Shelley has gone to the same masseuse since I've known her, and this woman has been more of a therapist for her than a body rubber. (Really, how should I have said that better?) Shelley rants and raves about how wonderful she is and how much I need to go in; how it would really do me good; how I really could use something like this. After several reluctant "I don't know's" from me, Shelley did what anyone else in my life would have done and finally just scheduled me an appointment this last weekend then told me I had a massage appointment at such and such a time. I swear this is always how these things go.
"Hutch, you will not regret getting involved in this great, wonderful thing. What do you think?"
"I don't know." (Which means, "I totally want to, but it's a bit out of my comfort zone. Read between the lines and help me work through this anxiety.")
"C'mon, just do it."
"Yeah...maybe..." ("If you'd pick up on my hints, we could be doing this thing already.")
So many inquiries later:
"I don't know what you're scared of. I'm making you do it."
"Okay," said solemnly, meant excitedly.
Perhaps it's time to take control of my own life and stop waiting for people to help me adventure outside of my comfort zone. I wasn't always this way.
Anyway, as advertised, it was wonderful. I found out some things about the pain I experience and how I can better the situation without ruining my stomach with too much Tylenol and ibuprofen. I also found out that I'm drowning my body. I drink twice what's recommended for my body size in water. Seriously, I thought I had something to be proud of for the water I drink. Whoops.
Here's to health: