Sunday Soul and the Twenty-Two Mile Triumph

It is just before six o’clock on a Sunday evening, and the blue house on Sycamore Street is finally settling into that soft, pre-Monday lull. Mark is in the living room with Noah, who is currently mid-battle between a plastic Triceratops and a wayward LEGO tower, while Emma is at the kitchen table meticulously coloring a horse’s mane with a very specific shade of 'sunset violet.' The house smells faintly of the pot roast I put in the slow cooker this morning and, of course, the lingering scent of lavender and soy wax from the candle studio. It is a good smell, friends. It’s the smell of a life that is full, even when it’s tiring.

Today started with the usual Sunday morning call from Mom. Diane always seems to know exactly when I’ve reached that point in the week where I need a little bit of her grounding energy. We talked for forty minutes about the petunias Joanne is still trying to save next door and how Emma’s math teacher mentioned she’s still 'decorating' her long division worksheets with sketches of stallions. Mom reminded me that I used to do the same thing with my spelling tests, and it’s those little echoes of myself in my daughter that make me realize how fast time is moving. It makes me want to hold onto these moments even tighter.

After the call, I laced up my running shoes. I felt a bit of a nervous flutter in my stomach today, ladies. As the Cedar Falls Harvest 5K gets closer, I’ve been pushing myself into territory I never thought a thirty-four-year-old mom of two could reach. Yesterday’s twenty-one miles felt like a mountain, and today, I set my sights on twenty-two. I know what you’re thinking—twenty-two miles for a 5K training plan? It seems excessive, but there is something about the way my body feels when I hit that rhythm on the Iowa trails. It isn't just about the race anymore; it’s about proving to Lucy that she is capable of enduring.

The air was crisp, that perfect October chill that makes your lungs feel sharp and clean. Biscuit wanted to come, whining at the door with his tail thumping against the wood, but he’s more of a two-mile dog than a twenty-two-mile dog these days. I hit the trail alone, my breathing syncing up with the strike of my heels on the pavement. By mile fifteen, my legs were heavy, but my mind was incredibly light. I thought about my nine years with Mark—how we’ve built this life brick by brick, through long days at the construction site for him and sawdust-scented shifts at Miller's Hardware for me.

When I finally hit that twenty-two-mile mark and slowed to a walk, I felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the sun. It’s a quiet kind of self-worth that grows when you stop telling yourself 'I can't' and start asking 'How far?' I stood there for a moment, hands on my hips, looking out over the fading green of the fields, and I felt desirable. Not just in a physical way—though the toning in my legs is a nice bonus—but in a way that feels powerful. I am a woman who keeps her promises to herself. That is a kind of beauty that doesn't fade with age.

On my way back, I stopped by Sweet Magnolia to see Megan. She was just closing up, but she let me in for a quick chat and a glass of water. She was glowing, telling me about the new sourdough starter she’s naming 'Bertha.' We laughed about our pickleball match coming up this Saturday, though I warned her my calves might be made of lead by then. Having a friend who cheers for your big wins and laughs at your small mishaps is such a gift. She handed me a leftover cinnamon roll for the kids, and that little act of kindness felt like the perfect end to my trek.

Now, as I sit here with my robin-egg-blue journal, I’m looking at the numbers. The 'Lucy’s Little Light' Etsy shop had three new orders today, which is a lovely little financial win to start the new week. It’s not a fortune, but it’s mine. It represents the hours spent pouring wax and choosing scents after the kids are in bed. Every candle sold feels like a tiny validation of my creativity, a little piece of light I’m sending out into the world from my kitchen table.

Mark just walked in and squeezed my shoulder, asking if I’m ready for dinner. He looks tired—he’s been working such long hours lately—but he always has that specific look in his eyes when he sees me after a long run. It’s a look that says he’s proud, and it’s a look that makes me feel like the same girl he married nine years ago, just a little more seasoned and a lot more confident. We are growing, ladies. Not just in miles, but in the way we occupy our own lives.

I’m going to put the journal away now and help Emma finish her sunset violet masterpiece. Tomorrow is a Monday, and there will be school lunches to pack and floors to sweep, but tonight, I am reveling in the fact that I ran twenty-two miles and I am still standing. I am strong, I am loved, and I am exactly where I am supposed to be. I hope you found a moment today to recognize your own strength, no matter how small the victory felt.

Take a deep breath and remember that you are doing enough. I’m off to dish up the roast and enjoy this quiet Sunday evening with my favorite people. I love you. — Lucy