isn't the medal,
it's the process.
It's the many hours on the mat,
the days in the weight room,...
building...practicing...sweating... learning... waiting.
It's the ten thousand repititions
of each move
on the practice mat,
the million
done in your head
and the half dozen
you've been able to execute
in all those matches.
It's the sounds of those people's words in your ear;
the coach, yelling...screaming...encouraging...
praising...teaching...learning...
The friends and family
who can be heard clearly above the din
of the rest of the crowd...
and...
that other voice...
It's the bruises,
the injuries,
the frustration,
the disappointment,
the joy,
the exhileration
in every out come.
It's that feeling
in the pit of your stomach
when you look across the mat
and see the eyes of your opponent
and know that they too
are "in process."
And it's the referees whistle
starting your heart,
starting the match,
starting the process...
again.
