Friday Flour and the Thirty-Four Mile Finish Line

Hello, friends. The little blue house on Sycamore Street is finally quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the soft, rhythmic snoring of Biscuit at my feet. Mark just pulled into the driveway—I can hear the heavy creak of his truck door—which means I have just a few minutes to share my heart with you all before the evening rush of dinner and bedtime begins. It’s been one of those Fridays that felt like a long, deep breath, and I’m so grateful for the stillness.

I spent my morning over at Sweet Magnolia helping Megan prep for the weekend rush. There is something so grounding about the smell of yeast and sugar, and watching Megan work is like watching an artist. While we bagged up cinnamon rolls, we talked about the upcoming Harvest 5K. It’s only a few weeks away now, and the nerves are starting to prickle at my skin, but Megan just patted my hand with a floury palm and told me she’d be at the finish line with a giant muffin. That’s friendship, isn’t it? Knowing someone is waiting for you with a treat and a hug no matter how fast or slow you go.

After I left the bakery, I headed home to check on my Etsy shop, Lucy’s Little Light. I had three new orders waiting for my 'Autumn Orchard' candles! It’s a small financial victory, but every time I print a shipping label, I feel a little spark of pride. That side hustle started as a way to find a bit of myself outside of being 'Mom' or 'the bookkeeper at Miller’s,' and seeing it grow, even slowly, has done wonders for my sense of self-worth. It reminds me that I have things to offer the world that I created with my own two hands.

Noah was in his velociraptor pajamas all morning—he refuses to take them off lately—and Emma spent her afternoon drawing elaborate horses on the back of the grocery list I’d started. I caught her trying to give one a flowing mane with a yellow highlighter. Seeing their creativity makes me want to be better, to show them that life isn't just about the chores and the grind, but about the joy we find in the margins. It’s about being healthy enough to chase them and strong enough to lead them.

Speaking of strength, I hit the pavement for my run shortly after lunch. The air in Cedar Falls has turned crisp, and the leaves are beginning to carpet the sidewalks in shades of rust and gold. My legs felt heavy at first—yesterday’s rainy thirty-three miles were still humming in my muscles—but once I hit the two-mile mark, I found my rhythm. I pushed through the fatigue, focusing on my breathing and the way the air felt in my lungs. I ended the run at a cumulative thirty-four miles for my recent training cycle, a new personal threshold that felt like a quiet shout of victory.

Running has changed how I see myself. For a long time, I looked in the mirror and only saw the parts of me that had changed after two kids, the parts that felt softer or less 'perfect.' But now, when I look at my reflection, I see legs that can carry me for miles. I see a heart that is getting stronger every single day. I feel desirable not because I fit into an old pair of jeans, but because I am taking care of the woman Mark loves. I want to be vibrant for him, but mostly, I want to be vibrant for me.

Joanne was out in her pink bathrobe when I got back, deadheading her petunias despite the chill. She waved a gloved hand at me and shouted, 'You’re getting faster, Lucy!' I laughed and waved back, feeling that wonderful sense of community that makes this street feel like home. It’s the small recognitions, the neighbors who notice you’re trying, that keep you going when the couch feels a lot more inviting than the running shoes.

Tonight, Mark is exhausted—I can see it in the way his shoulders are slumped as he walks toward the porch—but he always manages a smile for me. We’ve been married nine years now, and while the fire of the early days has settled into a steady, warm hearth, I still want him to look at me and see the girl he fell for. I think he does. Especially when I’m glowing from a run, hair messy and face flushed. There’s an intimacy in being seen at your most honest, your most tired, and your most determined.

I’m planning to spend the next hour helping Emma with her math—hopefully without any horse drawings on the actual homework this time—and then we’ll settle in for a simple Friday night dinner. I’ve learned that the 'Thirty-Four Mile Summit' isn't just about the distance on my fitness tracker; it’s about the mental distance I’ve traveled from the woman who was afraid to start. We are all capable of so much more than we give ourselves credit for, ladies. Don't be afraid to take that first step, even if it’s just to the end of the driveway.

I’ll be calling Mom on Sunday, as usual, and I can’t wait to tell her about my progress. She’s always been my biggest cheerleader, even when she’s forty minutes away. But for now, the sun is dipping low over the blue house, the sawdust smell from Miller’s has finally faded from my skin after a long shower, and it’s time to be present with my family. The 5K is coming, the candles are curing, and my heart is full.

Thank you for being here with me, for listening to the mundane and the milestones alike. It’s in these shared moments that we find the strength to keep going. Take a moment for yourself tonight, even if it’s just five minutes with a cup of tea or a robin-egg-blue journal. You are worth the effort you put into yourself. I love you. — Lucy