Saturday Steps and the Twenty-Eight Mile Triumph

Happy Saturday, friends. The little blue house on Sycamore Street is finally quiet for a moment, and I’m sitting here at the kitchen table with my robin-egg-blue journal and a very tired pair of legs. The sun is just starting to dip low enough to hit the petunias in Joanne’s yard, and honestly, seeing her out there in her pink bathrobe earlier today reminded me that there is so much beauty in the steady, unchanging rhythms of our lives.

Today was one of those Saturdays that felt like a beautiful, chaotic dance. It started early, as it always does, with Noah climbing into bed in his velociraptor pajamas, insisting that he heard a 'very loud dinosaur' in the hallway. It turned out to be Biscuit snoring, but that was the end of sleep for me. Mark was already up and out, helping his crew prep a site before the weekend fully took hold, so it was just me and the kids for the morning rush.

We headed down to Sweet Magnolia first thing because I promised Megan I’d drop off a fresh batch of my 'Autumn Orchard' candles for her front display. The bakery smelled like cinnamon and sugar, a sharp contrast to the sawdust scent I’ve been wearing lately from my shifts at Miller’s Hardware. Megan looked radiant behind the counter, even with flour on her apron, and we managed to squeeze in a five-minute chat about our Pickleball plans. It’s these small connections, these moments of being seen by a friend, that remind me I’m more than just a list of chores and errands.

After the bakery, I finally hit the trail. You know how I’ve been pushing myself for the Harvest 5K in October? Well, ladies, today something shifted. I wasn't just running; I was soaring. I watched the mileage tick up on my watch, and when I finally slowed to a walk near the old bridge, I realized I had reached the twenty-eight mile threshold for my cumulative training week. Twenty-eight miles! If you had told the Lucy of three years ago that she’d be hitting these numbers, she would have laughed and reached for another cookie.

Reaching that milestone today wasn't just about my physical fitness, though my lungs certainly felt the burn. It was about self-worth. It was about proving to myself that I can set a goal and honor it, even when the kids are acting up or when the Etsy orders for Lucy’s Little Light are piling up on the dining room table. Every mile is a promise I kept to myself. It makes me feel strong, and dare I say, a little bit desirable in a way that has nothing to do with a fancy dress and everything to do with the sweat on my brow.

When I got home, Emma was at the kitchen table, her tongue poked out in concentration as she drew elaborate horses all over the margins of her math worksheets. I should probably tell her to focus on the numbers, but I can’t bring myself to stifle that spark. We spent the afternoon together, just the three of us and Biscuit, while I poured a few more jars of wax and Emma 'helped' by picking out the labels. It’s a slow growth, both for my little candle business and my own sense of peace, but it’s real.

Mark came home around 5:20pm, looking exhausted but wearing that specific smile he gets when he sees us all in one place. He noticed the new mileage on the fridge tracker and gave me a squeeze that made all the sore muscles worth it. We aren't rich, and we aren't leading lives that would make the cover of a magazine, but we are building a foundation. We’ve been together nine years now, and sometimes the most romantic thing he can do is recognize the hard work I’m putting into myself.

I’m looking forward to tomorrow. Mom is calling in the afternoon, and I’m sure Diane will have plenty to say about the kids’ school photos, but for now, I’m just going to enjoy this quiet. I’ve realized that 'me time' isn't a luxury; it’s the fuel that keeps this whole house running. Taking that hour to run twenty-eight miles isn't selfish; it’s how I stay the Lucy that my family needs.

As the clock nears six, I can hear Noah roaring in the backyard and Biscuit barking along in agreement. It’s time to start dinner—nothing fancy tonight, just pasta and maybe some of that sourdough Megan sent me home with. I want to savor these last few hours of the weekend before the Monday morning rush starts all over again. I hope you all found a moment of triumph today, no matter how small it might seem to the rest of the world.

Keep pushing for your own milestones, friends. Whether it’s a mile on the trail, a completed page in a journal, or just getting the kids to bed on time, every victory counts. You are stronger than you think, and you are worth every bit of effort you put into your own growth. I’ll check in again soon, but for now, the kitchen is calling.

I love you. — Lucy