Thursday Triumphs and the Twenty-Six Mile Trail

Hello, friends. I am sitting here at the kitchen table, the sun just beginning to dip low enough to cast long, golden rectangles across the linoleum, and for the first time in a long time, my legs feel heavy in the most wonderful way. There is a specific kind of tired that feels like an achievement, isn't there? It’s not the exhaustion of a sleepless night with a sick toddler, but the rhythmic ache of a body that has done exactly what it was asked to do. Today, I feel like I finally caught up to the woman I’ve been trying to become.

The day started in the usual whirlwind. Mark was out the door by 5:30am, his heavy work boots thudding softly on the porch as he headed off to the site. I sometimes wonder how he does it, year after year, facing the morning chill before the rest of the world has even stirred. It makes me want to be better, too. By the time I got Emma and Noah settled—Emma was particularly preoccupied with drawing a series of elaborate 'horse stables' on the back of her subtraction worksheet, and Noah was stomping around in his velociraptor pajamas demanding 'dino-waffles'—I was already leaning into the rhythm of the day.

Since it’s Thursday, I headed into Miller’s Hardware for my bookkeeping shift. There is something so grounding about that shop. The scent of fresh sawdust and motor oil hits you the second you walk in, and Mr. Miller was in his usual spot, grumbling affectionately about a late shipment of galvanized nails. I spent four hours tucked away in the back office, balancing the ledgers and ensuring every penny was accounted for. Financial growth feels so slow when you're looking at it day by day, but when I see the small 'Lucy’s Little Light' profits sitting in my savings account, I know I’m building something real.

I left the shop at 3:00pm, and the air was crisp, that perfect Iowa October chill that makes you want to move. I laced up my sneakers, waved to Joanne—who was, true to form, out in her pink bathrobe deadheading her petunias despite the breeze—and I hit the trail. I didn’t set out to break another record. I just wanted to clear my head. But once my feet hit the dirt, something just clicked. My breathing felt synchronized with the wind, and my mind felt unusually quiet.

Friends, I hit twenty-six miles today. I can hardly believe I’m typing that. After yesterday’s twenty-five, I thought for sure I’d hit a wall, but the wall never came. I just kept going. With the Harvest 5K just around the corner, I feel more prepared than I ever have in my life. It’s not just about the race anymore; it’s about the fact that I didn't quit when it got hard back in June. It’s about the way I feel when I look in the mirror—stronger, more capable, and yes, desirable in a way that has nothing to do with anyone else’s opinion and everything to do with my own strength.

When I got back to the blue house, Biscuit was waiting at the door, his tail thumping a frantic welcome against the baseboard. I took a moment to just sit on the floor with him, letting him lick my face while I caught my breath. I realized then that these moments—the sawdust, the miles, the dino-pajamas—are the bricks and mortar of a life. We spend so much time waiting for the 'big' moments that we forget the small victories are what actually keep the roof over our heads.

I took a quick shower and used that lavender soap Megan gave me from the bakery shop—she always knows exactly what I need. Afterward, I spent an hour in the garage pouring a fresh batch of 'Autumn Orchard' candles. The Etsy shop has been picking up lately, and I want to make sure I have enough stock for the weekend rush. Every time I wick a jar, I think about how this little side hustle started as a way to find a bit of myself again, and now it’s a thriving piece of our family’s future.

Mark just pulled into the driveway. I can hear the rumble of his truck, and I know he’s going to be tired, but I’ve got a pot of chili simmering on the stove and the kids are relatively quiet for once. I want to tell him about the twenty-six miles, but I also just want to ask him about his day. Our nine-year anniversary is approaching, and I’m reminded every day that a good marriage isn't about the grand gestures; it’s about being the person who is there to catch the other one at 5:20pm every single night.

I’m going to close my robin-egg-blue journal now and get the table set. I feel good. I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, in this little blue house on Sycamore Street, chasing down my own records and loving my people the best way I know how. I hope you found a small victory today, too, whether it was a mile run or just remembered to breathe through a stressful moment. You are worth the effort you put into yourself.

The clock is just hitting 5:45pm, and I want to be fully present when Mark walks through that door. Tomorrow is a new day, but today was a triumph. I’ll be calling Mom on Sunday to tell her the news, but for now, this secret is just between us and the trail.

I love you. — Lucy