The last thing I expected to find at the finish line of a mountain bike race was my future career.
Nearly thirty years ago, if someone had told me that one day I would become a massage therapist, I would have laughed. It simply wasn’t something I could ever have imagined for myself.
Back then I wasn’t a particularly touchy-feely person. In fact, I was quite shy about physical contact with anyone other than my husband. I’d never even had a massage myself, let alone considered giving one. It certainly wasn’t sitting on some secret list of future career possibilities.
Then one day my friend Jen asked if I’d like to go with her to a Swedish massage course at Nelson Polytechnic.
Looking back, I honestly don’t know why I said yes. Perhaps it was simply because she was my friend. Perhaps she didn’t want to practise on complete strangers by herself. Whatever the reason, I agreed, never imagining that one small decision would quietly change the direction of my life.
The course was taught by Philippa Rutherford, an experienced herbalist and massage therapist whose calm confidence made learning feel surprisingly natural. Every week we’d arrive at the nursing school carrying our own towels and spend the evening practising on the hospital beds in the training room. One week we learned hands and arms, the next legs and feet, then backs, shoulders and necks. It was practical, hands-on learning, and to my surprise I absolutely loved it.
Even then, though, I still thought of it as an interesting course rather than the beginning of a new career.
Around the same time my husband and his friends had become completely obsessed with mountain biking. Every year they entered the Rainbow Rage, a gruelling 106-kilometre race that crossed rugged high-country roads from St Arnaud to Hanmer Springs, climbing over Island Saddle, the highest public road in New Zealand. It wasn’t something you casually turned up for. For months beforehand the bikes were upgraded, training rides filled evenings and weekends, and conversations seemed to revolve around tyres, gears, fitness and weather forecasts.
Jen and I became the support crew.
On race day we’d wave everyone off with bottles of water, electrolytes, bananas, packed lunches and far more enthusiasm than common sense before making our way to Hanmer Springs to wait for the finishers. Hours later they would begin arriving, one by one, covered in dust and completely exhausted. Some could barely swing a leg over their bike to get off. Their shoulders were stiff, their necks ached, and their legs had been pedalling for most of the day.
That was when our part began. Out came the massage oils and towels, and while they told us stories about the race—the impossible climbs, the headwinds, the crashes, the moments they thought they might not make it—we would massage tired legs, sore shoulders and aching backs.
Looking back now, the massage itself was probably fairly simple. We were using the techniques we’d recently learned in class, doing our best to help people feel more comfortable after a very long day. But something happened during those weekends that I didn’t fully appreciate at the time. I realised I looked forward to those moments more than almost anything else. More than the drive home. More than the celebrations afterwards. Even more than soaking in the Hanmer Springs hot pools.
There was something deeply satisfying about watching someone’s face soften as tight muscles began to release. You could almost see the exhaustion melt away. They would stand up a little straighter, move a little more freely, smile, and say, “That feels so much better.”
Helping people feel better simply felt right.
At the time I had no idea that those weekends, standing beside tired mountain bikers with a towel over my shoulder, were quietly shaping the next thirty years of my life.
What I enjoy most is seeing the change that happens over the course of an hour. A face that looked tense becomes softer. Breathing slows. Movement becomes easier. Shoulders drop back to where they belong. People often walk out feeling taller and lighter than when they walked in, not because they’ve grown, but because they’ve finally let go of the tension they didn’t even realise they were carrying.
It’s funny how life unfolds. Sometimes the moments that shape our future don’t feel important at all while they’re happening. They simply feel like ordinary weekends, small opportunities, or a friend asking if you’d like to come along to a course.
Only years later do we realise those seemingly ordinary moments were quietly leading us exactly where we were meant to be. When I think back to those days at Nelson Polytechnic and those weekends waiting at the finish line of the Rainbow Rage, I’m incredibly grateful that I said yes. Because what began as helping a few exhausted mountain bikers with sore muscles recover after a race eventually became a career that has allowed me to spend the last three decades helping people move more freely, feel more comfortable in their bodies, and take a little time out for themselves.
And I still love it just as much today.
Looking for a little extra support?
If stress, tension or the demands of everyday life have been leaving you feeling depleted, massage can help release muscular tension, settle a busy mind and give your body the opportunity to slow down and recharge. Book a massage here
Enjoyed this article?
If you’d like to receive future seasonal articles, practical ideas and guided recordings, you’re welcome to join my newsletter. Sign up here.