Today I had my first massage – ever. I’m not sure why I waited so long. My friends get massages – to relieve the stress of work, family and life – and I listen to their playbacks with envy. But, even with a decent benefit plan from work, I’ve never had any real desire to go myself.
I almost had a massage years ago, when little brother arranged for a masseuse to come to my home for a birthday present. Being the wise brother that he is, he gave me a heads-up a few days before and realized before the cancellation period was over that it was something that this sister really wouldn’t appreciate.
I suppose that a lot of my hesitation stems from the fact that I’m not a touchy-feely kind of gal (and, yes, I really do have two children, but that’s another story). But this year, despite my efforts, the aging process is kicking in; if I want to keep pushing myself physically, I better take better care of my muscles and joints.
So, today I went. Surprisingly, I wasn’t nervous, probably because I matter-of-factly told myself a few weeks ago, using the same matter-of-fact tone that I do with my boys, that I better start taking advantage of massage therapy.
And did I feel relaxed when I left? No. But my legs felt rested and that tightness in the back of my shoulder seemed to have disappeared. Being a mom, I wasn’t about to go home after and do nothing for the rest of the night – but when I hit the pillow later, I’m sure I’ll drift off quickly.
