Sweating with the Youngies

It was several months before I joined a gym after accepting my faculty position.  I adored the gym at my graduate institution - the facilities were new, less than 2 blocks from my building, and air-conditioned.  The only downside was alllllll the students.  I went to graduate school in a sunny and warm climate, and as a result most of the girls wore mini-skirts, Ugg boots, and tiny tank tops for nine months out of the year.  A male colleague once described it as, "being sandblasted with Barbies".  Needless to say, I went to the gym during non-meat market hours.

Luckily Midwestern climates tend to select for "hardier" breeds.  Here the gym is less threatening on the scantily-clad women front.  But I still find it awkward at times because of the large numbers of students I teach each semester.  I am a sweater, and not of the knit variety.  I don't glow or glisten.  I sweat.  I sweat because I work hard and I love it.  And I look like hell.  Most days it doesn't phase me.  On others, well, I just don't want to be noticed by my estranged students.

The past few weeks I have really enjoyed sweating with the youngies.  I'm in my mid-30s, have a two-year old, and a husband older than me.  My gut jiggles, lines are setting into my face, and my thighs are way past their prime.  But I. Am. FIT.  I jog on the track and hold my own against young men and women 10 years my junior.  And while running countless laps (1500 m/lap) to sate my lust for miles, I take stock of the regulars. The most inspirational is a a woman in her late 50s early 60s.  I watch her on the gym floor below, a faculty member (I assume) who plays pick-up games of basketball during rush hour at the gym.  She is just shy of six feet tall, and judging by the quality of her shoes, has played seriously for a long time.  Her team mates and opponents alike underestimate her agility, but she is really inspirational to watch.  Powerful.  Graceful. Unapologetic. I achieve my best times when she is playing - my legs take on a life of their own.  Suddenly my tummy isn't jiggling, my thighs aren't flapping, and my hair is not pasted to my forehead.  As I pass fellow runners (and truly, in real life, I always do) I am solid, and strong, and proud.  Phenomenal faculty woman, that's me.

Desperately Seeking Other Humans

While putting together my third-year dossier the past several months, I found myself increasingly searching the blogosphere for others' stories along the tenure-track.  I guess I was searching for a healthy dose of humanness to help ground, or perhaps alleviate, some of the anxiety, insecurity, and resentment that built with each day I spent writing and revising my materials.  But what I found was really a whole lot more of the same -- academics scared to write about anything personal.  Adopting pseudonyms and writing in guarded, veiled narratives to avoid being identifiable by anyone -- for fear of retribution, how blogging might impact chances for promotion and tenure, or how their personal blog personality might impact future job chances. Or on the other extreme, outwardly hostile and critical of all aspects of academic life (I guess if that were me I'd be thinking about how to get another job).  But I did find a few, refreshing humans out there who just happen to be in academia.  And so to save you some time looking, I've included them here:

Red Lips and Academics sounds like a person I could have coffee with.  Down to Earth, and ready to tell it how it is.  I particularly like her Geek Love post which made the front page of Wordpress .

Scientopia is actually a host of different bloggers, each of which is in love with science.  So it's not all about academia, which I like, but when a post crops up it's usually pretty good.  I particularly like Dr Becca, and a post that resonates with me a lot right now as I finally feel I am getting my own research and up and going!