The Massage

On Wednesday, my workplace invited some masseuses from a chiropractic establishment to give us each ten-minute back massages.

I'd never had a professional back massage before. The extent of my massage experience is from family and friends. The masseuse had to tell me how to sit in the special massage chair and how to place my arms and legs and whatnot.

"So where do you usually carry your tension?" she asked.

I felt like the sum of those words meant something different to her than they did to me, but I took a stab at what I thought she meant. "Probably at the base of my neck," I said.

She made a noncommittal noise and started massaging near my ribs. "Ten minutes is not enough for you," she said after a minute. "There's a knot here, and a knot here... You could use a whole hour."

Which is how I learned that perhaps I should pay more attention to my back and that it might be good for me to go get a longer massage. From someone not associated with a chiropractor, though. With my RN mother and a physical therapist uncle, I have inherited a healthy skepticism of all things chiropractic. As the masseuse was telling me about various chiropractic treatments that her place of employment offers, I said things like, "Uh-huuuuh," and "Suuure," while not really listening. The only reason I even believed her when she said I could use a massage is because I've had an incredibly stressful year and don't doubt that my back is full of tension.

"Well, you're done," she said after ten minutes. "Be sure to drink plenty of water today."

I wasn't sure if that was a general comment or some mysterious chiropractic wisdom.