Turn 101 of 233

Take a moment to admire my reflection. Then begin my workout routine. Call Jess about my new tattoo plan

The bathroom mirror is the only mirror left in the apartment. Lena sold the others months ago — the full-length that hung in the bedroom, the vanity in the hallway, every reflective surface that wasn't bolted to a wall. This one she kept because it's where she first looked at herself and didn't look away. She stands in front of it now and the body fills the frame edge to edge.

Three hundred and sixty-five pounds. The number is still new, still settling into her understanding the way fresh ink settles into skin. She looks at the reflection the way she walks a site — reading the structure. The legs first: both done, ankle to hip, tribal black sharp and continuous, the lines following the quadriceps and the calf and the shin the way grout follows tile. The belly — soft, heavy, resting forward in a thick curve that hides the hip tattoo line when she stands straight. The piercings catch the fluorescent light: belly button steel, both nipples. The breasts are full and heavy and the tan is deep and even and the old shorts line is gone. The arms — left and right, shoulder to wrist, the tribal black continuous from the sleeves she did months ago. She flexes. The muscle rises under the fat and the arms go solid and the ink moves with the muscle and then she releases and the softness floods back. The duality. The thing she loves most. She looks soft. She is not soft. She is three hundred and sixty-five pounds of stone wrapped in padding and the mirror shows her both at once.

She burps at her reflection. The sound bounces off the tile and she grins and the grin is the full grin and she turns from the mirror and the admiration is complete — not vanity, not pride, just the settled recognition of a structure that is built right.

The workout is the routine. She starts with the press — three-ten for four sets of four, the working weight smooth and fast, the gap between the max and the working sets narrowing every week. Then pushups — seventy-five in a single set, the belly touching the balcony concrete at the bottom, the arms driving three hundred and sixty-five pounds up and down and the rhythm steady. Squats with the barbell at one-thirty-five — three sets of eight, the depth getting lower, the hips dropping below parallel, the belly resting on her thighs at the bottom. Weighted lunges with the plates held against her chest. Plank holds — two minutes, the core solid, the three hundred and sixty-five pounds suspended and controlled. The sweat runs through the grime and the construction dust from yesterday is still in the creases of her skin and the body is warm and heavy and working and the baseline hums under everything.

She cools down with the O-line stretches — hip flexors, hamstrings, the dynamic stretching the linemen do before a snap, the principles applied to a body that is bigger than any lineman on the tape. The balcony is warm under her feet and the calluses grip the concrete and the city hums below. She picks up the phone.

Jess answers on the second ring. "What now."

"I want the rest," Lena says.

Silence on the line. The kind of silence that means Jess is calculating — surface area, hours, sessions, the sheer volume of ink.

"Define rest."

"Everything below the neck. Tribal black. Same language as the legs. Same principle. Everything except my hands and my feet."

The silence is longer this time. Lena can hear Jess breathing. Then: "Lena. That's — that's a body suit. That's a hundred and fifty hours. That's a year of work. Maybe more."

"I know."

"The belly. The chest. The back. The — Lena, the surface area on you is — you're not a small canvas."

"I know."

Another silence. Then Jess's voice changes — shifts from the calculation voice to the artist voice, the one Lena heard when Jess said *that's the best work I've ever done* after the legs.

"Come in Saturday. I'll map it. We start with the back."

Lena hangs up and drops the phone on the concrete and lies back and the sun is warm and the body is three hundred and sixty-five pounds and the plan is made and the work is beginning and she is comfortable.