I am deeply upset that it took me thirty two years to get a pedicure. Why had I never partaken in such an enjoyable activity? My sister suggested that: “The patriarchy kept it from you.” I’m inclined to agree with her. Dad and I bonded by going fishing and watching Braves games; mom and Caitlin bonded with pedicures and seaweed wraps. It was not uncommon for mom to draw a bath and light candles after a long day. Dad? I remember him coming home late some nights and putting on sweats to watch SportsCenter, but that was about it.

When the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,
He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside.
But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

- Rudyard Kipling's: The Female of the Species

I’ll add to Kipling’s observations that the female knows how to relax more than the male. At the very least, female culture in America is more accepting of self-care, getting pampered, and deeper forms of physical relaxation than male culture. Case in point: I never took a bubble bath with candles and a book until I moved to Baltimore at twenty four. I had my own apartment, and I knew that no one would ever know that I did this “feminine” thing unless I told them. Wound up loving the experience so much that I scout good bathtubs whenever I look at new apartments.

I recently gave a virtual Mental Agility talk to a group of women attending a wellness retreat in Park City, Utah. I got the most laughter when I observed that I didn’t need to discuss the mental health benefits of a good bath with lavender candles. The attendees all gave a knowing smile, as if they held the secret to immortality that men spurned because it might make them look girlie.

So what propelled me into a local salon? My feet were destroyed after five weeks of lineman school training in work boots. Even broken in, my boots are further secured by a metal shank running from the heel to the mid-foot. All the climbing I do each day and the awkward shifting from foot to foot while maneuvering equipment between 40-80lbs added up to blistered feet with torn skin. I spent each evening moisturizing my feet, which helped, but I was fighting a losing battle. My mom encouraged me to get a pedicure, and since one of my Tools for Sports Officials is to take care of your feet, I felt obligated to try.

90% of the experience was pure relaxation. The warm, bubbly water. The lovely smell of the lavender scrub. Oh my god, the massage chair! I cannot mention the massage chair enough! The only unpleasant 10% was when my pedicurist left for a minute and returned with an object I had only ever seen in the kitchen — a cheese grater. My mind didn’t want to accept what the cheese grater was for, but she and I both knew what it was for.

Shudder.

After about fifty minutes my feet were scrubbed clean, smelled lovely, and I felt zero tension anywhere in my lower extremities. As I left I felt amazing. Like I had peeked behind a curtain that was hiding a whole new world. I’ve known and practiced self-care for years as a means to reduce my anxiety, but I had been missing out on a whole range of possibilities that I’m excited to try out. Manicure? Sure. Mud bath? Sign me up. Eyebrow threading? Actually, I’ve done that a good bit. My genes require a hefty amount of regular eyebrow maintenance.

I’m a huge fan of activities that relax the mind and refill the psychological gas tank. I’m an even bigger fan of discovering experiences that I never had before (positive or negative). I’m happy I added pedicures to my Mental Agility toolkit, now I’m on the lookout for other relaxing activities the patriarchy has under a veil of secrecy.