A few months ago I ran in a 5K that was put on by a friend of mine, Pam "Big Hair" Thurston, to raise funds/awareness for transplants. After the race, I was the lucky winner of a free massage as an attendance prize. However, it took me a month to finally make the call for an appointment.

Apparently, I had a bit of apprehension about undressing in some place other than my bedroom, not to mention, having a stranger rubbing my naked body. This kind of surprised me, because prior to this, without ever really thinking about it much, it always seemed like a great idea!

But now, I had all these questions. What kind of massages were there, what was offered where I was going? Will I be like completely naked? (how embarrassing if I assumed I should be, only to find out that I shouldn't!) If I am naked, what covering do I have (if any)? Is my whole body open for rubbing? Where are the lines drawn? Do I have a choice between a male or female masseuse? What do I do if it feels too good?!!!

All in all, I was calmer when I went under the knife to have foot surgery (running injury).

When I made the appt, I was able to find out a little about the type of massage to expect. And, after stumbling over my own words, was able to request a female for the massage (somehow, the thought of a man rubbing my bare skin, made me want to jump out of my chair).

Even so, there were still a lot of unknowns here.

I arrived at the office half an hour early.

I drove around a bit to kill time and finally went inside with fifteen minutes to spare.

Once inside, I then waited the remaining fifteen minutes until Vivian arrived.

Vivian was a short, black Grandma.

Okay, so hopes of a Cindy Crawford went right out of the window, but so did more than half of my apprehension.

After filling out some paper work, Vivian led me to the Massage Room. Inside, there was the table, covered in a sheet with a second pulled halfway down. At the end of the table, there was a black, padded toddler's toilet seat protruding from the end (okay, maybe it wasn't really a toilet seat, but that's what it looked like). Against one wall was a standing lamp, and against the opposite, a small table with short lamp and a large bottle of lotion. Directly opposite of the table was a partially open closet, inside of which, I could just make out a stereo on the shelf.

Vivian then asked me a few questions about what I was looking for. I explained to her my problem with chronic calf cramps when running long distances, and that basically, I was just very curious about what benefits this might have. Based on my comments, she suggested that we do a 30 min full back massage (with emphasis on my legs). Which sounded fine to me ("thank goodness, I don't have to lay on my back!").

She then explained that she would leave the room and that I was to undress to my level of comfort and then get onto the table, between the two sheets.

After she had left, and I had undressed down to my underwear. I paused and thought to myself, "what in the world am I doing here!", and had to fight back the urge to throw my clothes back on and RUN AWAY!

I was finally able to convince myself that everything was okay. People do this everyday. It's therapeutic. It's a medical thing. Perfectly on the up-and-up. Certainly nothing to make such a big deal of. Besides, how would I ever know if this could help me if I didn't give it a chance? Just go for it. Make the most of it. If I'm gonna get a massage, then dog gone it, I'm going to get a massage! And with that, I stuck my thumbs inside my waistband, and quick stepped right out of my briefs! And then hurriedly buried my underwear under the rest of my clothes.

As I covered the three feet to the table, the thought occurred to me that I was now a streaker. Okay, maybe not in the technical sense of the word. But I've never been so aware before of the feeling of air moving past me as headed for the table and dove under the sheet, careful to be sure that the folded sheet covered me adequately.

Lying there then, I realized that the little donut thing was a good foot away from my head. As I pulled forward to reach it, I felt myself becoming exposed again, and quickly pushed backwards. After multiple tries, I was finally able to scoot myself forward at the same time, pulling up on the sheet, until my face was finally positioned over the little seat for the other cheeks.

Fortunately, Vivian didn't make her reappearance until after I had completed all of my gyrations on the table.

As she came in, she began some polite conversation as she went to the closet and turned on some music. New age music, from the best I could tell. Then, she turned down the lights a bit and approached the head of the table as the conversation ended. By this time, I had already set my face into the hole provided for it and was watching the floor as Vivian's white tennis shoes came into view below me. She then began to rub my upper back with lotion she had taken from the table.

She spent about five minutes working my back, neck and shoulders. And I had finally begun to relax a bit. Then, she moved down to the right side of the table.

As she lifted the sheet over my leg, I braced myself for the sudden exclamation, "Oh my! You're naked!!". But it never came. I swallowed my heart as she gingerly took the sheet and folded it under the inside of my left leg, exposing my right leg and about two thirds of my right cheek.

She started with my hamstring. Using long, yet forceful movements from the back of the knee and then up. Eventually, continuing the motion along my right side.

At one point, the thought did occur to me that a complete stranger was now stroking my butt. But, it wasn't a touch like any I had experienced before. It was more like I could imagine her counting to twenty as if she were kneading a loaf of bread dough. It was just her job, and I was just her client. I made some sort of passage at the moment. Good, bad or indifferent, I don't know. But the rest of time I felt more relaxed and concentrated on trying to learn from her techniques.

From my right leg, she moved to my left and then circled back around again. Every once in awhile chiding me for not relaxing enough when I flinched in anticipation of where she was moving my leg or arm.

By the time it was all over, I was much more relaxed than when I first arrived, but a little disappointed that some "magic spot" had not been found that would cure me of all my calf problems. Still though, I was fairly certain that I would do this again following my next big race. I think it could really help to loosen-up afterwards and to rub-out some of the soreness that typically follows.

As I walked away however, I had this odd feeling, like I had forgotten something. Only later did it occur to me that what I was experiencing was that feeling you get when someone does something unexpected and special for you and you want to reciprocate. Obviously, I wasn't about to return the favor and offer to give Vivian a massage, but this impressed upon me the idea that while a therapeutic massage is a service rendered to a person's body, there are certain basic connections that will always take it a little deeper. It's a human connection. So, not only are your aching and tight muscles thankful, but there is also something more basic, and possibly more meaningful, that takes place.