The Man in The Arena, The Man in The Mirror - Under The Lights

There are moments when life puts you in the spotlight, or you yourself choose to step under the lights; Muhammad Ali once said “The fight is won or lost far away from the witnesses, behind the lines, in the gym, and out there on the road; long before I dance under those lights.”- bright, unforgiving, impossible to hide from. They don’t soften anything. They don’t flatter. They show you exactly what’s there, whether you want to see it or not. There is nowhere to escape. I pride myself on having always been steadfast and dependable. Whether you find yourself in the light or you put yourself under it, there are always the critics, the ones who never enter the fight, yet always claim they know how to win it!

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.

The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming;

but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause;

who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly,

so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.” - Theodore Roosevelt

Once, I was the man in the arena. Marred by dust, fire in the belly, ice in the mind. A competitor who didn’t just enter the fight - I belonged in it. I lived for the clash, the noise, the certainty that my body would answer every demand I threw at it.

Now, when I find myself under the lights, I see a different figure, I often cringe and look away. Not the warrior I remember, the man in the arena, but the man in the mirror - still, exposed, stripped back. A body that has taken hits. A spirit that has been bludgeoned, but not dampened, more times than I care to remember. The contrast is brutal; arena vs. mirror, motion vs. stillness, strength vs. limitation. And yet… Standing under the lights, something else comes through. Not the damage - but the refusal to disappear (sorry to disappoint). Because strength isn’t always the roar of the crowd, sometimes it’s the quiet, stubborn decision to keep stepping forward. To let the lights hit you even when you’d rather stay in the dark. To acknowledge the man, you’ve become without apologising for the man you were. To accept. It’s taken me far too long to do that, but I think I’m slowly getting there.

And there’s one more paradox I’m learning to live with…

As much as I hate the physical reflection staring back at me (it’s like looking at yourself in one of those wobbly fairground mirrors), I’m growing to like the man I see more. The body may no longer match the memory, but the spirit is becoming something deeper. What I once carried in physical presence, I’m slowly becoming in spiritual presence. A different kind of strength. A quieter kind of courage. An acceptance of myself and of others that I never knew I had in me. I’m growing in empathy. Growing in love. Growing into the man the mirror - not because of what’s been taken, but because of what’s finally being revealed. Broken, yes. But unbreakable. A gift of being broken.

These days with social media at the forefront of most everything, there is so much pressure on us all to try to conform. To sculpt some kind of godlike/goddess physique and an avid reader and expert of all the latest self-help books. A gym beast, master chef, self proclaimed psychologist, or some kind of reincarnated Gandhi (on the surface anyway). I guess what I’m trying to get at in this blog is, try to accept what you are and embrace it. Try to be the best person you can be. Grow old gracefully and treat others with the respect they deserve. By the way, if you do live your life dedicated to trying to live forever or becoming some form of human perfection (in your eyes), I’m not judging, please don’t think so. I worry about our young people and the messages they receive, and the shame that can be evoked. Of course, it’s a good idea to promote health and fitness, but not to preach it. Anyway, if you’ve managed to read this far without getting deterred, as I close, i’ll leave you with this - try to think of something kind to do for a fellow human being, and go do it -  i’m going to.

Namaste.