I was running 15 minutes late for my massage and bikini wax appointment at Haven, the little spa oasis on Mercer Street in Soho. What will I do first? Massage or wax? Wax or massage? Why on earth did I schedule two polar opposites of a spa experience on the same day? I obsessed over it the whole bike ride over.

As I descended the stairs into Haven, I still hadn’t made up my mind. “What would you like to do first?” the receptionist asked. Ten minutes later, I’m sitting in a spa robe, sipping citrus infused water, as very non-spa-like jazz music played lightly through the speakers. What a departure from the weird new-age tunes that you often hear at a spa. Still, it didn’t help the fact that I’d be getting a full-on Brazilian wax in an hour or so. I don’t care what anyone says– getting waxes still hurt after all these years. I hate getting them, and always wait to the last minute to do so, although after it’s done, I’m happy I did it. My fiancé was on his way back from Chicago that day, and after three weeks of not seeing each other, I figured it was the least I could do. But like the wimp that I am, I couldn’t do the wax first.

The just-face-the-music side of me just wanted to be tough and get it over with, so that the massage would be my reward. But the scaredy cat in me won over. A blond Russian woman escorted me to the massage room. She asked me the usual masseuse questions, “Anything sore? Any injuries?” Anything in particular that I’d like her to focus on? Since I didn’t have any specific problems, I asked for just a good overall, to work out any hidden kinks.

To say she worked out the kinks would be putting it lightly. In fact, for the first 20 minutes, I wished I were getting the hairs ripped from my crotch instead. It’s amazing how much tension we walk around with and don’t even know it. But my masseuse wouldn’t let me wiggle my way out of the pain. She became my coach and motivator. “You have a lot tension here in your back. If you want to release it, it will hurt a little bit. Or I can just give you a little rub that makes you feel good but won’t do anything to really make you better,” she advised with a Russian accent. Basically, she was telling me to suck it up, And so I did. And for the first time ever, instead of me “ouching” and squirming my way out of the pain, I breathed my way through it. After the hard part was over, the rest was surprisingly relaxing. So relaxing, that I passed out. I’m pretty sure I snored-- always a good sign.

When I woke up, I felt great and perfectly relaxed enough for my dreaded Brazilian wax. Only, it didn’t feel so dreaded anymore. Since I rode my bike over, getting back on it after just having a kick ass massage would be a little dangerous. I needed the wax to bring me to equilibrium. And with my pain tolerance a notch or two higher than when I first arrived, I was ready for anything.

~Joy Bryant