Tag: Time Management

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Soup Season, Anniversary Planning, and the Great Headset Experiment

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today felt properly cold—the kind of cold that makes you question every life choice involving going outside. Thankfully, we had already scheduled soup for dinner, which felt like winning the weather lottery.

Normally, I’m not a big soup person. It’s fine, it’s food, it’s warm—but I don’t dream about it. That said, once the temperature drops, soup and I get along much better. And this particular soup has quietly been promoted to “winter favorite” status in our house.

Aside from making soup, today turned into a planning day. First, there’s Friday: my wife and I are celebrating our wedding anniversary by going to a new restaurant. This is a departure from our usual routine, which means my inner scheduler immediately asked, “Okay, but when are we running?” I have to adjust my plan for today.

Time Management

After checking the restaurant’s opening time and backtracking our ideal departure, I calculated that I’ll need to start my run by 9:00 a.m. to be cleaned up and ready to leave on time. To make sure this is realistic and not fantasy math, I’m going to test it tomorrow: start the run at 9, then see what time I’d theoretically be ready to go out.

Headset Charging Logistics

The second problem looming over my otherwise simple life: headset charging logistics.

My previous headset battery died a tragic early death, likely because I had been charging it overnight like a phone. With the new one, I’ve switched to a healthier habit—charging it at my desk while I eat breakfast. So far, this has worked beautifully, and the battery seems to be aging more gracefully than the last one.

But there’s a catch.

Once spring comes, I’ll shift my runs back to before breakfast. That means my “charge while eating” system may no longer guarantee enough power to get me through a full run—or a mowing session. Future-me would be very annoyed to discover a dying headset at kilometer three.

So, I need a new plan.

Right now, I’m leaning toward setting an 8:00 p.m. reminder on my phone to plug in the headset. That gives it about an hour to reach a full charge before I get ready for bed around 9. Later this week, I’ll run a little experiment: fully charge it by 9 p.m., then see if that charge comfortably lasts the 12 hours until I’m done with my morning run or yard work.

It’s a small thing, but having these pieces in place—soup simmering, anniversary plans mapped out, and a charging schedule for my headset—makes the week feel a little more under control.

Cold days are easier to face when the soup is hot, and the logistics are quietly cooperating.

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Early Wake-Ups, Asian Groceries, and a Very Organized Saturday

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today’s plan was simple: visit the Asian grocery store and then pick up flea medication for our kitten on the way home. Both places open at 8:00 a.m., which left me with that uniquely uncomfortable block of time between my normal wake-up time and when departure is actually allowed. It is because I have a long list of a Saturday morning routine.

I usually wake around 7 a.m. I need more sleep than my wife—about 7.5 to 8 hours—thanks to a brain injury that politely requires extra rest. One doctor told me I’d need it. An occupational therapist told me to keep a consistent schedule. So now I live in a delicate alliance with both science and my alarm clock.

My wife, on the other hand, operates like a Swiss watch. Saturdays do not alter her internal firmware. She wakes up roughly two hours earlier than I do, workday or not. She says it’s because her brain works best when her schedule is regulated. I believe her. I also fear her efficiency.

This left me with too much time to do nothing… but not quite enough time to comfortably start my usual full Saturday morning routine.

Fortunately, my wife, our kitten, and my bladder formed a secret alliance and woke me up an hour early. I briefly considered going back to sleep. Then I remembered that future-me would be grateful if present-me used the bonus hour wisely. So I stayed up.

Our kitten, as always, was thrilled. She waits patiently on the bed every morning until I open my eyes—sometimes even dragging her beloved toy mouse with her. I’ve been hiding that toy before bedtime because otherwise she launches nighttime solo parkour sessions and loses it somewhere in the house. This morning, she didn’t need the toy. She already had me. Her happiness upon my awakening was… overwhelming.

I fed the kitten, poured my cereal, completed my texting and language-app practice, and even finished my morning exercises. And just like that, I had less than thirty minutes before departure—perfect timing to work on this post.

It turns out doing part of my routine before the grocery run is surprisingly satisfying. That’s one less task waiting for me when I return home.

So thanks to Artemis, my wife, and my kidneys, my day already feels strangely coordinated.

Once we return, I’ll prep for my weekly 10K run, cook supper, and then head out again for our regular grocery trip. I sincerely hope my wife’s perfectly structured day forgives the extra logistics.

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A Chilly Fall Chore and a Surprise Yard Visitor in Nashville

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today’s primary objective: leaf collection. Also known as the annual reminder that trees never clean up after themselves. Fall yard work in Nashville can be challenging since we never know what the weather will be like.

We have two enormous trees in the front yard—well, one is technically the neighbor’s tree, but its leaves have firmly pledged allegiance to our property. Since our house sits at the very end of the court, we also receive a generous donation of leaves from the surrounding yards. I like to think of it as a natural tax for living at the bottom of the hill.

For this noble task, we use a leaf vacuum. My wife tried it the other day and immediately announced it was heavy. I wouldn’t call it heavy… but after a few hours, it does begin to feel like you’re dragging around a small, stubborn elephant. Still, I try to keep our front yard as leafless as possible. It’s part pride, part stubbornness, part denial about how wind works.

Fall in Nashville is a game of weather roulette. Rain pops in whenever it feels like being dramatic, so timing outdoor work requires strategy. This morning was dry—but brutally chilly, with wind that felt personally offended by my existence. I waited until early afternoon, when the temperature finally decided to show mercy, and then I went out to tackle the day’s biggest chore.

After a few solid hours of vacuuming, blowing, and questioning my life decisions, the yard was almost clear. I was just about to celebrate when I spotted a surprise guest: a small snake gracefully slithering across our gravel patch like it had scheduled an appointment.

Of course, I wanted photographic proof. I pulled out my phone to show my wife and family. The snake, however, had zero interest in becoming an internet celebrity. By the time my camera was ready, it vanished—clearly a professional at avoiding publicity.

That led to the inevitable follow-up: What kind of snake was it? A quick round of online detective work (powered by memory and mild adrenaline) suggested it was most likely a common garter snake.

I was surprised to see a snake this time of year. Last fall, we had a small one in our garage too. My wife tried to photograph that one as well. Same result—instant disappearance. Sadly, a sudden cold spell wasn’t kind to that little visitor, and we found it a few days later.

The good news is that common garter snakes in Tennessee are harmless. Their coloring varies, but most have three light stripes running down their bodies. They’re active in spring and fall and hibernate during winter—so today’s snake was probably doing exactly what I did: waiting for the afternoon warmth before venturing out.

So yes, today was leaf duty, cold air, and a surprise wildlife encounter—all part of the deluxe Nashville fall experience. Apparently, when you clean your yard, nature occasionally sends you a live bonus feature.

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Time Change Chaos and a Kitten Boss

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Time change season is here again—the biannual ritual where humans pretend one hour is no big deal, while our biological clocks absolutely disagree. My wife and I both struggle with it. She even started adjusting a day early, as if easing into jet lag without the benefit of a vacation. Neither of us grew up with daylight savings—Japan doesn’t use it, and I once lived in a part of the U.S. where clocks remain blissfully untouched—so after decades, it still feels unnatural.

I work from home and live by my own schedule, so waking up early or late doesn’t cause any major disasters. Still, I like to keep my time consistent—mostly because my wife has a strict work routine, and I want to stay synchronized for the sake of household harmony. I allow myself just enough flexibility to keep life interesting.

This morning, however, my alarm dragged me out of sleep far too early. I remembered the time change and thought smugly, “I’ll just sleep in a little longer.” Unfortunately, this plan was immediately vetoed by our kitten, who stomped upstairs like a tiny furry manager, dropped her toy mouse onto my chest, and demanded a meeting.

My wife had already fed her hours earlier—she wakes up long before I do in order to exercise and prepare for work. Usually, once the kitten eats, she either curls back up beside me or disappears to find trouble somewhere else. But today? She wanted the morning shift on my schedule. And she wanted it now.

So Our Kitten

Ignoring her is not an option. When I try, she escalates the situation by repeatedly dropping the toy mouse onto me with the precision of a trained negotiator. Eventually, I surrendered. I dragged myself out of bed, fixed breakfast, and went downstairs for my mandatory “fetch with mouse toy” session. She observed my compliance with great satisfaction.

Honestly, she’s not the worst alarm clock. She’s on time, persistent, and offers plenty of accountability—whether I asked for it or not. And on days when I want to get a lot done, having a tiny, determined supervisor staring at me actually helps.

She is my new boss. And she’s learning her rights very quickly.

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A Day of Small Chaos and Sweet Rewards

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

I woke up this morning to the gentle sound of rain tapping on the window—nature’s way of saying, “Good morning, here’s a free car wash for your soul.” My wife informed me that earlier, it had been raining so hard that she abandoned her morning workout. This is shocking because she usually treats her exercise routine with the seriousness of a NASA launch checklist. If she skips, something dramatic has happened. And yes—when I peeked outside, I understood. It was cold, gloomy, and the kind of rain that makes even Halloween candy nervous.

Today was also my “second attempt” at a dentist appointment—because I completely missed the first one. (If Forgetfulness were an Olympic sport, I’d have a medal by now.) My wife kindly offered to drive me, even though the clinic is within walking distance, but my weather app swore on its digital life that the rain would stop. And for once, it didn’t lie. Several hours later, the rain paused, and I set off on foot.

I told my wife I didn’t need the ride, and since she was on a work call, I quietly snuck out of the house like a teenager breaking curfew—except I was headed to get my teeth cleaned, not to a party.

The appointment went smoothly, but as soon as I stepped outside, the sky decided to rejoin the conversation. It started raining again on my way home. This was inconvenient, because my grand plan was to run right after the dentist. My schedule was already wobbling like a badly balanced washing machine, so I knew I had to get home and sprint back out immediately.

Luckily, the rain downgraded itself from “dramatic monologue” to “occasional sprinkle.” Still, it was cold enough to remind me it is indeed autumn. After 30 minutes of running in this half-rain, half-air situation, I was soaked, chilled, and squinting through water-speckled glasses, which is perhaps the least aerodynamic condition imaginable. I didn’t hit my target pace, but I was close enough to blame it on meteorology with dignity.

Now, here’s the best part: every time I go to the dentist, I treat myself to a cupcake from the bakery nearby. Tradition is important, after all. I asked my wife if she wanted one, but she declined—as she usually does. She does not share my passionate, borderline-philosophical relationship with sweets. Her loss, I say. I thought about that cupcake during my entire run like it was the Holy Grail. And yes—I ate it after my shower, and it was spectacular.

One dentist appointment down. Another one set—six months from now. This time, I saved it in my Google Calendar with enough alerts to wake the dead. May I never miss it again.

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Lesson Learned from Missed a Dentist Appointment

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Today, I had a dentist appointment—emphasis on had. As in: it existed, it was scheduled, it was on my Google Calendar, it came with not one but two automated reminders… and yet somehow my brain decided to treat it like deleted spam. The dentist’s office called asking where I was, and I had the audacity to be surprised.

I apologized profusely, of course. Thankfully, they squeezed me in for tomorrow. Pure luck. I still remember when my wife had to reschedule once because of a last-minute work emergency—she waited ages for a new slot, partly because she’s extremely particular about her appointment times. Early morning only. Never the first several days of any month, end of the month, quarter-end, year-end, or audit days. Her calendar has more rules than the IRS handbook.

Meanwhile, I’m flexible. If the dentist said, “We have a 3:17 p.m. slot behind the storage closet,” I would simply say, “Great, see you then.”

What Made Me To Miss The Appointment

Still, I’m annoyed with myself. Missing medical appointments is no small thing—especially when doctors plan their schedules months in advance. We book our dental visits six months out for a reason, not because I enjoy committing to events half a year before I know what my face will look like.

After my brain stroke and the possibility of a kidney transplant came up, my doctor told me to keep every tooth in perfect shape—no cavities, no surprises. So for the last decade, I’ve treated my mouth like a priceless museum artifact.

One of the reasons we chose our current home was that the dentist (and my other doctors) are within walking distance. My wife made sure of that. She wanted me to be able to walk over anytime something unusual happened—loose retainer, chipped tooth, mysterious twinge—without relying on Uber or coordinating schedules. I love that freedom more than I care to admit.

And that’s why missing today’s appointment felt unacceptable. I pride myself on keeping things under control, and yet my brain decided to take a personal day.

Next To Do Action

So tomorrow, I’ll walk to the dentist just after noon, reshuffle my entire schedule, and run later in the day. I checked the weather—it might rain, but at least the temperature looks friendly. If nothing else, this whole ordeal taught me one thing: I need a better reminder system… or maybe a personal assistant whose only job is to drag me to medical appointments.

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A Lesson in Routine and Resetting With One Small Change

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Hello Dear Readers,

Today began in a way that completely threw off my usual rhythm. We had planned a trip to the Asian grocery store to pick up some essentials — tofu, fried tofu (aburaage), and miso. We don’t go often, but when we do, it’s serious business. My wife stocks up and preserves everything carefully so it lasts. For her, one grocery trip means the next one to two hours are dedicated to washing, prepping, and storing, which also means she has to rearrange her entire weekly schedule. She plans these things like military operations — I usually know about Asian grocery day a week in advance.

But today, I failed the mission briefing. I overslept. By the time I woke up, it was already the time we were supposed to leave. So I rushed: got dressed, shoveled cereal into my mouth, and skipped my usual morning routine entirely. No planks, no language study, no texting my sisters. All of it postponed until after the grocery run.

This small shift — waking up late — changed the energy of the whole morning. My wife had already finished her entire morning routine before we left, of course. Meanwhile, I felt like I was sprinting from behind the entire day. Still, once we returned home, I told myself: just start. So I began working through my to-do list.

I wanted to run my 10k before the temperature climbed too high, so I pushed some other tasks to later and headed out. Normally, I check my headset while stretching after my plank session — but since I skipped everything, I also skipped the headset check. And just 2 kilometers into the run, my headset battery died. Complete silence.

I pushed through one more kilometer, but imagining another hour of silent running felt like an emotional desert. So, I stopped.

For me, having an audiobook during a run is more than background noise — it keeps me moving, keeps me focused. Without it, everything feels heavier. But despite the rocky morning, I still managed to get my chores done later, just like any other Saturday.

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When Life Gives You Rain, Trade Your Mower for Running Shoes

Brian’s fitness journal after a brain stroke

Written September 25, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Sometimes the universe likes to laugh at your carefully planned to-do list. This morning, it chuckled right in my face. I woke up, stretched, looked out the window—and saw rain. Again. The lawn had already staged a mutiny thanks to weeks of drizzle and warm weather, but mowing in the rain is as effective as trying to blow-dry your hair in a hurricane.

So, breakfast it was. I sipped my coffee and gave the sky my best “disappointed dad” look, hoping it would feel guilty and stop raining. No luck. And even if it did stop, soggy grass is a mower’s worst nightmare. My frustration grew—plans derailed by something completely out of my control.

Enter: my wife. She’s basically a Jedi Master of time management, trained since her teenage years. Watching me sulk at the window, she offered a simple solution: “Why not swap today’s mowing with tomorrow’s run?”

Genius. And annoyingly reasonable.

So, I laced up my running shoes and hit the pavement. And you know what? I ran better than yesterday. Turns out swapping a mower for running shoes isn’t the worst deal after all. My wife reminded me of an ancient truth: control what you can, stop glaring at what you can’t.

The lawn, of course, will get its day—maybe tomorrow, maybe next week. But here’s the kicker: I secretly dread more mowing anyway. It’s autumn, the grass should be retiring by now! Every raindrop feels like nature’s way of extending lawn season just to spite me.

Still, once I made the switch, I realized my mood had already improved. Running in the rain (well, drizzle) was a lot better than sulking indoors. And yes, the lawn still looks like a small jungle, but at least I got a solid run and a story out of it.

Lesson learned? When the rain ruins your plans, don’t argue with the clouds. Just change shoes.

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Lawn Wars: Episode I — The Procrastinator Awakens

Written April 1, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

We had a few glorious days of summer teasing us in spring—sunny, toasty, practically begging us to throw a backyard BBQ. Naturally, that was followed by a dramatic thunderstorm that rolled in like nature’s way of saying, “Just kidding!” Now, the lawns (or let’s be honest—mostly weeds) are popping up faster than mushrooms after rain. Blink, and it’s a jungle out there.

So yes, I finally broke out the mower today for the season’s grand premiere. Was I on top of it? Not quite. Did I wait until the grass whispered “Feed me” like a scene from Little Shop of Horrors? Absolutely.

Here’s the twist: that thunderstorm didn’t just bring lightning—it dropped the temps and left the ground moist enough to make any worm feel at home. I told myself, “I’ll wait until it warms up a bit.” And, well… you know how that goes. Suddenly, it’s go-time, and I’m only halfway through the lawn before I have to switch gears to handle more urgent stuff. Classic case of chore interrupted.

Now, time management has never exactly been my superpower. My wife, on the other hand, is a time ninja. She’s been planning her days backward since elementary school—mapping out roadblocks before they even show up. She’s basically got a sixth sense for scheduling. Me? I was more of the “wing it and win it” type. Pre-stroke, I’d procrastinate and still get things done—maybe not gracefully, but hey, results matter, right?

Post-stroke, things are a bit different. I’ve gained endurance, sure, but the prep time? Oh boy, it’s like slow-cooking a brisket. And let’s not forget the weather curveballs. Outdoor tasks are more like navigating an obstacle course built by Mother Nature herself.

According to the weather app (which is only slightly more reliable than a coin toss), we’re in for more thunder, more storms, and possibly a few surprise tornado drills. There might be windows—tiny, rain-free ones—where I can sneak in a mowing session. Fingers crossed.

Nashville, this time of year, is a real mixed bag: warm one minute, thunderous the next. I think I’ve officially earned the consequences of my lawn care procrastination. Lesson learned (again): next week, I start early—even if it means bundling up and mowing in the morning chill.

Wish me luck. Or better yet, send dry weather.

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Leaf It to Me: Adventures in Yard Work

Written March 23, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

This morning, I found myself engaged in a rare and noble quest: yard work. Not my usual weekend ritual, mind you. I typically leave the gardening to people with a stronger back and a greener thumb. But alas, when you live on a hill, gravity, and nature team up like villains in a buddy cop movie—always ready to make things harder than they need to be.

Now, our yard has a bit of a wild streak. If left alone, it doesn’t just grow—it plots. One year, we made the rookie mistake of letting the ivy do its thing. “It’ll look charming,” we said. “Like an English cottage!” What we got instead was a full-on plant invasion. The ivy crept up the side of our house like it was trying to break in. And since the exterior isn’t fully bricked, my wife was convinced it would start dismantling our home from the foundation up. We ended up yanking it off the wall like it owed us money and then spent the rest of the day cleaning up its leafy aftermath. Never again.

This week, my wife decided it was time to bring order to the front yard. She had asked me earlier to vacuum—yes, vacuum—the leaves from the front yard so she could tame some decorative plants that had begun asserting their independence. I agreed, of course, then promptly forgot. Saturday came and went in a blur of other tasks. Classic.

Luckily, the weather today was cooperative. My weather app promised rain… just not yet. So I suited up and got to it. Leaf vacuum in hand, I tackled the neglected zone while my wife charged in later with a weedwhacker, swinging it like a hedge-knight with a hedge-trimming sword. She’s been clearing weeds too—methodically, heroically, like she’s one step away from turning the whole place into a botanical museum.

Now, my wife is a loyal reader of Eat That Frog! by Brian Tracy. She’s constantly organizing, scheduling, and maximizing productivity. However, she claims she struggles with “putting things away,” though I think the real issue is her to-do list has more pages than War and Peace. When she blames herself for not getting everything done, I remind her we’re human, not calendar apps with arms.

Ironically, it was her beloved frog book that nudged me into action today. One of its golden rules? Don’t put off the tough stuff. So next time I’m assigned an oddball task, I’ll let my phone remember for me. Set a reminder. No excuses.

Because if you’re going to eat the frog, you may as well season it and serve it hot.