Life Was Good

When clients find out that my husband is also a massage therapist they automatically assume that I am the luckiest woman on the planet...what with all those free massages I must get.  Well let me set the record straight on that one.

When I was first learning massage therapy and needed extra practice, Hubby would gladly hop up on my massage table and subject himself to being massaged.  Then early on in my massage career I would cheerfully offer to massage him when he came home from work with a stiff neck and sore hands.  Hubby used to tell everyone that he was the luckiest man in town.  Life. Was. Good.

Skip to Hubby going to massage therapy school.  He would ask me if I wanted a massage and I would run to get on the massage table.  We shared techniques and traded massage secrets.  We were always giving massages or getting massages.  Life. Was. Good.

Now lets jump ahead to when we both were striving to be successful massage therapists.  Both of us were doing several massages daily and most of our clients requested deep tissue/therapeutic massage.  Tight muscles, sore hands and a lot of upper body tension were all signs that we were working hard.  Despite all the hard work, we still devoted a great deal of energy and compassion for our clients and each other.  When the alarm clock went off early Monday morning, we jumped out of bed and looked forward to our workday.  Life. Was. Good.

We now arrive at 2010.  Both of us are doing several massages daily and most of our clients ask if we can upgrade their sessions to include a steamroller and/or jackhammer for their extra tight spots.  The signs of our hard work are seen in our granite-like upper back and shoulder muscles, in knuckles that pop like bubblegum, and in forearms that give Popeye a good run for the money.  Despite all the hard work, we still devote a great deal of energy and compassion for our clients....  When the alarm goes off we gently drag our sore behinds out of bed and look forward to another day of hard work.  I mention that my neck is stiff, Hubby says "Join the club".  Hubby tells me that he could really use a massage and I reply "Get in line".  We  dig out the heating pad and take some Ibuprofen, then we reminisce of times when massages flowed like milk and honey.  You know, when life was good?