Sunday Soul and the Twenty-Nine Mile Stretch

Hello, friends. It is just before six o’clock on a very quiet Sunday evening here in Cedar Falls. The sun is starting to dip behind the maples on Sycamore Street, casting long, golden shadows across my little blue house. Mark is currently in the living room with Noah, who is insists that his velociraptor pajamas are the only appropriate attire for a Sunday night 'dinosaur dig' in the couch cushions. I can hear the low rumble of Mark’s voice and the occasional 'rawr' from our four-year-old, and my heart just feels so full.

Today started with that familiar Sunday morning rhythm. I woke up before the rest of the house, though Biscuit was, as always, waiting by the bed with his tail thumping rhythmically against the floorboards. I took my robin-egg-blue journal out to the porch for a few minutes while the coffee brewed. There is something so sacred about those first few moments of light, isn't there, ladies? It’s the one time of day where I don't feel like a bookkeeper, a candle-maker, or a short-order cook. I just get to be Lucy.

Mom called right around ten, just like she always does. Diane has this way of knowing exactly when I need a pep talk. We talked about the girls' schoolwork—Emma is still drawing horses all over the margins of her math worksheets, much to her teacher's chagrin—and then the conversation turned to the Harvest 5K. Mom told me she’s already picked out her 'Cheering Section' outfit for next weekend. It’s starting to feel so real, isn’t it? The race is just around the corner, and I can hardly believe how far we’ve come together.

After the call, I laced up my sneakers. I’ll be honest with you all: my legs felt heavy today. Yesterday’s twenty-eight miles were still humming in my calves, and for a moment, I wondered if I should just take a rest day. But there’s a new kind of discipline growing in me lately. It’s not about punishment or 'burning off' breakfast anymore. It’s about honoring this body that does so much for me. It’s about self-worth. I want to be a woman who shows up for herself, even when the couch looks more inviting than the trail.

I hit the trail behind the park, and once I got past the first two miles, the rhythm took over. The air was crisp, smelling like fallen leaves and woodsmoke. I didn't plan to push it, but my feet had other ideas. By the time I looped back toward Sycamore Street, my tracker buzzed. Twenty-nine miles for the week. Twenty-nine! I stood there on the sidewalk, gasping for air and grinning like a fool. Just a few months ago, I was winded running to the mailbox. Now, I feel like I could run all the way to the next county if I had to.

When I got home, Mark was out in the yard helping Joanne. Our dear neighbor was in her usual pink bathrobe, looking a bit distressed over her petunias. Apparently, the overnight frost hit them harder than she expected. Mark was helping her clear away the blackened stems while Biscuit 'helped' by sniffing every single flower pot. Seeing Mark out there, his hands dirty and his shoulders broad, I felt that familiar spark. Nine years of marriage, and he still makes me feel like the luckiest girl in Iowa.

We spent the afternoon working on a fresh batch of 'Lucy’s Little Light' candles. I had a big order come in through Etsy last night for the 'Autumn Sawdust' scent—the one inspired by my shifts at Miller’s. Mark helped me carry the heavy crates of wax down to the kitchen, and Emma helped me line up the wicks. It’s a small side hustle, and the finances aren't life-changing yet, but every sale feels like a victory for our family’s future. It’s proof that I can build something of my own.

I took a long shower while the kids were playing, using the fancy lavender soap Megan gave me from the bakery. Standing there, I looked at myself in the steamed-up mirror and realized I’m starting to see a different version of Lucy. She’s stronger. Her skin is glowing from the Iowa wind, and her eyes look clearer. I feel desirable not just because Mark tells me I am, but because I’m finally starting to believe it myself. That is a kind of wealth no one can take away from you.

Dinner was simple—roast chicken and some root vegetables—and now the house is settling into that Sunday night hush. I need to get my bag packed for tomorrow. Monday always comes fast, and I want to be ready to tackle the week. I’m thinking about that thirty-mile mark now. It’s so close I can almost touch it. But for tonight, I’m just going to sit here with my tea and watch the light fade.

Thank you for being here with me, friends. For listening to my ramblings about miles and wicks and little blue houses. It means the world to know I’m not running this race alone. I hope you found a small victory today, too. Even if it was just choosing yourself for five minutes. You are worth the effort, I promise.

The kitchen timer just went off, which means it's time to get Noah into his actual bed and out of his 'dig site.' I’ll see you all tomorrow for a fresh start. I love you. — Lucy