Monday Milestones and the Twenty-Three Mile Tether

Hello, sweet friends. The light is just beginning to soften over our little blue house on Sycamore Street, and the house is finally quiet enough to hear the hum of the refrigerator. Mark just walked through the door—he’s home from the site right on time at 5:20 today—and he’s currently in the backyard with Biscuit, tossing a tennis ball while Emma tries to convince him that a horse would fit perfectly behind the garage. It is a beautiful, chaotic rhythm, and as I sit here with my robin-egg-blue journal, I am feeling a deep sense of gratitude for the simple ability to breathe through it all.

Today started with the usual Monday rush. Noah was adamant about wearing his velociraptor pajamas underneath his jeans, and at this point in my motherhood journey, I’ve learned that some battles just aren't worth the emotional capital. He looked a little lumpy around the knees, but he was happy, and that’s a win in my book. After the school drop-off, I spent a few hours in the kitchen pouring a fresh batch of 'Autumn Orchard' candles for the Etsy shop. The scent of spiced apples is still clinging to my hair, and I managed to fulfill four orders that came in over the weekend. Seeing those small financial wins hit the account always gives me a little boost of self-worth; it’s a reminder that I am building something of my own, brick by brick.

But the real story of today happened on the trails. I know I’ve been sharing my mileage updates with you all week as I prepare for the Cedar Falls Harvest 5K later this month, but today felt different. I laced up my shoes around 1:00 PM, kissed Joanne hello as she was out in her pink bathrobe deadheading her petunias, and just started moving. I didn't set out to break another record, but the Iowa air was so crisp and the sky so wide that my legs just kept going. By the time I looped back toward home, my tracker read twenty-three miles. Twenty-three.

If you had told the version of Lucy from two years ago—the one who felt winded just chasing Noah around the living room—that she would be hitting these distances, she wouldn't have believed you. I’m realizing that this training isn't just about a race anymore. It’s about proving to myself that I am capable of expansion. Every mile is a testament to my own strength and a rejection of the idea that I should be shrinking as I get older. I feel more in tune with my body at thirty-four than I ever did in my twenties, and there is a profound power in that realization.

When I got back, I had a message from Megan at the bakery. She’s worried about the flour shipment for Saturday, but she took a second to cheer me on about my run. Having a friend who celebrates your victories, no matter how niche they are, is such a gift. It’s those connections that keep us grounded when the world feels a bit too fast. I’m looking forward to our pickleball match this weekend, though I suspect my legs might still be feeling today’s trek through the Cedar Valley trails.

I also spent a little time this afternoon looking at our budget. Between the bookkeeping hours at Miller’s and the candle sales, I’ve been able to tuck away a little extra for our ninth anniversary dinner next month. Mark works so hard, leaving at 5:30 every morning and coming home covered in sawdust and exhaustion. I want to make sure we have a night where we aren't just 'Mom and Dad,' but Lucy and Mark—two people who are still very much in love and still very much attracted to the lives we are building together.

Sometimes I worry if I’m sharing too much about these long runs, but you ladies always remind me that we’re in this together. Whether you’re running twenty miles or just running a load of laundry, the effort is the same. It’s about showing up for yourself when no one is watching. It’s about the quiet pride of knowing you did what you said you were going to do. My muscles are aching in that good, productive way, and I know I’ll sleep soundly tonight.

Dinner is almost ready—Mark is grilling chicken and I can hear Emma laughing at something Biscuit did. I’m going to close this journal now and go be present with them. There’s a lot of life to be lived in these evening hours before the sun goes down. I hope you found a moment for yourself today, even if it was just five minutes in a quiet room. You are worth the effort, friends. You are worth the time it takes to become who you want to be.

I love you. — Lucy