Saturday Strides and the Thirty-Five Mile Total

The house is unusually still for a Saturday afternoon, save for the low hum of the dryer and the rhythmic clicking of Biscuit’s nails on the hardwood as he follows me from room to room. I am sitting here at the kitchen table, the robin-egg-blue journal Megan gave me resting next to my laptop, and I can feel the pleasant, dull ache in my calves that tells me I’ve put in the work today. It is 5:15 PM, and I can already hear the rumble of Mark’s truck pulling into the driveway. He’s home a little earlier than usual for a Saturday, and my heart still does that silly little flutter when I see him through the window.

Today was one of those days that felt like a perfectly balanced scale. I started the morning at the courts with Megan for our usual pickleball session. There is something so healing about the sound of that plastic ball and the way Megan can make me laugh until my sides hurt, even when she’s beating me three games to one. She brought over a box of day-old lemon scones from the bakery, and we sat on the bench afterward, just breathing in the crisp Cedar Falls air. We talked about the 5K, and she reminded me that just a few months ago, I was worried about running a single mile without stopping.

After pickleball, I came home to find Noah in his favorite velociraptor pajamas, staging a prehistoric coup in the living room with a pile of cushions. Emma was right there with him, though she was less interested in the roaring and more focused on sketching a very detailed horse—complete with a braided mane—right onto the back of one of my old Etsy shipping manifests. I didn't even have the heart to tell her those were for 'Lucy’s Little Light' business records. Seeing her creativity just flow out of her makes me feel like I’m doing something right, even on the days I feel like I’m just barely keeping the house afloat.

I managed to sneak away for my run while Mark took the kids to the park this afternoon. The air had a bit of a bite to it today, a reminder that the Harvest 5K is just around the corner in October. I hit the trails behind Sycamore Street and focused on my breathing, the rhythm of my feet, and the way my body feels stronger with every passing week. When I finished and checked my tracker, I saw the number: thirty-five miles total for this training cycle. Thirty-five. It feels like a lifetime ago that I was the version of myself who stayed up too late and woke up feeling sluggish.

Reaching that thirty-five-mile threshold today made me think a lot about self-worth. For a long time, I tied my value to how much I could do for everyone else—how many hours I put in at Miller’s Hardware counting nuts and bolts, or how clean I could keep Joanne’s favorite view of our petunias. But these miles? These are mine. They represent a promise I made to myself and actually kept. There is a quiet power in realizing that you are capable of more than you credited yourself for at twenty-five.

Speaking of Joanne, she caught me on the porch when I got back, wrapped in that signature pink bathrobe of hers despite the afternoon chill. She wanted to tell me that my latest batch of 'Autumn Orchard' candles smelled 'positively divine' from across the yard. I’ve had four new orders on Etsy just since yesterday, and seeing that small financial growth—the little 'cha-ching' notification on my phone—gives me a sense of independence that I can’t quite describe. It’s not just about the money; it’s about the fact that something I created with my own hands is sitting in someone else's home.

Mark just walked through the door, smelling like fresh lumber and the outdoors. He caught me mid-stretch in the kitchen and gave me that look—the one that makes me feel twenty-two again, despite the smears of candle wax on my apron and the sweat from my run. We have our ninth anniversary coming up, and sometimes I look at him and realize how much we’ve grown alongside each other. He’s been my biggest cheerleader with this 5K, even when it meant he had to take over bath time so I could get my evening miles in.

I’m about to close the laptop and start dinner—just something simple tonight, maybe the pasta Emma likes—before we settle in. Mark is already wrestling with Noah on the rug, and the sound of their laughter is filling up the little blue house. It’s these mundane moments, the ones tucked between the milestones and the hardware store shifts, that really make up the beautiful grind of our lives.

I want you to know, friends, that whatever milestone you are chasing—whether it’s a physical distance, a financial goal, or just the courage to go to bed on time—it is worth the effort. You are worth the effort. I’m leaning into the soreness tonight, grateful for a body that carries me and a family that holds me up when I’m tired.

The sun is starting to dip low over the trees, casting long shadows across Sycamore Street. It's time for me to be present with my favorite people. I hope you all find a little light in your evening tonight, just like the ones I pour into my jars.

I love you. — Lucy