There's a mirror right in front of my treadmill at my gym. The first day I braved the little torture device, I was very uncomfortable looking up at my reflection as I walked. I didn't want to see myself huffing and puffing and jiggling all over the place.

As time has worn on, I find that far from being uncomfortable with that mirror, I can't stop looking at it. I walk very fast on the treadmill, and brave short, running intervals as I start to feel ready. My cheeks flush a very pretty shade of pink when my blood gets pumping. My skin sort of glows a bit when I sweat. My hair, too short still to form a neat pony tail, sort of flows freely around my face. I lift it up and hold it atop my head as I walk occasionally, singing quietly along to the music on my iPod.

Damn. I look pretty. What a revelation.