Several years ago, I lost a significant amount of weight (70 pounds in about a year and a half) by changing my diet and walking on a treadmill. I began running and even trained for a marathon, but now, since a knee injury, I’ve switched back to walking on a treadmill and lifting weights.
Most people who don’t know me very well -- and a few who do -- believe that I enjoy the treadmill. Unfortunately, as I told a friend of mine during my first time on one, I feel chained to it; I work out because I have to, in order to stay in good shape, not because it’s particularly enjoyable. Realistically, what is enjoyable about walking on a treadmill for an hour, even if there is a TV available? And I’ve yet to understand why people like lifting weights.
The one thing I do like about those activities is the result that follows from doing them regularly. I’m willing to endure short-term suffering for long-term gain. Not to be overly dramatic about a workout, but I’m reminded of a quote from Lance Armstrong in his book It’s Not About the Bike: My Journey Back to Life. Someone once asked him what pleasure he received from riding his bicycle for such long periods of time. He told the person that he didn’t understand the question. “I didn’t do it for the pleasure,” he wrote. “I did it for the pain.”
All of which reminds me of tenure, which has been in my thoughts a good deal lately. I come up for tenure this fall, I just had a good friend who was denied tenure, and I’ve had two friends go through a third-year review, with very different results. In each of their cases, I see similarities to people I know who understand the “no pain, no gain” reality of exercise while others avoid it at all costs.
When we enter the academic world, we learn early on that there are certain hoops we must jump through. We take courses that we have no interest in to fulfill degree requirements; we study foreign languages we will never use; we change our dissertation titles, focus, or even topics to please our advisers so we can simply finish the degree, get out, and work.
So it always surprises me when people don’t understand that finding a tenure-track job in academe just means encountering a new set of hoops. We go to that conference, teach that class, serve on that committee, hold our tongues, and do whatever it takes for those six or so years until we reach the goal we have been striving for: tenure. We suffer in the short term (though it does not seem all that short) for a long-term gain.
If all goes well this academic year, I will be able to enjoy the long-term benefits of tenure. I look forward to the day when I can turn down a committee appointment that will take up way too much of my time and does not interest me in the least; when I can speak freely in meetings without fear that I’ll be looking for a new job next year; and when I can go for a period of time without feeling the pressure to write something new, and I can actually dig into a long-term project and savor the research process.
That all seems obvious to me. Yet I am amazed by the number of people I know who simply don’t have the ability to suffer now in order to thrive later on, and they remind me of people who don’t understand the point of exercise.
My friend “Mark” just went through his third-year review. It didn’t go well, but he thinks that he can turn things around with a few superficial changes. Mark believes that if he just keeps his door open a bit more and shows up to one or two more campus activities, the administration will believe he is plugged in to campus life, which is terribly important at our college.
Mark does not understand that he has to make deep changes in the way he feels about students here. He seems to see them now as an inconvenience, preventing him from spending time on his writing, and it shows. That’s not good in a teaching institution like ours.
I have another friend, “Doug,” who was recently denied tenure. Doug, too, was unwilling to make deep changes in his job performance in order to reap the long-term benefits of tenure. He was told that he needed to increase his involvement with students. Instead, he did the bare minimum. He was unwilling to make the investment required for the few years until he came up for tenure, which, had he earned it, would have resulted in another 20 or more years of full-time employment.
Both Mark and Doug remind me of a guy I know who does not like to exercise because it’s not “fun,” but who believes that if he walks 30 minutes every other day or so, then he will see dramatic changes in his health.
In contrast, let me tell you about “Mary,” who just received an excellent report from her third-year review. Mary does not do anything flashy on the campus. She is not a superstar by any measure. However, she puts in the time doing work that is necessary, but not glamorous, for her department and the university.
Mary takes on jobs whose accomplishment only a few people ever observe. But those people are the ones who need to see her work. She’s like the runner who is out on the road at 6 a.m. while everyone else is still asleep. I do not worry about Mary’s chances for tenure, as she is putting in the hard work that is necessary at this point in her career, and she will reap the benefits.
In the same way, I’m not spending much of my time right now worrying about my tenure case. I’ve put in the time over the past five years doing the work that is necessary to finish the race. Although it may seem as if I don’t get anywhere when people see me walking on that treadmill, I know how far it’s really gotten me. And I’m going to do all I can to make sure my university knows, too.
George Farmer is the pseudonym of an assistant professor at a small university in the South.