Yesterday I finally gave in and went for my first ever professional massage. The massage therapist was named Tuzzan (sounds like Tucson), was swedish, and just had the cutest accent ever.
“Yust dake yer cloze offa. Den, yust climba under da sheetsa.”
I can’t believe it’s taken me 27 years to get a massage. What was I waiting for? Throughout, she was extolling the virtues of yoga. “jyou jyogis are amayzinga. Such longa muscles.”
I owe this woman so much. Not only did she work on my hips and IT bands for half the hour, digging in deep and pushing and pulling, kneading and rubbing (I’m so sore today), she is also the reason Tay has decided to begin practicing yoga. “Yer huzzband iz da tightest man, I said, “you do jyoga, and jyou come see me evry weeka.”” And it’s true. He is the tightest man. His hamstrings are not so bad, but his shoulders…. egads.
Yesterday I let him follow along through a few of the standing poses with me. Prasarita Paddotanasana C, I had to stifle the slightest giggle. His hands were still touching his back, although he was trying his hardest to let them fall to the floor.
Last night when he called to say goodnight (he’s gone again for a week) he said words that made me float on air. “This morning felt so good. I want to do it more often.”
“it” being yoga, people. Get your minds out of the gutter.