Going to get a massage is one of my favorite personal indulgences, plain and simple. The massage I got this afternoon, however, makes me wonder if I am really in search of relaxation for the body and mind, or maybe the correct term might be "a masochist". Hmmm....something to think about.
When I met my therapist today, she was a tiny little Asian lady who is probably only 90lbs soaking wet with all of her clothes on, and a few inches shorter than I am. Got a visual on this? Yep, she was a tiny little sprout, and it kinda made me a little leery to be honest. When I go to get a massage - I want a goooooood massage! At this point it would have been in very poor taste to question her ability, though, since I had already upgraded my massage to the aromatherapy package AND closed out my tab along with tip. :) Once in the room "Annie" asks me if I have any particular areas that are bothering me, and I remarked that my lower back had really been hurting...blah, blah, blah.... Famous. Last. Words.
Annie starts me out face down for my two hour massage, and gets right to work on my back. She ruuuubs my back, kneads the knots, and WOW, we are off to a GREAT start. Annie's easing the pain out of my lower back, the tension is starting to go away, relaxation is starting to take over, my breathing is good, the hint of dozing off is just a few minutes away. And then...oh dear Lord....THEN she starts in on my hind end. There's really no other way to describe the pain. She found every nerve ending, every pressure point, every area that DIDN'T hurt and PULVERIZED THE LIVING HELL OUT OF IT!!! Apparently when I said lower back, she thought I meant MY ASS, and went about, skillfully, trying to relieve any discomfort? HAHAHAHA!! Discomfort? WHAT A JOKE! For a minute there I was giving serious thought to calling a personal foul, telling "Annie" to get off my butt (literally), and find new territory to assault on SOMEONE ELSE. If I hadn't had my face wedged into the little cushiony spot, I would have sworn that she had her elbow jammed in my butt cheek with her feet planted firmly on the wall in a pseudo crouching-tiger-hidden-dragon-type ninja move. You get the picture...she's horizontal in the air, feet in a racing stance on the wall, supported only by her needle-like elbow, and of course, my butt cheek is her platform.
By the time Annie moved her focus to my legs, at least I think it was my legs - I can't exactly remember, the knots were returning in my lower back, and my feet were starting to cramp from clenching my toes. In an effort not to come flying off of the table, I intently focused on the two hour mark. This feeling/terror/fear is reminiscent of my anticipation concerning childbirth; knowing that what's happening is going to hurt like CRAZY, but it will end at some point. Or at least that's what you tell yourself when you are restraining yourself from ripping the hair out of your husband's head for doing "this thing" to you, in the middle of a beastly contraction. Oh wait...wrong topic! Anyway, I am sure that in a day or two I will grab a little mirror to get a glimpse of the "rear view", only to find that I look like someone used me as target practice with a paint ball gun at close range.
Moral of the story: A serious can of "Whoop Ass" can come out of the smallest, most unseemingly, able packages. Also a classic blunder of judging a book by it's cover.