmaceutical drama. Tylenol 3, it turns out, came with an unexpected side effect for her: an absolutely baffling hunger that made her feel like she’d gone 30 hours without food. Which, for most of us, would be alarming, but for her, it was a recognizable sensation. She’s a seasoned fast learner who regularly practices 16-, 20-, 24-, and even 30-hour fasts, convinced (and she’s probably right) that it sharpens her mind considerably.

But here’s the maddening part: she had to eat something with her medication, because Tylenol 3 on an empty stomach is a recipe for trouble. So there she was, feeling ravenous for no medically valid reason, while rationing painkillers like a hero. Post-surgery, she took ibuprofen once for the initial pain and reached for Tylenol 3 only twice, both times when her incision started feeling warm. I call that impressive restraint. She calls it Tuesday.

She’s also asked me to come along to tomorrow’s appointment because, like many perfectly rational human beings, she finds doctors unsettling. I’m happy to be her support human.

My Plan

breakfast, accompany her to the appointment (which shouldn’t run too long), and then get my run in after we’re back. It’ll be a bit chilly if I try to go early, so the post-appointment window works perfectly.

Here’s to the quiet days between the hard ones, and to a good checkup report tomorrow.

Now if only the yard could mow itself.

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When Thunder Delays Lawn Mowing Plans

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Thunder delayed lawn mowing plans. Mother Nature had opinions this morning. Loud, rumbling, electrically charged opinions. Our neighborhood woke up to a thunderstorm that had absolutely no respect for my carefully scheduled lawn plans or my wife’s morning run.

Speaking of my wife: she’s had a healthy fear of thunderstorms ever since childhood, when the harrowing tale of her aunt being struck by lightning took up permanent residence in her memory. So while I was grumbling about soggy grass, she was firmly planted indoors, which, honestly, is the sensible place to be.

Now, it wasn’t my running day, but the lawn doesn’t really care about my schedule. Since our property faces a forest, we’re in a constant, low-grade negotiation with weeds. The strategy? Keep everything mowed short enough that the weeds look vaguely intentional. (It’s a lifestyle.) The thunderstorm, however, had left everything thoroughly soaked, so I made the executive decision to wait until late morning for things to dry out.

Several Hours Later

Patience paid off. By late morning the grass had dried enough to proceed, and I got the mower out. I should mention we have an electric mower, environmentally friendly, admirably quiet, and possessed of a battery life that has strong opinions about quitting halfway through the job. That’s why we tackle this in halves: not because we’re strategic, but because the battery is.

Still, I managed the half I had skipped last week, and the yard looks respectable again, no small feat considering it slopes, which turns mowing into a mild cardiovascular event. My wife handles the edging and the side beds on weekends, squeezing it into her early mornings before her busy workday. She actually enjoys it. I find both admirable and slightly baffling.

The plan: mow the remaining half on Thursday, since no dermatology appointment is on the calendar that day. The lawn, the schedule, and the battery gods willing.

Until next time, may your grass be dry and your weeds be short.

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A Trim, a Run, and the Slow Art of Getting Better

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Sometimes life hands you a haircut you have been putting off for a whole month, and honestly, my hair was starting to have opinions of its own. This morning, I finally made it to the barber.

The timing was opportune, because next week the schedule fills right back up: birthday celebrations incoming, a friend visiting, and simply no room left for personal grooming when good times are on the agenda. We seized the window.

While I sat in the chair, my wife was doing what she always does: maximizing every available minute. She camped out in the car with her books and notes, working through the appointment with the focused energy of someone who considers a parking lot a perfectly legitimate office. As she puts it, any time is time she could use. I love that about her.

Forty minutes later I emerged newly shorn, cropped short enough that I could feel the April air doing its thing against my face. A brisk thing, as it turned out. Today was decidedly chilly, and I couldn’t help lamenting the brief window of gorgeous high-70s weather we had a few weeks ago. It came, it warmed us, and it left. Classic.

The haircut did bump my 10k run to later in the morning, but that turned out fine. It’s still early enough in the season that the temperature hadn’t climbed to punishing levels by the time I laced up. Silver linings.

The run itself? Let’s call it humbling. I didn’t hit my target pace today, which stings a little. The good news is that my blood work has improved. My red blood cell count is up, and I’ve already factored those gains into my pace targets. The less-good news is that the easy improvements are behind me now. I still need to knock another 20 seconds off my target pace before the year is out.

But here’s what I keep reminding myself: slow improvement is still improvement. The low-hanging fruit is gone, but the orchard isn’t empty. It just requires a taller ladder. I’ve got the time. I’ve got the miles. Onward and upward, one slightly-faster lap at a time.

Until next time, your slightly windswept, perpetually-chasing-the-clock friend.

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Nashville Surprise Snow

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Spring in Nashville is less of a season and more of a personality test — and this week, we are failing it magnificently. Not so long ago, we had some warm days. Today, we received a Nashville surprise snow.

This Sunday, my wife decided to take matters into her own hands and get a head start on the yard. Smart woman. She figured that if she tackled the weeds early, she’d stay ahead of them all season rather than playing frantic catch-up in June. And honestly? She was right — though she did kick off this ambitious plan on a morning when snow is in the forecast for tomorrow evening. Nashville in mid-March: where you can get sunburned and frostbitten in the same week.

While she heroically wrestled the yard into submission, I held down the equally important fort inside. I made her a proper Sunday fancy coffee and a fluffy omelet — because a good support team fuels the troops. I also spent some time prepping my pastry bites for the coming week. Whether I’ll actually need them Monday is another story, since temperatures are predicted to nosedive 20 to 30 degrees overnight. Crazy right? Apparently, Persephone has decided to take a few extra personal days down in the underworld this year and hasn’t quite committed to spring yet. We wait, Persephone. We wait.)

My Wife’s Yard Campaign Against Weed

My wife’s yard campaign was thorough. She pulled out the long weeds that have a habit of tangling themselves around the lawn mower blades at the worst possible moment. She also cleared out the grass and scrubby growth creeping along the foundation of the house — and spotted a few ambitious vines that had quietly decided to make themselves at home near the siding. Vines can damage house siding; left unchecked, they’ll wedge themselves right in and cause real damage. My wife is officially on vine patrol for the rest of the season. The vines have been warned.

The rest of the week is supposed to settle back into something resembling spring. So, I may get back to my morning runs and mowing sessions after breakfast on weekdays. In the meantime, it feels good to be getting back into the Sunday routine — pre-breakfast yardwork, pastry prep, and all.

Until next time — may your weeds stay small, your pastry bites stay crispy, and your local weather app stay at least vaguely honest.

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Getting Back to Yard Work and Hematology Appointment

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Spring is back — and right on cue, so are my old friends: the weeds, the mower, and my ever-reliable aching back. It’s that glorious time of year when nature says, “Rise and shine!” and my yard replies, “Not so fast.” I have to get back to yard work between my hematology appointment.

This spring comes with a plot twist: I’m now on the every-two-weeks hematology appointment schedule until May, which means my gardening calendar has some medically-mandated detours. But hey, who needs uninterrupted yard time when you can seamlessly juggle blood draws and dandelion dispatching?

On the bright side, I’ve also picked walking back up after my runs — nothing says “efficiency king” like slipping in a stroll while waiting for my Uber. Progress is progress, no matter how leisurely the pace.

As for the weeding? I’ve fully embraced the “every little bit counts” philosophy. Even a quick 10-minute weed-warfare session between commitments adds up. My wife, however, is the undisputed MVP of this household’s horticultural operation. She’s out there every weekday morning, rain or shine, clocking a solid hour with laser focus. Nothing escapes her watchful eye — not a rogue dandelion, not a sneaky crabgrass. Her dedication puts my occasional weekend sprints to shame, and honestly? I am not even embarrassed about it.

Mother Nature, ever the drama queen, hasn’t made things easy. An unusually warm stretch practically rolled out the red carpet for early weed growth, meaning I’ll need to kick off yard duty sooner than last year. Just when I thought I had a few extra weeks of couch time… Of course, this being spring, it’ll probably snow on Tuesday. Classic.

Thursday’s mowing session got quietly axed by my hematology appointment. The lawn will just have to hold its breath until the weekend — and honestly, with my schedule, so will I. But I’ll get there. One weed at a time, one appointment at a time.

Until next time — stay ahead of the weeds (or at least pretend to).

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Oversleeping and Still Winning the Morning: A Runner’s Small Victory

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

So this is how I got away with oversleeping and still winning the morning.

This morning began with what looked like a promising start—and then quietly derailed.

I actually woke up before my alarm. After a quick trip to the bathroom, I returned to bed for what I assumed would be a brief rest. Unfortunately, my brain interpreted that as permission for a second sleep session.

The next thing I remember was hearing my wife get up and leave for her morning exercise. Shortly after the front door closed, my alarm went off. I turned it off and thought, very logically, that I would get up after she returned so we would not both compete for the bathroom.

In theory, this sounded like a perfectly organized plan.

In reality, it made absolutely no sense.

My wife usually leaves before 6:30 a.m., while my alarm rings at 7:00. Looking back, the most likely explanation is that I simply fell asleep again and missed everything—including her return from exercise, her getting ready, and her leaving for work.

My wife operates on a far stricter schedule than I do. She arrives at work earlier than most people because she likes to clear her emails before colleagues and bosses begin their day. Meanwhile, my morning apparently turned into a quiet demonstration of the dangers of comfortable pillows.

I had intended to start my day at 7:00 a.m.

Instead, I woke up when my calendar reminder sounded at 8:00.

One hour behind schedule.

Normally, that might derail the entire morning, because my routine includes a long chain of small tasks. If one falls behind, the rest tend to domino into chaos. Today, however, I decided to move quickly and avoid lingering over anything.

Efficiency replaced elegance.

Surprisingly, it worked.

I caught up with my morning tasks and still managed to leave for my run at roughly the time I had planned the night before when I checked the weather forecast.

Even better, the run itself went well. My legs felt a little sore at the start, but I still managed to beat my target pace for the first time this week.

So while the day technically began with oversleeping, it ended with something close to success.

Not perfect—but proof that sometimes a late start does not ruin the day if you simply keep moving forward.

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Power Outage Diaries: Ice Storm, Cold House, and Unexpected Reading Time

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

This morning began with an unexpected plot twist: no electricity.

I woke up to the quiet kind of silence that feels suspicious—no hum, no lights, no reassuring background noise of modern life pretending to be stable. My wife informed me, with remarkable calm, that the power had gone out around 7:30 a.m. She had already been deep into her morning writing session, racing against time like a scholar battling an invisible clock.

Apparently, she managed about thirty minutes of focused work before the power surrendered mid-task. Ever practical, she shut everything down immediately to conserve energy, as if we had suddenly entered a survival documentary titled Writers in the Wild: The Ice Storm Edition.

Last night, we could hear trees snapping in the distance as ice slowly claimed them, branch by branch. This morning confirmed it—broken limbs scattered in the forest behind the house like nature’s quiet evidence file. The downstairs, especially, felt dim and cave-like, as though the house itself had decided to conserve mood as well as heat.

And yet, while I was assessing the situation with mild concern, my wife looked… delighted.

“This will be a good excuse to read,” she declared, with the serene joy of someone handed an unexpected holiday by the universe.

Power outage? Inconvenient.
Forced reading time? Excellent.

She read one book, finished it, casually picked up another, and even played the piano in between—apparently thriving in the pre-electric lifestyle. If the 19th century ever needs a volunteer, she is fully prepared.

Outside, the world looks exactly as cold as it feels. Ice continues to fall, coating branches until they surrender and collapse onto power lines like dominoes of frozen inevitability. It is hardly surprising that the electricity gave up. I would, too, frankly, under those working conditions.

Meanwhile, the outage has already claimed its first casualty: our usual Sunday fancy coffee. No electricity means no milk frother, which means no luxurious foam, which, as we all know, is a deeply tragic development.

There is also the looming threat to pizza supper, which elevates the situation from “mild inconvenience” to “serious strategic concern.”

The electric company assures us they are working on the issue, though their timetable remains as mysterious as the storm itself. Until then, the house grows steadily colder, and our cat has made a very rational decision—she is now permanently attached to my lap for warmth. A wise creature.

My wife has instructed me to conserve PC power.
And yet, here I am. Writing.

She can happily read books for hours, but my eyes do not always cooperate with long reading sessions. Audiobooks are an option, of course, but even that feels like an unnecessary luxury during a power crisis. Every percentage of battery now feels like a strategic resource.So we wait.
In the cold.
With books, a piano, a concerned cat, and the faint hope that electricity—and possibly pizza—will return before the house turns into an ice-themed meditation retreat.

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Managing Pet Appointments and Weather Uncertainty

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today, we took our cat to the vet right after my wife finished work. She left about fifteen minutes early—with her boss’s permission—so we could get there before the weather potentially turned messy. The lab work was originally set for Saturday, but after checking the forecast, my wife rescheduled it. If the weather plans to be dramatic, we prefer to be strategic.

Our cat, however, strongly disagreed with this strategy.

The moment we placed her in the carrier, she protested as if we had personally betrayed her trust. In her ideal world, the day should involve toys, admiration, and uninterrupted play—not a trip to the vet. Instead, she traveled like a very vocal, very fluffy prisoner of circumstance.

At the clinic, the lab assistant gently took her inside while we waited. A short time later, the technician returned with an amusing observation: our kitten willingly went back into her carrier during the lab work. Apparently, medical tests rank higher on her list of displeasure than the carrier itself. When she saw us again through the mesh, her mood improved instantly, as if we had heroically rescued her from a grave injustice.

Much of the conversation at the clinic revolved around the incoming weekend weather. My wife has been especially mindful of it. She even took a day off to manage the appointment.

We asked the receptionist whether the schedule might change because of the weather, and she said they would monitor conditions. The uncertainty grows because the main road near our home still has a barricade. If it stays closed, we will have to use the back roads, which are hilly and far less comforting in snow or ice.

The moment we got home, our kitten returned to her cheerful self, as if she had forgotten the entire veterinary visit. Freedom, it seems, fixes most grievances.

At least the lab work is done, which removes one major concern. Now we watch the forecast and hope the weather behaves so her surgery can proceed as planned.

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Snowstorm Grocery Preparation and Smart Grocery Run: A Cozy Winter Survival Story

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

I was peacefully negotiating with my pillow when my wife—clearly operating on a higher level of meteorological awareness—declared that we needed to go grocery shopping immediately. Not later. Not “after coffee.” Now.

According to her internal weather radar (which, frankly, has an impressive accuracy rate after 20+ years in Canada), a snowstorm was approaching within one to two hours. She had already gone out for her morning exercise, assessed the atmospheric mood, and preemptively prepared the driveway like a seasoned general before battle. Snow shovels? Strategically placed. Access? Efficient. Husband? Still half asleep.

Naturally, I complied.

Still blinking like a confused owl, I grabbed the grocery list and collected our two empty gallon water bottles—because nothing says “adult responsibility” quite like remembering hydration logistics before a snowstorm. We usually shop in the evening, but venturing out in the morning felt oddly peaceful. To my surprise, the store was much quieter than expected. Either we were exceptionally early… or everyone else had already sensed the coming snow apocalypse.

My wife, ever the planner, had finalized the weekly menu by Thursday. This meant our grocery mission was less “wandering and wondering” and more “strategic acquisition.” We secured everything for the week, plus two fresh gallons of water—barely. The shelf was already looking suspiciously empty, a silent sign that others had also received the same snowy premonition.

We were, quite honestly, lucky.

The last time a major snowstorm visited, we were effectively trapped in our house for a week. Our home sits behind a steep hill that transforms into an icy boss-level obstacle the moment snow accumulates. Climbing it becomes less “going out” and more “mountaineering with groceries.”

When we returned home, our cat was stationed at the window like a tiny, furry security officer on duty. Her head popped up the moment she spotted us, eyes wide with the dramatic concern of someone who clearly believed we had been gone for years rather than minutes. She often waits there whenever we leave, supervising our life choices from behind the glass.

By then, the snow had already begun—light at first, almost polite. But as we settled back inside, it quickly grew more confident, blanketing the area with over an inch of snow.

In retrospect, our early grocery expedition was not just productive. It was heroic. Or at least strategically wise.

Now the real question is Monday.

Artemis has her spay surgery scheduled, and we are quietly hoping the roads will cooperate. If not, we may once again find ourselves negotiating with snow, hills, and fate. But for now, we are stocked, prepared, and safely indoors—exactly where one should be when winter decides to make an entrance.

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Cold Weather Survival: Hoodies, Habits, and a Mischievous Kitten

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Temperatures continue their dramatic plunge, but at least today I had the privilege of staying indoors. Unfortunately, it was laundry day—which means for several tragic hours, I was deprived of my robe and my properly functioning hoodie.

Yes, I do have a backup hoodie.
No, its broken zipper does not inspire confidence.
Wearing it feels like wearing a coat that refuses to commit.

So, for a few chilly hours each week, I endure mild suffering while the dryer does its heroic work. It’s temporary discomfort. I’ve decided not to engineer a complex solution. I can survive three hours of inconvenience without launching a research project.

We were spoiled by an unusually warm Christmas, so these low-20°F days feel especially rude. Meanwhile, my wife still goes outside for her morning exercise as if she personally signed a treaty with winter. She has Canadian credentials and a winter jacket that appears to be indestructible. I suspect it could survive the next ice age.

I now own warm running pants, which has significantly reduced my outdoor complaints. Oddly enough, I feel colder inside the house. My wife keeps it at 65°F. It’s not unbearable—just motivational. Since last year, I’ve adopted a simple solution: if I feel cold, I plank.

It’s efficient.

  • I get stronger.
  • I get warmer.
  • I stop whining.

Exercise as central heating. Highly recommend.

Our cat, meanwhile, has discovered that I radiate heat. According to my wife, I am apparently a “portable furnace.” The kitten agrees. She camps on my lap while I work, converting me into a heated workstation.

However, this same angel becomes chaos incarnate at night. She developed the charming habit of attacking her toy mouse at 2:00 AM directly on our bed. Nothing says deep sleep like sudden feline warfare.

My solution: confiscate the mouse before bedtime.

Her solution: hide the mouse somewhere I can’t find it.

She’s entering what my wife calls “cat adolescence”—a stage characterized by selective hearing and bold experimentation. Recently, she’s decided that kitchen counters are now part of her sovereign territory. She’s stronger and more muscular than our older cat and enjoys launching herself onto elevated surfaces like a tiny Olympic gymnast.

The problem arises when I’m cooking.

There is something mildly alarming about a cat leaping toward the counter while I’m holding a knife. I gently relocate her to the floor. She complains loudly, as if I’ve unjustly exiled her from culinary greatness.

Between the cold house, strategic planking, and a counter-climbing kitten, winter remains lively.

At least I’m never bored.

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