Wednesday Wicks and the Eighteen Mile Ecstasy

Hello, friends. It is just before six o'clock, the golden hour light is slanting through the kitchen window, and I can hear the rumble of Mark’s truck pulling into the driveway. There is something so grounding about that sound. It marks the shift from my solitary afternoon pace to the beautiful, chaotic rhythm of our evening together. I am sitting here with my robin-egg-blue journal, a fresh cup of herbal tea, and a very tired, very happy heart.

Today was one of those days where the mundane felt miraculous. After the kids were settled—Emma at school with her horse drawings tucked into her backpack and Noah safely at his playgroup in his favorite velociraptor pajamas—I spent a few hours in the kitchen working on 'Lucy’s Little Light.' I finally perfected the 'Cedar Falls Autumn' scent. It’s a blend of dried leaves, spice, and just a hint of the sawdust smell that clings to my clothes after a shift at Miller’s. I managed to pack up three orders for Etsy, and seeing those little boxes ready for the post office felt like a victory for my bank account and my soul.

But the real highlight of this Wednesday happened on the trails. With the Harvest 5K just around the corner in October, I’ve been pushing my limits. Yesterday I hit seventeen miles, and today, something in my spirit just wanted to see if there was one more mile left in these legs. I reached the eighteen-mile mark this afternoon. Eighteen miles, ladies! If you had told the version of me from three years ago that I would be running these distances, I would have laughed until I cried. My lungs burned in that crisp Iowa air, but my heart felt lighter than it has in weeks.

Staying in shape has become about so much more than the scale for me. It’s about the way my muscles feel capable, the way my mind clears when I hit the three-mile mark, and the way I feel when I look at myself in the mirror after a shower. I feel strong. I feel desirable. I feel like a woman who is taking up her rightful space in the world, not just a wife or a mother, but Lucy. There is a specific kind of self-worth that comes from setting a goal and watching your body rise to meet it, one footfall at a time.

When I got back to Sycamore Street, Joanne was out in her yard, still in that iconic pink bathrobe, deadheading her petunias. She waved a gloved hand at me and shouted, 'You’re going to win that race, Lucy!' I’m not sure about winning, but I certainly feel like I’ve already won something internal. I spent a few minutes stretching on the porch while Biscuit tried to lick the salt off my shins, his golden tail thumping rhythmically against the blue siding of our house.

I took a moment to look at our home—the little blue house we’ve worked so hard for. With our ninth anniversary coming up, I’ve been thinking a lot about the slow growth of a marriage. It’s not always the big romantic gestures; it’s Mark leaving at 5:30 in the morning to provide for us, and it’s me finding the energy to make a real dinner even when my legs are leaden from eighteen miles of trail. It’s the way he looks at me when he gets home, even when I’m sweaty and my hair is a mess from the wind.

Financially, things are starting to feel a bit more breathable too. The bookkeeping at Miller's keeps us steady, but these candle sales are my 'extra.' Today I looked at my savings tracker and realized I have enough tucked away for that new pair of high-performance running shoes I’ve been eyeing at the local shop. It’s a small win, but as we always say here, small wins are the bricks that build a life.

My mom, Diane, called briefly while I was labeling the jars. She’s already planning what she’s going to wear to cheer me on at the 5K. Her excitement is infectious, though I told her she doesn't need to drive the forty minutes just to watch me sweat. Of course, she insisted. It reminded me that we are never really running these races alone; we carry the love of our people with us, whether they are on the sidelines or just waiting for us at home with a construction foreman's weary smile.

Now, the house is filling with the smell of the roasted chicken I put in the oven an hour ago. Emma is already asking for help with a horse drawing, and Noah is currently 'hunting' Biscuit under the dining room table. Life is full, life is busy, and life is incredibly good. I hope you found your eighteen-mile moment today, even if it was just successfully navigating a difficult conversation or finally finishing a book you started months ago.

Remember that you are worth the effort you put into yourself. You are allowed to have goals that are just for you. You are allowed to be proud of the space you take up. I am going to put this journal away now and go greet my husband at the door. I want him to see the glow that comes from a day well-spent.

Take a deep breath and give yourself some grace tonight. I love you. — Lucy