The sign on the building before me read, “Student Wellness Center” and I felt a chill run down my spine that had nothing to do with the briskly typical November-in-North-Dakota weather.  As I paused to look up at the facade of the beautiful and state-of-the-art  facility, I pondered this deep sense of foreboding that seemed to temporarily overwhelm,  “OMG!  WHAT am I doing here?” I asked myself, “I can’t believe I am doing this…”  Despite my desperate and initial hesitations, I encouraged my feet into once again carry me forward,  squared my shoulders, and continued on through the glass doors into the magnificently storied atrium area.  This took courage.

When I get scared, I have an annoying habit of talking to myself.  “The sign is a misnomer,” I kept assuring myself. “After all!  I’m a student…   I’m a student of… I’m a student of  life…!  Yes!  A scholar on that subject…   LOL…  and sure, I’m not a STUDENT in a traditional sense of the word… being a life-long learner is an occupational hazard working in academia, after all!”

I stopped dead in my tracks again at the sight of the rather hunky undergraduate at the welcome desk who had a terrific smile, and better yet, he had no comment on the ancient UND Empl ID card that clearly read “Faculty/Staff” that I handed him.  (In fact, I had a small bit of trouble locating this ID before my trip to the Wellness Center, lost as it was in the farthest reaches of the bottom of my purse. )  The card’s worn and scarred surface had been crafted many moons ago, when I started in my fulltime position at UND …   This was probably about the same time the Mr. Hunky Welcome Desk (with the glorious smile) was beginning Middle School… and around the time he was learning to shave.  Yikes.  Perish the thought.

Continuing down the hall to the locker-rooms, I also continued down my train of thought, “After all, you go to the STUDENT Union for lunch practically everyday.  Why feel odd or out of place going to the STUDENT Wellness Center for workouts?”  Okay.   I conceded.  You win, point taken.  But then again, I thought as I espied a taut bodied young Freshmen, “eating next to a 17 year old, is quite a bit different than working out next to one.”  After all, my self-esteem could only take so much.

Without further ado, I steeled my resolve.  I zipped out of my business casual attire into something a little less office-worthy, and zoomed upstairs to the cardio-deck to wage bloody battle against my buxom bottom’s cellulite.  I found myself the weapon of its destruction in the shape of an elliptical… and proceeded for the next 45-minutes to beat the pants off the girl next to me that was at least 10-15 years my junior.  Woot.  On second thought, my self esteem could use a bit more of that!  Maybe even 3-5 times a week!

Being a librarian and an information professional, I will have to look up the idiom “Age before Beauty” in the Oxford English Dictionary when I get to work tomorrow morning.  I bet I can find my name inscribed therein.