Sunday Soul and the Thirty-Six Mile Stretch

The house is finally still for a moment, and I’m sitting here at the kitchen table with my robin-egg-blue journal and a lukewarm cup of peppermint tea. Mark is out back with Biscuit, throwing the ball until the poor dog is practically grinning, and the kids are momentarily occupied with a pile of LEGOs in the living room. There is something about late Sunday afternoon that always feels like a deep breath before the week begins again. It’s that soft, golden light that hits the blue siding of our house just right, making everything feel intentional.

My morning started with the usual Sunday ritual: a forty-minute phone call with Mom. Diane always has a way of knowing exactly what’s on my mind before I even say it. We talked about her garden, the upcoming Harvest 5K, and she reminded me that nine years of marriage is quite the milestone. It’s funny how she still treats me like I’m twenty, even though I’m thirty-four with two kids and a side hustle. She told me she’s proud of how I’m sticking to my training, and honestly, hearing that from her still means the world to me.

After we hung up, I laced up my sneakers for my daily run. The Cedar Falls trails were particularly crisp today, the air smelling of damp leaves and woodsmoke. I hit a new milestone: thirty-six miles total in this training cycle. My legs felt heavy for the first mile, but then I found that rhythm—that steady beat of pavement that reminds me I am strong. There was a time, not too long ago, when I didn't think I could run to the end of Sycamore Street without losing my breath. Now, I’m looking at the calendar for October and feeling ready, not just physically, but mentally.

Running has become so much more than just staying in shape for me. It’s where I reclaim my self-worth away from the labels of 'Mom' or 'Bookkeeper.' Don’t get me wrong, I love being those things. I love the sawdust smell of Miller’s Hardware and the way Mr. Miller trusts me with the ledgers. I love helping Megan at the bakery and the way my hands smell like vanilla after a shift. But on the trail, I’m just Lucy. I’m a woman who is capable of pushing through the burn, and that realization has trickled into every other part of my life.

Take my Etsy shop, for example. I spent an hour this afternoon pouring a new batch of 'Autumn Orchard' candles for Lucy's Little Light. As the soy wax melted, I thought about how much this little side hustle has grown. It started as a way to clear my head, and now those small Etsy deposits are helping us save for our anniversary trip. It’s not a fortune, but it’s mine. There is a specific kind of dignity in slow, financial growth—a quiet victory in knowing that my creativity is contributing to our family’s future.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror earlier, still in my leggings with my hair a bit wild from the wind. I didn't immediately look for flaws. Instead, I saw a woman who is healthy and present. I think Mark sees it too. When he came home from his long shift on Friday, he looked at me in a way that made me feel entirely seen. Maintaining that spark after nine years takes work, but it’s easier when you actually like the person you see in the mirror. I want to feel desirable not just for him, but because I know I’ve put in the work to care for myself.

Joanne was out earlier, of course. She was in that signature pink bathrobe, even though it was nearly noon, deadheading her petunias with the precision of a surgeon. She waved her shears at me as I finished my cool-down walk and shouted, 'You’re getting faster, Lucy!' It made me laugh. She sees everything from that porch, but she’s also my biggest cheerleader in her own grumpy, retired-teacher way. I think I might drop off one of the new candles for her tomorrow; she always appreciates a scent that covers up the smell of her floral fertilizer.

Emma and Noah are finally winding down. Emma spent most of the afternoon drawing horses on the back of some old scrap paper I brought home from the hardware store. She’s getting so good at the manes. Noah, meanwhile, has refused to take off his velociraptor pajamas since Friday. He spent the afternoon 'stalking' Biscuit through the dining room. Watching them grow reminds me why these small daily victories matter. I want them to see a mother who pursues her goals, whether that’s a 5K or a successful candle pour.

Tomorrow it’s back to the routine. No hardware store tomorrow, but I have a long list of orders to pack and a mountain of laundry that seems to have multiplied while I was out running. But that’s okay. The grind is where the growth happens. I’m learning to love the process as much as the result. Whether it’s balancing the books for Mr. Miller or hitting thirty-seven miles tomorrow, I’m showing up for myself.

Mark is calling me now; he wants to start dinner early so we can all watch a movie together before the 5:30am alarm hits him tomorrow. I’m going to put the journal away and be present with them. I hope you all had a Sunday that filled your cup, friends. Remember that you are worth the effort you put into yourself. I love you. — Lucy