I'm Looking Through You

90 minutes on the mat. And in front of the mirror.

90 minutes of confrontation. With your sweat glands. And with the way you smell and the way you taste. Confrontation with that sway in your back, and with the small freckles on your shoulders that you hadn't noticed before. Confrontation with your stomach and hips. Your breasts. With your aching back and your muscles that shake from the hard work. Confrontation with those sticky 13 pounds.

90 minutes of eye contact. With your OWN eyes. With eyes that are more hazel than brown these days. Kind of like Mom's... And 90 minutes of maintaining that contact. That stare. That intensity.

90 minutes of looking. At your face, mostly. Looking at the way your eyebrows arch. And the slight crook in your nose. The warm wrinkles that are starting to form around your eyes. Looking at the way your face contorts when you are frustrated. The way you breathe when you are tired. The way you stand when you want to give up.

Sometimes you look at those eyes and find exhaustion in that gaze. And pessimism. But with time, and many many many 90 minutes, you find strength in those eyes. In YOUR eyes. And after enough of those 90 minute stares, you actually do start to see strength. You see YOUR strength.

You look into that mirror and see how all of their preaching about distraction isn't such a stretch. And you think that maybe you actually can find that ellusive internal presence of which they speak.

Because one day, while you're on that mat, during those 90 minutes in front of that mirror, you realize that what started as a blurry, difficult gaze to maintain has turned into a crisp, clear vision. Looking at yourself for those 90 minutes is no longer as taxing. Instead, it is somewhat relaxing, and relieving. To see yourself in all your clumsiness, your roughness, your ugliness. You are stark. But entwined within you see your grandeur, your glory, and your beauty. You are calm. And you are happy. And you feel good.

Yes, even in that skin. Drenched in sweat. Tasting of salt. Behind that stomach. Between those hips. Inside those eyes.

You look into that mirror believe that you can do anything. And you do. And you will.