Friday Flames and the Forty-Eight Mile Focus

Hello, friends. The little blue house on Sycamore Street is finally quiet, save for the low hum of the refrigerator and Biscuit snoring softly on the rug by my feet. It is just before 6:00 pm, and the sun is dipping low over Cedar Falls, casting long, golden shadows across the living room. Mark just got home from the site, his boots making that familiar heavy thud by the door, and he’s currently upstairs helping Noah peel off those velociraptor pajamas that he insists on wearing even under his school clothes. It has been one of those full, heart-stretching days that leaves you feeling both tired and incredibly capable.

This morning started earlier than usual. After I watched Mark’s truck pull out of the driveway at 5:30 am, I sat at the kitchen table with my robin-egg-blue journal and a cup of coffee. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how far we’ve come this year, not just in miles, but in the way our home breathes. There is a specific kind of peace in knowing that while the world is loud, this little corner of Iowa is ours. I spent an hour poured over my Etsy books, tallying up the orders for 'Lucy’s Little Light.' My candle business is seeing a small, steady uptick as the weather cools, and seeing those numbers grow—even by just a few dollars a week—feels like a victory for the version of me that used to be afraid to dream of something for herself.

By mid-morning, I had the wax melting on the stove. The scent of vanilla and cedar filled the house, and I found myself thinking about self-worth. For a long time, I defined myself solely by being Mark’s wife or Emma’s mom. But today, as I hand-poured each jar and smoothed down the labels, I felt like Lucy. Just Lucy. It is a quiet, steady growth, much like the way I’ve been building my endurance on the trail. I am learning that I don't have to be everything to everyone all the time to be valuable. I just have to be present and honest with myself.

Around noon, Joanne from next door caught me while I was taking the recycling out. She was in her usual pink bathrobe, looking a bit disgruntled at her petunias, which have finally succumbed to the frost. She leaned over the fence to tell me that she saw me running yesterday and that I looked like I was 'chasing down a dream or a fugitive.' We laughed, but it stayed with me. It’s funny how others see the effort we think is invisible. I told her I was just chasing a personal best for the Harvest 5K, and she gave me a sharp nod of approval before heading back inside to her tea.

Then came the run. Following my progress from yesterday's forty-seven mile total for the month, I hit the pavement with a goal of pushing through to forty-eight. The air was crisp, the kind that stings your lungs just enough to make you feel alive. As I rounded the corner past Sweet Magnolia, I saw Megan through the window, waving a flour-covered hand at me. I didn't stop—I couldn't lose my rhythm—but that brief connection gave me the boost I needed for the final incline. My legs felt heavy, a reminder of the miles I’ve put in this October, but my heart felt light.

Forty-eight miles. When I started this training, I wasn't sure I could make it around the block without needing to catch my breath. Now, the Harvest 5K feels less like a looming challenge and more like a celebration I’m invited to attend. Reaching this milestone today made me realize that staying in shape isn't just about the numbers on a scale or the tone of my muscles; it’s about the discipline of showing up for myself when I’d rather stay on the couch with a bag of Emma’s forgotten pretzels.

Speaking of Emma, she came home from school today with her math worksheets covered in more horse sketches than actual equations. We had a little talk about focus, but I couldn't help but smile. She has that same creative spark that keeps me pouring candles late into the evening. I want her to see that she can be both a student and an artist, just like I am learning to be a bookkeeper at Miller's and a runner and a business owner. We sat together for a while, she drawing and me finishing up some bookkeeping notes for Mr. Miller before my shift next Tuesday.

Mark came through the kitchen while we were working and squeezed my shoulder. He’s been working such long days at the construction site, but he never fails to notice the small things. He remarked on how the house always smells like 'home' when I've been making candles. It made me feel desirable in that deep, grounded way that only nine years of marriage can provide. It’s not about the flash; it’s about being seen and appreciated in the middle of the mundane afternoon chaos.

Tonight, we’re keeping it simple. I’m going to finish this post, put away the last of the candle supplies, and we’re going to have breakfast for dinner—Noah’s favorite. I can hear him now, roaring like a raptor in the hallway while Biscuit barks along in excitement. These are the moments that build a life. Not the big, cinematic ones, but the forty-eighth mile on a Friday afternoon and the smell of sawdust on a work shirt and the blue journal that holds all my secrets.

I hope you’re finding your own milestones today, ladies. Whether it’s a physical goal or just the bravery to look in the mirror and like who you see, please know that it matters. We are all works in progress, and there is so much beauty in the middle of the journey. I’m going to go join my boys and my girl now. Tomorrow is Saturday, which means pickleball with Megan and maybe, just maybe, the start of my forty-ninth mile.

I love you. — Lucy