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.