I had no idea what I opted for it was less of a massage and more of a negotiation between my sanity and fainting on purpose.
Sometimes the path to relaxation is far less relaxing than expected. Picture: iStock
After my move, I had a knotted muscle in my shoulder that just wouldn’t let up.
My daughter suggested a massage and seeing that I had not yet explored that avenue, I booked one at a local beauty spa.
I had no idea that there are so many types of massages. There’s the gentle relaxation massage, where soft music plays and someone lightly kneads your shoulders while you drift off into a peaceful half-sleep.
There’s the aromatherapy massage, where everything smells like lavender and you leave feeling like a calm, well-balanced human being.
And then I opted for the deep-tissue massage. I had a knot to remove, I told myself and, besides, the salon’s receptionist recommended it.
That sounded excellent. But I had no idea it was less of a massage and more of a negotiation between my sanity and fainting on purpose.
What the receptionist didn’t say, was that my masseuse had arms that looked like they belonged to a competitive weightlifter.
Imagine the upper body of Arnold Schwarzenegger, but attached to a very friendly lady sporting a small bottle of massage oil.
“Just relax,” she said cheerfully. Hmph! That was optimistic.
The first few minutes were fine. Professional. Therapeutic. Promising. Then she found The Knot.
Every human body apparently contains at least one secret knot somewhere in the back – a stubborn little muscle that refuses to cooperate with the rest of your skeleton.
Mine had clearly been in training for years. The moment she discovered it, the atmosphere in the room changed.
Her elbows came into play. Her forearms got involved. At one point I’m fairly sure she leaned in with the determination of someone trying to wrestle Hulk Hogan.
“Is the pressure okay?” she asked softly. That should count as one of life’s great trick questions.
You can’t exactly shout: “No, I think my shoulder blade has moved to another postcode!”
So, you respond with the polite international phrase of massage survival: “Mm-hmm.”
Meanwhile, inside your head, you’re conducting a full emergency meeting with your nervous system.
To be fair, by the end of the session my back did feel different. Lighter. Looser. Possibly rearranged.
As I got up, she smiled warmly and said: “Your muscles were very tight.” I believe that.
Next time, however, I may request the lavender massage, even though I’m highly allergic to lavender. Preferably administered by someone whose arms do not resemble a professional bodybuilder’s.
