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For less than 35 bucks, you can buy a reasonable rubdown.

Monday Jan 21, 2008.     By Erin Brereton

Lifestyle Feed

I take New Year's resolutions seriously. That's why I make them realistic, like "get a new coat," or "this year, I will not go to Micronesia" (because I probably won't).

And so, while I still have the momentum of the new year behind me, I decided to work on one of my annual goals: to get more massages. For years, I've been reading about the benefits of semi-regular massage to balance out frequent workouts (one of last year's resolutions) and stress.

But massages are pricey! So I typically splurge on them only once or twice a year. However, after a little legwork, I discovered that a 55-minute massage at The New School for Massage training center will run you just $33, roughly a third of what most spas charge.

After checking available times on the school's website, I called for an appointment. There are a few restrictions: You can't choose whether you get a male or female masseuse, and you need to cancel more than six hours before your appointment or you'll be charged.

Other than that, it's rubdown business as usual. I arrived, as instructed, 10 minutes early to handle the clinic paperwork, which took less time to fill out because I'm low on bodily injuries. (You list them, you describe them, you circle where they are on your body. If you wrote "The End" after your last sentence, the form could be considered a short story about personal pain.)

Make no mistake; this is not a spa. Once the names of the people in my group were called, we were matched up with masseuses, who led us to the elevator. Our final destination? A large room that had been divided with curtains. I hadn't seen that many blankets used as a building material since the last time I took apart my parent's couch to make a fort.

It was dark and warm, which was spa-like. But, the makeshift treatment areas reminded me so much of hospital rooms that I half expected the massage to include an IV. (Luckily, it did not.)

You get your own sectioned-off "room"; however, sheets provide just the level of soundproofing you would expect them to, so the first 10 minutes of the massage are filled with the sound of curtains sliding back and forth and conversations about joints. (If hearing about other people's snow-shoveling injuries relaxes you, you're in luck.)

But, miraculously, the room did quiet down, and I realized the clinic was playing soothing New Age music. My masseuse was skillfully working out what the last masseuse I visited called "stress knots" in my back. (Great! Anxiety fills me with ropes?) She then asked if the pressure was OK. It was.

However, five minutes later, when I wanted her to use more pressure, I felt bad asking because it seemed nearly profane to raise your voice in the silent room. It was almost unnaturally quiet for most of the hour; somebody shuffled past my room, a door clicked shut and, unfortunately, the guy in the room next to me took a call. (Hearing someone close a business deal over the sound of skin being rubbed is a little creepy.)

Just like any fancy massage, you can specify areas to focus on. My masseuse pulled my arms across me to loosen up my tight back, and it has felt great since. She also gave my temples a once-over that got rid of my stress headache—for 20 minutes. Then, like a boomerang, it returned to me.

When the massage was over, I emerged from my cloth cubicle and my masseuse was waiting with a small plastic cup of water. I made my way downstairs with her and sat down to fill out a brief review of the experience.

The best part: It truly was inexpensive. I expected it to run me about $40 to $43 with tip—but I couldn't find a tip jar, and since nobody in my group handed anything to the receptionist, neither did I.

Sure, fancy spas may have cornered the market on atmosphere, but I had a solid massage for just over 30 bucks. That's a frequent indulgence almost everybody can afford.

Curious? Find out more about The New School at newschoolmassage.com or call (888) 461-0114 for an appointment.

Erin Brereton is our resident urban cowgirl on a bi-weekly search for life on the cheap. If you know of the mythic happy hour that she missed, do clue her in.