Massage: Pleasure and Pain

I realize people go to get a massage for different reasons.  I think my brain pulls a bait and switch on me every time.  Here’s the bait:  last week, I went to get a massage because I wanted to “pamper” myself.  I called Stephan to see if he could fit me in at the last minute.  He had a cancellation, and I was elated.   Stephan is a German hulk.  He is probably 6’4”, easily weighs twice (plus) what I weigh, and one of his thighs is the size of two of my own.  There is not much small talk – perfect.  I practically jump on the massage table because I’m just giddy.  “What pressure do you like?”  Here’s the switch part, “Firm!” is my response.  Oh no!  When he starts working on my neck and back, it’s divine.  His hands are actually really soft and the kneading of my muscles makes me roll my eyes in pleasure (good thing I’m face down at this point).  It doesn’t take him long, however, to brush over a tender spot.  I don’t even flinch wondering if he’ll find it.  I want him to find it and I don’t at the same time.  Without batting an eye (well, to be fair, I don’t know if he bat his eye or not – face down remember?), he zeroes in on the tender spot, pushes on it, and asks, “Tender?”  “Yup” I reply.  I’m impressed, he nailed it.  After working on the spot and getting the muscle to release, he moves on.  He finds several more knots, on my back, “Tender?”  “Yes it is,” I’m impressed (and punished) every time.  But it is still a glorious experience.  My back feels amazing.

On to my glutes.  I warned Stephan that I have a chronic hip injury from running (and not stretching, and not doing squats – because who does squats on purpose, yuk).  “Don’t be shy, though, it needs to be worked,” I said.  What?  You are so stupid.  It took him about two seconds to find it.  “There?”  “Yup” I grimaced.  No mercy.  Breathe into it, I’m thinking, BREATHE!  “Are you breathing?”, “Yes” I groaned, but barely.  More knots, more breathing.  Then, my hamstrings.  No problem, I think, my legs are probably the strongest parts of my body!  They can totally take it.  Ow!  He starts on my hamstrings:  knot, knot, knot, knot!  Ooooowwww!  I guess the stronger the muscle, the more stubborn the knot.  More breathing, I try to focus on the muscle, to will it to loosen.  “Do you ever stretch your quads?”  What? “Yeah, but not enough,” I stammer.  “I’m guessing you have a quad problem?”  “Really?”, “I guess we’ll find out when you flip over, right?” He says.  “Ha ha, yeah,” Oh, please help me.   But, as he releases the knots in my hams, I feel this delicious, tingly sensation down my legs as he finishes up.   Ok, I can handle this.

Flip!  I have so many knots in my right quads, that my face is uncontrollably contorted in pain as I try to breathe.  “Yup, I thought so,” Yes you are very smart!!!  Ow!  My breathing sounds like Lamaze breathing.  To look at my face, it is probably the look I had on my face during contractions of labor.  Even Stephan is amazed at how many knots I have in my quads.  Yeah me!  Luckily for me, my left leg was bad, but not as bad as my right leg.  He finishes my massage with more delicious kneading of my shoulders and the back of my neck.  AAAAAhhhhhhhhh.  He is a smart man to start and end with delectable.  I have to admit that I feel really good.  Rolling off the table to get dressed, I’m already wondering how long I’ll have to wait to come back to be punished by Stephan again.

My body feels so good I think as I drive my daughter to her orthodontist appointment later . . . with two huge ice packs on both sets of quads.  I think there’s something wrong with me.  Seriously.