Just Keep Breathing

Every time I fool with my feet I realize I need professional help, but I’ve been too timid to simply walk myself into a nail salon and ask for a pedicure. My recent birthday reminded me that I’ve reached that stage in life when I must turn my toe maintenance over to someone else.

So, last Saturday afternoon, when Cyndi pulled out a gift card to a local spa and said she wanted to “have her toes done,” to my own surprise I seized the moment and asked, “Do you ever see men like me in there when you do that?”

“Occasionally. Do you want to come with me?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about it. Nowadays I can’t bend my feet enough, or see well enough, or stretch over enough, to take care of my feet. I’ve been considering a – pedicure – but too chicken to walk in by myself.”

“OK. Let’s go.” And just like that it was a done deal. I couldn’t turn back.

The spa had at least forty big, leather, mechanical massage chairs with fancy, plastic bag-lined tubs for feet. I didn’t see any men, but going to yoga classes has conditioned me to being the only man in a room full of women, so I was fine.

The maître d' sat Cyndi and me in adjacent chairs and handed us laminated menus from which we could select the treatment. I showed the menu to Cyndi, and she selected for me “Elegant Pedicure: Indulge your feet in an aromatic foot bath while having your legs exfoliated with a Sugar scrub. This is followed by a mask treatment wrapped with a warm towel. This pedicure also includes a soothing foot massage With a moisturizing scented lotion.”

She added, “No, he doesn’t want polish.”

“Thank you, Cyndi.”

I watched Cyndi to see where to put my feet, mostly because I didn’t understand what my technician, Kim, was telling me to do.

I was braced for Kim’s scream when she saw my crooked toes and protruding bunions, but she must see that sort of thing often because she had no reaction. She immediately started clipping nails only nanometers from my delicate skin. I averted my eyes and tried to think happy thoughts.

When she reached into her toolbox and pulled out a wood rasp, I gripped the armrests and stared across the room, trying not to flinch in front of Cyndi.

      Apparently, I was shaking the entire chair as Kim scraped skin off my feet because she stopped, smiled, and asked, “Does it tickle?” I didn’t know how to tell her it reminded me of when I had stitches removed from my left foot. Simultaneous pain and tickling. Complete and total discomfort.

      Cyndi smiled, looked at my grip on the armrests, and said, “Just keep breathing.”

      I’ve never been a barefoot guy. Not even when I was a kid. So I haven’t built up resistance in my feet. It took me seven years of regularly seeing the same masseuse before I was comfortable having him jack with my feet. I’ve spent a lifetime keeping my feet to myself.

      And now Kim is rasping my soles.

      I told Cyndi through clinched teeth, “I didn’t expect this to an ab workout.”

      “You aren’t supposed to tense-up your stomach muscles. You’re supposed to relax.”

      “Every part of my body is tense. Even my eyelids.”

      “Just keep breathing.”

      Cyndi knew I couldn’t resist writing about this experience, so she suggested I not use the word “toenails” in the first sentence. I told her I wouldn’t, and considered two reasons she might feel that way: (1) she thinks toenails are funny only to 5th grade boys - the sort she taught for 20+ years and still thinks are mostly gross; or (2) she’s still haunted by an essay I included in my first book, Running With God, entitled Collection of Courage, about the toenails I lost while running marathons. “They represent personal sacrifices … tiny white badges of courage.”

      Well, my spa experience ended quicker than Cyndi’s because she had to sit and wait for the pink polish to dry. I asked, “What do we do now?”

      “We sit and wait to let it settle.”

      I wasn’t sure if she was talking about the polish or my own erratic breathing. I finally pried my fingers from the armrests and relaxed my shoulders, and thought, this isn’t my last time to do this. I’ll be back.

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“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32