As I’ve mentioned before, I am a middle-aged man, and I want what I want. This dawned on me this morning as I was shaving. Well, it dawns on me every day, but today I thought of it because I was shaving with my razor from The Dollar Shave Club. Yes, I belong to the Dollar Shave Club. Here’s why.

I don’t know which I hate more: shaving or not shaving. Both suck. One reason shaving sucks is because the price of razor blades is just north of that of diamonds and caviar. And having to replace my shaving blades infuriates me—and I generally don’t get mad about things. So I joined the Dollar Shave Club, because its ad is probably the greatest ad ever, and I now don’t have to go buy razor blades, they just show up at my house. They cost a bit less through DSC and I don’t get mad. Win-win.

One of the great hallmarks (and potential scourges) of our American society is the importance placed on convenience. In general, I view it as a good thing. Razor blades show up at my house. I carry 1,000 songs in my pocket. I just ordered my favorite pretzels for the office online. I buy books online, or digitally. We have our milk delivered. As a society, we have sacrificed some of the old things we loved (manual transmission) for things that make our lives easier (remote controls).

Where do you fit in? As a massage and bodywork professional, you are in the service business. Consider your attitude, hours, and location. Are you convenient for your clients?

Monday, April 15^th, was Patriots’ Day—a state holiday in Massachusetts, named to commemorate the Battles of Lexington and Concord, the beginnings of the American Revolutionary War. It is also Boston Marathon day. This year was the 117^th running, and my first.

The Boston Marathon is a magical experience. Taking part is probably what it’s like to play in the Stanley Cup Finals or in a Super Bowl, or star opening night on Broadway. The difference is average people like me can run the Boston Marathon—with hard work and a qualifying time, or through fundraising (like I did this year). I have dreamed of running Boston for years, but had resigned myself to never qualifying.

The Massage Therapy Foundation gave me an opportunity to participate. An opportunity for which I will owe a debt of gratitude to several people at the Massage Therapy Foundation for a very long time. In particular, Mary White, Cliff Korn, Paul Slomski, and Leslie Young. A thousand thanks to these wonderful people.

I have run lots of races in the past 30 years, including three other marathons. Nothing compares to Boston.

If you have read this blog during the past six months, you have followed my chronicle of preparation for Boston, or more accurately my lack of preparation. I began training in earnest in October, a full 26 weeks in advance. By December, I felt pretty good and was making progress. Then I got pneumonia and was sidelined for five weeks, then managed alternating bouts with Achilles and calf strains in both legs. My training calendar had indicated I would complete 16 training runs of 10 or more miles; instead I was able to complete three. My longest run was supposed to be 22 miles a month before the marathon; instead my long run was a half-marathon (13.1 miles) nine weeks before the marathon. The quality of my training was nearly non-existent, and my confidence heading into Boston was definitely non-existent. I began to resent the idea of running it, and had told myself repeatedly this would be my last marathon. This was going to be a long day.

Race Day

My Patriot’s Day started before 6:00 am, when I awoke in my hotel room and began preparing for the day. It’s an odd feeling getting ready to run four hours before you are going to run. Putting Vaseline and Blue Goo in the proper places (to make sure your run is as smooth as possible), inventorying everything you’ll need before you start the race, tiptoeing around the room to avoid waking up my wife Sarah and youngest son Peter.

Junior Bananas

At 6:35, I took the elevator to a bustling hotel lobby, full of fit runners all preparing to take the bus to Hopkinton, the start of the marathon. I was immediately greeted by ABMP Vice President of Communication Leslie Young and members of our ABMP Education Team Katie Mills and Kathy Laskye. The latter two proudly sported banana costumes; the chief Banana—Sarah—stayed upstairs getting a few more winks. I was overwhelmed when I saw they were holding a banner signed by all my colleagues at ABMP. It was the first time of many I would get choked up during the day.

Kathy, Les, and Katie.

Leslie kindly provisioned me with a bagel and two bananas, to start my fueling. With the bagel consumed and bananas in my gear bag, I was ready. I also then realized all the runners in the lobby were taking a charter bus, and I had a ways to go to catch my bus to the far-away starting line.

A few minutes after 7:00, I briskly walked out of my hotel seeking others carrying the ubiquitous yellow Adidas runner bags. I wound through the Prudential Center mall and out onto Boylston Street, all the while noticing the efforts underway at the finish line—trucks, golf carts, and service vehicles. Lots of workers were dedicated to producing the finish of the world’s most prestigious marathon. And I was part of it all! Inspiring and bit humbling as well. I started wondering about the time, so I stopped and asked two Boston police officers where Boston Common was. They looked at me funny at first, but then realized I was hustling to get to the busses, and indicated they were a few blocks down. I thought how “Boston” they were—no nonsense, a bit gruff, but with chuckles in their voices. You could tell they were good guys.

Finally on the bus and headed toward Hopkinton, I was reminded that my knees don’t fit on a school bus any more (kind of like flying United economy). Exciting to be passed by motorists and get the thumbs up and honks of the horns.

Starting Line

In Hopkinton, the Athletes’ Village is a melting pot of runners—stretching, drinking coffee, and waiting in line to poop. It’s invigorating with loud music and regular announcements about who needs to be at the starting line.

The sea of port-a-potties in Hopkinton.

One disappointment: I didn’t have a rendezvous plan with Kathy Borsuk and Tom Heidenberger, my Massage Therapy Foundation Running for Research teammates. I couldn’t find them among the 20,000+ in Hopkinton.

Self-portrait. Dread? Fear? Constipation?

I called my 81-year-old dad at his nursing home and told him I loved him; he told me not to overdo it. After that, it was time to go. I handed off my Adidas bag (with my gear and my phone) to marathon volunteers and headed toward the start.

The walk from the Athlete’s Village to the start on Ash Street is about one-third of a mile; along the way, you hear lots of chatter and cheers, and a voice on the PA (former New England Patriot Tedy Bruschi was getting the crowd pumped). That’s where it dawned on me: this is about to happen. Since I woke up that morning, I had told myself to relax and start out slow. My friend Cynthia Ribiero had told me to walk the downhill start to save my quads. The only problem with that strategy? It’s downhill for about 16 miles—and the day is only so long.

The streets in Hopkinton were lined with staging fences, and behind them were hundreds if not thousands of people, seemingly as excited as the runners. The enthusiasm surrounding this race is palpable. As I moved toward my corral, the announcer counted down and sent us off—10:40 a.m. The first five minutes or so was a gentle walk toward the start line, and once we crossed the start line people broke into a jog. I was in the third wave—the marathon starts in three waves, and you are placed according to your qualifying time. Nearly everyone in Wave Three is a “charity runner,” meaning they, like me, didn’t qualify for the run, but instead raised money for a favorite charity.

Getting into the Groove

The race began and I immediately started forcing myself to slow down. Running down a two-lane road with thousands of others, cheered on by thousands more, does something to your adrenaline. It’s so uplifting, but the voice in my head kept saying, “this is the beginning of a really long run, settle down.”

I was a bit chilly when I walked to the starting line, so I helped myself to another runner’s abandoned long-sleeve shirt. Now, as I knew would happen, about three miles in I began to heat up. I detoured off to a port-a-potty to empty the tank and lose the shirt. When I resumed my run, teammate Kathy Borsuk cruised up beside me, looking fabulous and showing no signs of even the slightest effort. She briefly chatted, and I thought, “I hope she waits for me at the finish.” For a recent running convert and first-time marathoner, Kathy looked like a natural. She also inspired me to pick my feet up and get moving.

I kept a leisurely pace for the first five miles, clocking in at a 10:30 mile pace. I was grateful I didn’t need/have to run any faster—I was soaking in the environment, and was oh-so-aware of how much race there was left. I followed a tip from Race Director Dave McGillivray, who counsels, “for the first half of the marathon, count up; and for the second half, count down.” That seemed a bit simplistic to me when I read it, but on race day, that’s what worked.

What really got me into the groove was the Boston playlist on my iPod. I have had an on/off relationship with playing music during my runs; for most of my training I had chosen not to run with music. For the marathon, however, my intuition told me to run with it—I wanted to make my long day as pleasant as possible.

Listening to the Black Crowes, Van Morrison, Death Cab for Cutie, Deadmau5, and appropriately, The Dropkick Murphys (“I’m Shipping Up to Boston”), gave me the energy I didn’t think I had, and made the miles tick off. I couldn’t always hear the music, however; many times, there was music playing on the side of the road—live bands playing bluegrass, or some heavy metal (I fist-bumped with the lead guitarist), or a car stereo blasting “Eye of the Tiger” or a DJ playing some dubstep. Add to that a steady cacophony of cheering, and my music was relegated to being a part-time treat.

Going Bananas

Meanwhile, my support crew was en route to their first cheering spot. Their initial plan was to see me at the 6-mile mark, in Framingham, but that didn’t work out. One good way to pass the time in the marathon is to look for your support crew—miles from 6 through 10 went by relatively quickly because I was looking for Sarah, Peter, my niece Megan, and the rest of the Bananas. Oddly enough there was a guy running about 100 feet ahead of me wearing the same banana costume, and he was getting lots of comments. I kept thinking he was one of MY bananas.

At mile 10 in Natick, I finally caught a glimpse of my Banana crew. The marathon is fun, but also solitary. By now, I had been running for around an hour and 40 minutes, and had been solo since leaving the hotel around 7. So I was happy to see friendly faces.

Seeing loved ones 10 miles in is like getting a shot of B-12; I was feeling pretty good beforehand, but I suddenly had a massive dose of momentum. Heartened by hugs and high fives, I sped off (or at least it felt like I sped). But that segued into another funny thing about the marathon—it’s really long, and feelings of elation can subside in short order.

Physically, my legs were showing signs of wear. Cynthia was right; well, I couldn’t have walked, but my quads were screaming. Just 15 minutes after feeling the high, my quads, right knee, and feet asked me if I was planning on doing this all day.

As a result, I slowed down. By the time I hit mile 14, I started to wonder if my legs would hold up for another 12 miles. At a water station, I stopped and stretched my knees and quads, hoping to add a little life to my limbs.

The bananas track Les’ and Tom’s progress.

As I mentioned, the first 16 miles of the Boston Marathon are downhill, which becomes debilitating if you are not used to downhill running. Thankfully, those miles are lined with entertaining, friendly, warm, supportive people. I kept up my energy level by consuming a PowerBar applesauce (supplied by Sarah), along with a handful of gummy fish, and some Swedish fish, all supplied by strangers along the race route.

My Florence Nightingale appeared somewhere around mile 16, in the form of a lady holding a tray of orange slices, ibuprofen, and acetaminophen. I detoured across the street, nearly making a U-turn; I surprised myself with ability to turn my body that quickly. “What do you need, honey?” she asked me. “Three ibuprofen would be great, thanks,” I said, not thinking about the fact that I had no water to wash them down with. “Sharon!,” she screamed in her Boston best. “(That’s my sistah.) Bring him some wahter, he’s taking ibuprofen!” Sharon promptly delivered the water, and I took my medicine gladly.

That scene alone shows you what the Boston Marathon is like—a woman standing on the curb in front of her house with a tray of pain relievers and orange slices to soothe total strangers.

Conquering the Hill

Mile 16 is the first of three uphills on the course, the last of which is the infamous “Heartbreak Hill.” The scouting report on the marathon is to not go out too fast, because the downhills will tear up your quads, and then the uphills will do you in. Fast or not, my quads were in seriously bad shape. When I got to the uphills I expected the worst. Then something I had hoped for happened—in spite of my underwhelming training schedule, I DID train at elevation. The ABMP office is at about 7,500 feet above sea level, with nary a flat running surface to be found, so my legs knew exactly what to do. I actually felt good on the hills, and a little momentum was exactly what I needed.

At mile 20, just before Heartbreak Hill, I got my last push of adrenaline thanks to another visit from the Banana Crew. Sarah and Katie led the pack, and joined in the run with me for a few hundred yards. Between the ibuprofen, the small snacks along the way, and the Bananas, I felt great. As I left the Bananas and looked up and saw Heartbreak Hill, I said to myself, “I got this.”

I didn’t exactly bound up the hill, but I made steady progress, and noticed something else was happening—I was passing people. All of a sudden, I saw familiar runners who had previously left me behind. I was getting faster! This wasn’t supposed to happen—in my previous three marathons, I had basically tried to hang on for as long as I could, but definitely wilted by the mid- to late-teens. Today, I had a lull (which I chalk up to inability to train, combined with the painful pounding of downhill running), but I was now just a 10k away from the finish and felt pretty good.

At the top of Heartbreak Hill, you reach the town of Chestnut Hill and Boston College, which is a lifeline to thousands of marathon runners. There is no better feeling than hearing thousands of college kids screaming for you, with signs saying, “you just conquered Heartbreak Hill!” and the inflatable arch that declares, “The Heartbreak is Over.” How I wish that had been true.

I have run for more than 30 years, and I can count on one hand the times I felt the equivalent of the “runner’s high” I had at mile 21 of the Boston Marathon. I felt so supported, and I knew I was going to finish. There were plenty of times in the past six months I doubted that. After Heartbreak Hill, the course descends yet again, but by that time my quads said, “don’t worry, we won’t let you down.”

Runner’s High

Not only did I feel like I was running faster, I was running faster. My running watch told the truth—10 minute miles became 9:30 miles, then a 9:12 mile, then onto an 8:47 pace. I now felt like I could run 30 miles. I was so happy, so surprised, and at the same time so ready to be done—after all, I had been running for nearly four hours.

There is no better feeling than seeing the “entering Boston” sign; first Brighton, then Brookline and Beacon Street. The crowds were getting thicker, my pace was as fluid as it had been all day, and if you saw me at this point you would have seen a big ol’ grin coming across my face. It was as if someone gave me new legs. I am sure it was a matter of perception, but I even felt fast. I passed dozens and dozens of runners who were wearing down. For some unknown reason, I was not.

On Boston.com’s marathon course guide, here’s what they say about the 25-mile section:

When runners enter Boston for good at 24.5 miles they have ahead of them one of the great finishing spectacles in sports. Hundreds of thousands of cheering fans line Beacon Street to Kenmore Square, where the Citgo sign is well known as the one-mile-to-go mark.

I saw the Citgo sign ahead and it seemed like it was too far from the finish, but I kept motoring and dodged slower runners. The streets became more crowded as I entered Boston; I just figured, “wow, things are really getting crowded down there.” I kept looking and noticed that the crowd was really thick, and suddenly runners were coming to a stop. Finally, a runner turned around, put his hands up, and yelled, “STOP RUNNING! The race is stopped. There was a bomb at the finish line.”

And just like that my race was over, at 3:00 pm, about two-thirds of a mile from the finish.

The minutes after the race stopped were surreal—lots of runners milling around, those with phones on them trying to reach loved ones to find out what happened, and let them know they were safe. Others overcome with emotion; running for four hours puts all your emotions on display. I was stunned and bewildered—I went from just about as happy as I could be to standing around, unsure of what to do. My first thought was of Sarah, Peter, and the Banana crew, which was trying to hustle to the finish line to see me finish. I did not have my phone—it was in my gear bag somewhere closer to the finish line.

I asked a gentleman on the side of the road if I could borrow his phone; he very willingly said yes. Unfortunately, no phone signals were getting through. We later learned the system was overloaded and eventually authorities shut it down to prevent remote detonation of any additional explosives.

For about 10 minutes, I wondered where Sarah and the crew were, and I prayed they weren’t at the finish line. I had a feeling because of my increased pace, they weren’t going to be able to see me finish, and now I was banking on this as a security blanket.

After a few more minutes, I saw a young gal sitting on the steps of a row house, and asked her if I could borrow her phone. She indicated calls weren’t working, but she suggested I send a text. I was able to, and connected with Sarah and Peter. It turned out they were only a few blocks ahead of me; they had missed a “T” train and were fortunately behind schedule coming from Heartbreak Hill. The train was then evacuated at Fenway Park, so they were in a similar situation as me. Five minutes later we were reunited, and not long after that Tom Heidenberger finished his race, and our entire crew was safe and together. Kathy Borsuk finished as well, and connected with her family, and headed out of town safely.

Two other members of our support team were at the finish line saving seats for the Bananas. Massagenerd.com’s Ryan Hoyme and Paul Slomski from the Massage Therapy Foundation were all too close to the explosions. You may have seen Ryan’s video he graciously shared with many media outlets.

Heart & Humanity

The bombing was an example of the worst of humanity; the marathon and the minutes I spent on Commonwealth Avenue a half-mile from the finish after the race stopped, are examples of humanity at its best.

People helped each other; spectators helped the runners. One woman came out of her row house with coats, blankets, and food, and announced loudly to all who could hear that she had two bathrooms available for use. There are stories of runners who completed the marathon, heard about the bombing, and literally ran to the hospital to immediately donate blood.

My marathon ended prematurely, and for that I will always hold some anger—at the sub-humans who ruined what was a perfect day for thousands of people, and destroyed the lives of innocent people who were only guilty of supporting their loved ones. As of yet there is no making sense of what occurred—no justification, no logic, nothing. Just an act of sheer hatred for our fellow humans.

But in this example of the darkest of what humans can comprehend, I saw light—all the things that make you proud to be an American, and inspire you to believe in the greater good of humanity. People opened their homes and hearts, whether it was at mile 10 in Natick, mile 20 at Boston College, or on Commonwealth Avenue or Boylston Street.

The average American lives around 28,000 days in their life; no matter how many I spend on this earth, for so many reasons April 15, 2013 will stand out as truly unforgettable.

Boston Strong.

P.S. I will run another marathon. And I look forward to qualifying for Boston and coming back.

Through April, supporters can donate to the Massage Therapy Foundation’s Running for Research team that ran the 2013 Boston Marathon. Right now we’ve raised more than $51,000 that will go toward research on the efficacy of massage and bodywork, and fund community service grants to bring massage to underserved populations.

April 10, 2013

It was a beautiful spring day Tuesday in Colorado—a pleasant 12 degrees in Genesee with snow all day. Not ideal running weather. The good news? I did not run Tuesday.

I am in the “taper” period before a marathon, where you reduce your training to allow your body to rest up before the big day. Due to injuries, the last couple months have felt like my taper period. I am not “race-ready,” but as I’ve been saying to folks here, “I’ll get it done.” It will just be slower than I’d hoped. Such is life. Such is massage therapy research, come to think of it, which is exactly why the Massage Therapy Foundation was created—to providing support for research and underscore the role of massage and bodywork in health and wellness. And which is why I have the pleasure of running the Boston Marathon in support of the cause.

I started writing about Boston seemingly eons ago, but in fact it was last fall. And now the race is five days away. Before I set foot in Boston, however, I will enjoy seeing old friends and making new ones at the 17^th ABMP School Issues Forum, being held this year in Annapolis, MD. Our annual gathering of school owners, directors, administrators, and faculty always recharges my batteries, so what better way to count down to the marathon.

As I have previously mentioned, this is my fourth (and likely last) marathon. As my brother-in-law Jesse told me 22 years ago, “The first one’s easier, because you don’t know what’s coming.” I know what’s coming next Monday, but what’s coming along with it is an unforgettable experience at one of the world’s premier sporting events and the opportunity to support a cause I believe in. I’ve been to the Stanley Cup Finals, the World Series, the Super Bowl, the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness, and soon, the Boston Marathon. But this is the only one in which I’m a participant. Pretty cool.

April 2, 2013

Well, I am back after a few weeks off. My last blog post about why I believe massage is not health care generated some good back and forth discussions, including some that resulted in me being called “unprofessional.” That of course is incorrect—I get paid therefore I am a professional. I gave up my amateur status long ago.

Thanks to those folks responsible for the good, productive posts—of course massage and bodywork affect the health systems of the body; I was just pointing out how different massage therapy is from what we traditionally refer to as “health care.”

This post takes a different tack. Remember when Larry King would have a column in USA Today? To wit, my observations:

If I had delivered my “massage is not health care” post as a speech, it would have been more readily understood. Written word lacks the nuance and inflection that can identify context. Want proof? Read any comment ever posted on a blog or other online article. Most are much more pointed than we are in normal discourse.

Conversation beats monologue any day.

I love tomatoes (except these), but I do not enjoy cutting them.

I will never train for another marathon in the winter again.

Opening Day in baseball is the start of spring, and warms your soul.

I am not sure if I will train for another marathon again, but I am not optimistic.

If you think ABMP membership is about insurance, you need to look closer.

I still know the starting lineup of the 1977 Phillies.

The weather in Colorado is generally fantastic, but today’s chilly fog leaves a little to be desired.

Need some new music to listen to? Check out Pinegrove. Awesome.

And pay for their music. Pay for all music. These people aren’t volunteers.

My two favorite shows on TV right now are Game of Thrones and Homeland.

The best way to build a successful practice is to concentrate on volume. Fill your dance card every week.

It stinks when your team is in last place.

It all really comes down to diet and exercise, doesn’t it? As the Open Space signs say, “shortcuts cause erosion.”

Given my level of preparation (thanks to juggling injury, pneumonia, and the desire to hibernate), completing the Boston Marathon is going to be a major challenge for me, but also a fantastic experience.

As Larry said, “see ya around.”

Les is on Twitter, too.

March 7, 2013

I am in the midst of a several-month run of receiving regular massage sessions. Initially motivated by a need for some TLC for my middle-aged body as I prepare for the Boston Marathon next month, my weekly massage schedule has been a great experience that has prompted me to reflect on being a consumer.

For all our efforts in promoting the value of regular massage, I personally know of no one who receives massage on a weekly basis—perhaps only a few therapists who have established a relationship with a good trade partner and/or somehow set up the perfect system. On balance, however, I find massage professionals are as bad, if not worse, than most massage clients about receiving regular work. As a class of professionals, we just aren’t that great about practicing what we preach.

As President of ABMP, I have partaken in semi-regular massage for many years, but have always lamented the irregularity by which I have received work. I always think, “I’m the president of the largest association in the field, I better be getting the work!” But like most of us, life gets in the way. Travel, meetings, and kids’ events—you name it, it fills up the calendar. As a result, I haven’t been as diligent as I would have liked.

Things are different right now—I have a vested interest (my tender gastrocs and solei) in getting regular work.

This week marks my sixth straight week of getting massage—and I have three more weeks scheduled. My observations:

1)   It’s great—seriously, getting a massage once a week is awesome. No surprise here.

2)   It’s not cheap. I am a paying client (no strong-arming anyone here). I can’t afford to do this all the time, but it has been worth it. But think about writing a check for $60+ a week for anything—it’s significant. Think about your regular clients and what they do for you. Weekly massage is a car payment.

3)   It’s not health care—or it’s the best version of health care.

Yes, it dawned on me as I was on the table last night—just reveling in the feeling of being thoroughly attended to—this experience is not health care. Not even close.

Ever go to a physical therapist? Helpful? Usually. Relaxing, soothing? Nope. Last time I went to my primary care physician—a super woman I love, not just like, LOVE—I  waited 55 minutes, and saw her for 6 minutes. What we know as health care in the United States is nothing like what I have experienced  the past six weeks with massage. I have received massage at a franchise clinic and in a makeshift spa in our ABMP offices, from four different therapists (and seeing another in the next few weeks). Even from an AMTA member (I didn’t find this out until I was on the table)! And it’s all been good (the ABMP massages have been better).

Massage therapy is intimate; society often associates the word intimacy with sex. That’s not what I mean. But massage is intimate—the PT doesn’t dim the lights or play soothing music. And the chiropractor or MD doesn’t take extra care to engage your body fluidly with permission. These things happen regularly in massage sessions. It’s part of our expectation and part of what makes massage therapeutic, relaxing, soothing, beautiful. And what makes it an investment of intent by the professional—you give a little bit of yourself with every session.

And it’s wonderful.

Road to Boston: Week 20

I am where I am. When I toe the starting line in Hopkinton, Massachusetts, April 15, I will have undertrained by my own expectations, thanks to pneumonia, injury, winter, and my own limitations. However, there is little I can do about those factors now. I am managing my training load. My  goal is to be as fresh as possible. I will run 3–4 times a week for the next four weeks, probably make a long run in the 16–18 mile range (Achilles/gastroc/soleus permitting), and hope my legs cooperate.

February 22, 2013 (Happy Birthday Dr. J!)

I have a homework assignment for you! Dive in, complete it, and post your results in the comment section below.  I will draw a name from among the brave respondents and give that lucky person a fancy prize (probably a t-shirt or something cool).

This is  a bit of a math problem, but I’m  sure you are up for it. Here’s what you’ll need:

• A list of all your sessions in 2012 (I hope you have this in hand), detailed by client.
• A calculator, or computer, or your big fat brain.

Now that you have gathered that information, please do the following:

Determine how many unique clients you had in 2012;

1. Determine how many sessions each of those clients came for. This means you’ll have one number for each client;
2. Add the numbers together and divide it by the number of clients;
3. Post your answer in the comments below.

Here’s an example using my semi-fictitious practice:

Unique clients in 2012 = 4
Sessions: Joe 3, Peter 6, Casey 2, Sarah 8
Total: 3 + 6 + 2 + 8 = 19
Frequency: 19 ÷ 4 = 4.75 or rounding to one decimal, 4.8

My average client saw me 4.8 times in 2012.

What’s the purpose of doing this—other than winning a prize? Well, a healthy practice is one that is supported by clients who return. Repeat business costs less, and therefore is more profitable. What if you sold 1,000 gift certificates last year, and none of those people came back? Your repeat factor would be 1.0, which means you’d start 2013 needing to get all new clients.

What’s a good number, an indicator of a successful, healthy practice? You tell me. We are establishing a baseline here, and once you know your 2012 number, it can give you something to aim for in 2013.

So get your client book out (or look on your computer), but by all means get to work!

Road to Boston: Week 19

A little good, a little bad. Winter has returned to Colorado; I enjoyed a weekend training in sunny warm LA, but am now back in the throes of 20-degree weather. And just for fun, my right calf has started acting up (it must have felt left out). So the grind continues.

Care to receive more from Les, but in smaller bites? Follow him on Twitter at @abmp_les.

February 14, 2013

Road to Boston: Week 18

I ran a half marathon here in Colorado this past weekend, in 25-degree weather on sometimes-icy footing. After my bout with pneumonia, my fitness and confidence have been in question. I was a little nervous about how my run would go, but told myself over and over that it was just a training run. However, ever since I first took to the starting line in 1981, running a race is different. No matter the distance or my fitness level, running a race is always special to me.

On this day, nothing felt special—cloudy and slight flurries, a couple layers on, and my balky left gastroc reminding me that I wasn’t in tip-top form.

I started out in the pack of 500+ runners, slowly jockeying for position and working on settling into a breathing rhythm. “It’s a training run, relax,” I repeatedly told myself. But training runs aren’t done with 500 other people. We ran on the Ralston Creek trail, great for a bike ride or a solo run, but a challenging exercise in navigation with snow, ice, and a crowd of fellow runners.

My brain has been consumed with my tender calf since tweaking it a few weeks back; the injury is a result of trying to make up for too much lost training time because of  illness. With that in mind, I kept wondering when it would start bothering me.   We slowly climbed in elevation while heading west. Somewhere around the 4^th mile, I realized that my calf was going to be fine—not great, but fine. From that point on, I started focusing on the race.

Even though this was a training run, I was still in a race.  My competitive side surfaced and I started thinking about my time. The good news was I have a new watch that shows  my mile splits, but doesn’t show my total time. I am a numbers person, and can always calculate my pace and projected finish time in my head. This morning, I just had to run and listen to my iPod—a little Ben Harper, a little Sublime, a little Los Lobos.

The turn-around point was nestled in a 300+ foot climb over a half-mile section­—a little preparation for Heartbreak Hill, right? At the top, you could see the whole way home. And my legs are like a horse to the barn. Once we know where we’re going, we get there. Heading back down the hill was a nice feeling, and my momentum took me to mile 12, when my legs reminded me I have yet to put in the long runs necessary for the Boston Marathon.

With the finish line in sight, I picked up the pace, got passed by a younger guy who said, “sorry, man,” as he sprinted past with 100 feet to go. (Tip: never apologize. It’s a race!) Crossing the finish line, I hit stop on my watch and saw 1:54­—nothing to brag about, but faster than I thought I’d run. Maybe this calf will be okay.

If you are so inclined, I’d love your support for the Massage Therapy Foundation—the charity I’m running for in April. I’d love it so much I did sit-ups on camera just for you:

Care to receive more from Les, but in smaller bites? Follow him on Twitter at @abmp_les.

I recently had the privilege of attending the premiere of a workshop crafted by our ever-industrious Education Department, titled “Ignite Your Career!” This three-hour experience is designed for students, and builds off our successful Instructors on the Front Lines workshops we have offered to massage and bodywork instructors the past four years.

What’s exciting about this particular workshop is that it’s  directed at a new audience (students) and it’s presented by our very own Cindy Williams (pictured above with some stiff).

Cindy came to ABMP in 2010 with solid experience as a massage therapist and an instructor, and serves our Education Department as a school liaison. She had added pressure the day her workshop debuted because ABMP Chairman Bob Benson and I were in the audience, but she really delivered the goods. As expected, Cindy was up to the challenge and shined. She joins a veritable All-Star team of professional presenters in our shop—Taffie Lewis, Kristin Coverly, and Anne Williams are three of the best presenters in the profession, hands down. We are truly spoiled by the talents of so many on our team, and these four women are prime examples.

The workshop’s subject matter includes great material for students, and easily applies to professionals as well. Based on the concept of developing your Emotional Intelligence, the workshop touches on self-empowerment and identifying your values, characteristics, and skills and talents, and culminates with developing a personal mission statement. Along the way, it addresses the topic of Career Values assessment, and helps you define the characteristics of your career and practice setting.

Just another day in the ABMP Education Department, producing more high-quality content for our members. Another example of how our work is never done—our team continues to look for ways to improve on the ABMP membership experience.

Road to Boston: Week 17

Not a bad week—my calf is cooperating (for the most part), and I have embraced an intensive massage regimen for the remaining 9 weeks before the race. A brisk 8½ mile run Saturday morning, 5 miles in pleasant weather Tuesday, and now a potentially snowy half-marathon this coming Sunday.

Care to receive more from Les, but in smaller bites? Follow him on Twitter at @abmp_les.

These days, I am much more of a massage consumer than a massage provider. As a consumer, I know what I like (no cold bananas, remember?), and I regularly see a favorite therapist as well as occasional new practitioners. It’s always interesting getting a massage from a new practitioner (new to me, not brand-new). In my case—and I’m sure some of you face this dilemma as well—I always wonder if I should mention I am a therapist, or if I should mention my affiliation with ABMP.

I usually leave the therapist/ABMP info out and stick to my middle-aged, running, hockey-player, dad narrative. One reason: I wouldn’t want the therapist thinking, “Wow, the President of ABMP really needs to get more massage!”

Drawing this line also limits the possibility of getting in too deep of a conversation. I am a 10-minute guy; I am willing to spend up to 10 minutes having conversation at the beginning of my session, but then I shut down (sometimes by simply falling asleep). Even with my regular therapist, my pal Angie—I tune out after 10 minutes.

Do you have a quiet-time guideline as a therapist? What about as a client? Any good tips to share with other professionals on quieting clients, or keeping yourself quiet?

Road to Boston: Week 16

My return to training is going slow. Between my time off, tweaking my left calf (that dang soleus is a chronic challenge for me), and a bout of wintry Colorado weather (there are three settings: cold; windy; cold and windy), my mojo has not quite returned to pre-illness levels. And I am starting to be more cognizant of how quickly time is passing. February and March will determine how my April 15th will be spent.

Care to receive more from Les, but in smaller bites? Follow him on Twitter at @abmp_les.