Saturday Steps and the Twenty-One Mile Turnaround

Hello, friends. It is a beautiful, crisp Saturday evening here in Cedar Falls, and I am sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of lemon water, feeling that specific, heavy-limbed exhaustion that only comes from a day fully lived. The house is relatively quiet for once. Mark is out back in the garage sharpening his tools for Monday, and I can hear the distant, muffled sound of Noah growling like a T-Rex while Emma tries to convince him that his dinosaurs need to attend a 'horse gala' in the living room. It’s the little moments of chaos that make this blue house on Sycamore Street feel so full of life.

This morning started earlier than usual. Since it’s Saturday, I met Megan at Sweet Magnolia before the sun had fully finished climbing over the horizon. The bakery smelled like cinnamon and yeast, a sharp contrast to the sawdust scent I live with on Tuesdays and Thursdays at Miller's Hardware. Megan was in her element, dusting flour off her apron and handing me a lukewarm coffee. We didn't get to play pickleball today because the bakery was slammed with orders for the high school homecoming dance, but just being in her orbit for twenty minutes gave me the boost I needed to face my big goal for the day.

I’ve been telling you all week about how I’ve been pushing my limits on the trails. After yesterday’s twenty-mile threshold, I wasn't sure if my legs had another record in them. But there is something about the way the air feels in early October—it’s thin and sharp, and it makes you feel like you can run forever. I laced up my sneakers, kissed Mark goodbye while he was still finishing his first cup of coffee, and headed out toward the Cedar Valley trails. My goal was simple: just keep moving. Just one more mile than yesterday.

Ladies, I hit twenty-one miles today. Twenty-one. If you had told the Lucy of two years ago that she would be covering that kind of ground in a single afternoon, she would have laughed until she cried. When I hit the turnaround point and realized how far I’d come, I actually stopped for a second and just breathed. My heart was thumping, not with panic, but with power. It’s not just about the Harvest 5K anymore. It’s about the fact that I am capable of carrying myself further than I ever imagined. That realization of self-worth is worth more than any medal.

When I finally hobbled back onto Sycamore Street, Joanne was out in her usual pink bathrobe, though she’d added a cardigan today against the chill. She was deadheading her petunias with the kind of focus only a retired teacher can muster. She looked up and gave me a little wave with her shears. 'You're looking leaner every day, Lucy!' she called out. It made me flush a little. It’s nice to be seen, isn't it? Not just as a mom or a bookkeeper, but as a woman who is taking up space and getting stronger.

After my shower, I spent an hour in the kitchen working on a new batch of 'Lucy's Little Light' candles. I’m experimenting with a 'Crisp Harvest' scent—apple, clove, and a hint of cedarwood. It’s a bit of a financial gamble to order the new fragrance oils, but the Etsy shop has been steady lately, and I want to have enough stock for the holiday rush. There is something so therapeutic about the pouring process. Watching the wax go from clear to opaque is a reminder that transformation takes time and patience. You can't rush the setting process, just like you can't rush growth.

Mark came in while I was labeling the jars and just stood there for a moment, watching me. He still had grease on his forearms from the garage, and he looked tired, but he had that look in his eyes—the one that makes me remember why we’re coming up on nine years of marriage. He didn't say much, he just squeezed my shoulder and told me he was proud of my run. Sometimes the quietest support is the loudest. It makes me feel desirable and grounded all at once, knowing that he sees the work I'm putting in, both for the family and for myself.

I did have a brief scare when Biscuit decided to 'help' by chasing a squirrel right through my drying candle jars, but luckily, he only knocked over an empty one. He’s currently hiding under the table, probably sensing my lingering exasperation, though it’s hard to stay mad at a golden retriever who looks that guilty. Emma came to the rescue with a broom, showing off how much she's grown lately. She’s started asking if she can run the 'kids' dash' at the Harvest 5K, and seeing her excitement makes every sore muscle in my calves feel worth it.

My mom, Diane, called a day early because she wanted to hear about my mileage progress. She’s forty minutes away, but sometimes it feels like she’s right there in the room, worrying about my knees. I had to reassure her three times that I’m stretching properly and drinking my electrolytes. It’s funny how you never stop being a daughter, no matter how many miles you run or how many children of your own you have. Her voice always reminds me of home, and it was the perfect way to wind down the afternoon.

As I look at my robin-egg-blue journal sitting on the counter, I’m reminded of that letter I wrote to my twenty-five-year-old self. She would be so surprised by this life. She would be surprised by the strength in these legs and the peace in this heart. We are not just static versions of ourselves; we are constantly being hand-poured into new shapes. Today was a victory, not because of the number on my fitness tracker, but because I chose to show up for myself when I could have easily stayed on the couch.

The sun is starting to dip now, casting long shadows across the blue siding of the house. I need to go help Mark get the kids settled for dinner—Noah is currently trying to convince Biscuit to wear his velociraptor pajama top, and I suspect the dog is winning that particular battle. We’re having a simple pasta dinner tonight to refuel, and then I’m going to let myself sink into the sofa for a few hours. Rest is just as important as the run, and I’ve earned every second of it.

Thank you for being here with me, friends. Whether you ran twenty-one miles today or just managed to get out of bed and face the world, you are doing enough. You are enough. I’m going to put my phone away and spend the rest of the night in the present moment with my family. I hope your Saturday is filled with the same kind of quiet light that’s filling my kitchen right now. I love you. — Lucy