Friday Flames and the Twenty Mile Threshold

Hello, friends. It is just before six, and I am sitting here in the quiet of my kitchen, the robin-egg-blue journal open before me. The house smells faintly of lavender and vanilla because I spent the morning pouring a fresh batch of 'Autumn Embers' for the Etsy shop. There is something so grounding about the ritual of the wax—the way it transforms from solid to liquid and back again. It feels a bit like what I am trying to do with my own life lately, taking the parts of me that felt stuck and letting them flow into something new.

Today was one of those Fridays where the Iowa sky looks so blue it almost hurts your eyes. Mark was out the door by 5:30 as usual, and I could hear his truck rumbling down Sycamore Street while I was still tucked under the duvet. Usually, I’d roll over and steal another hour, but the energy of the Harvest 5K training is buzzing in my veins now. With the race in October getting closer, every run feels like a conversation between who I was and who I am becoming.

After I dropped Emma off at school—she was wearing her favorite horse sweater and had a math worksheet already covered in sketches of stallions—and settled Noah into his dinosaur puzzles, I hit the trails. Ladies, I don’t even know how to describe what happened today. I set out thinking I’d just do a quick loop, but my legs felt like they belonged to someone else. Someone stronger. Someone who doesn't doubt herself when the hills get steep.

I hit the twenty-mile mark today. Twenty miles. If you had told me a month ago that I’d be pushing my boundaries into these kinds of narratives, I would have laughed while eating a second muffin from Megan’s bakery. But there I was, passing the old oak grove, my breath steady and my heart beating a rhythm that felt like victory. It wasn't just about the distance; it was about the realization that my body is capable of carrying me much further than my mind ever gave it credit for.

When I got back, Joanne was out in her pink bathrobe, meticulously deadheading her petunias. She waved a gloved hand at me and shouted, 'You’re going to run right out of Cedar Falls if you keep that pace up, Lucy!' It made me laugh, but it also made me puff my chest out just a little bit. There is a quiet power in being seen by your neighbors as someone who is disciplined, someone who shows up for herself even when the sidewalk is empty.

I took a long shower and then spent the early afternoon balancing the books for Miller’s. I wasn't at the shop today—Mr. Miller lets me do the Friday tallies from home—but just looking at the spreadsheets made me think about our own finances. Between the bookkeeping and the 'Lucy’s Little Light' sales, I’m starting to see the 'extra' jar grow. It’s not a fortune, but it’s mine. It represents the hours I’ve claimed for myself, and that sense of financial growth is such a vital piece of the self-worth puzzle.

Biscuit spent the whole afternoon napping at my feet, his golden fur catching the sunlight hitting the linoleum. I found myself looking at him and thinking about how simple life can be when you’re not overcomplicating it. We spend so much time worrying if we are 'enough' for our husbands or if we are doing enough for our kids, but sometimes just being present in the room is the greatest gift we can offer. I felt desirable today, not because I wore anything fancy, but because I felt powerful in my own skin after that run.

Mark should be home any minute now. I can already picture him walking through the door, smelling like sawdust and outdoor air, probably tired but always ready to give Noah a 'velociraptor squeeze.' I want to tell him about the twenty miles, not to brag, but because I want him to see the fire that’s lit inside me. Nine years of marriage has taught me that we have to keep sharing our victories, or we risk becoming just two people sharing a roof.

I’ve got the table set, and I’m about to start some pasta. The kids are currently arguing over which dinosaur could win in a race—Noah is adamant about the raptors—and the evening hum of the house is settling in. I feel a deep sense of peace tonight. I am tired in the best way possible, the kind of tired that comes from living a day to its absolute fullest.

Tomorrow is Saturday, which means pickleball with Megan. I’m sure she’ll have some gossip from the bakery to share, and I’ll probably be a bit sore, but I wouldn't trade this feeling for anything. It’s about the small daily victories, friends. Whether it’s pouring a perfect candle, hitting a new mileage record, or just remembering to breathe through the chaos of motherhood, you are doing better than you think.

I’m going to close this now before the front door creaks open. I need to make sure I’m ready to greet Mark with the same energy I gave the trail today. Thank you for being here, for listening to my ramblings, and for walking this path with me. I hope you find your own 'twenty-mile' moment this weekend, whatever that looks like for you.

I love you. — Lucy