I usually get a deep tissue massage once or twice a week. It’s part of my regimen just like lifting weights is. What it is not is a relaxing luxury, complete with soft waterfalls and soothing aromatherapy oils. Yet, any time a gen pop (remember that term?!) hears of these weekly appointments, there response is always the same. “Oh, you’re so lucky.”
Don’t get me wrong. I’m a very blessed individual. I spent a good four hours outside today soaking up the California sunshine and playing in a little dirt, and there wasn’t a single soul in the world that wanted me to be doing anything different. But once 4:30 rolled around and I hopped up on that table, “lucky” was the last thing I felt. I felt pain. Lots of it actually. I felt like muscles were being asked to be split in two perhaps or leave their preferred resting place and dwell somewhere else. And they fought it the whole way. They begged to be able to stay in their nice little knots but the masseuse was having none of it. Not on his table.
I usually clench my teeth the entire time and sometimes I even forget to breathe. How is it possible for something to be relaxing when you aren’t breathing?!! So the next time you visit a fancy little day spa, try asking them to dig into your psoas muscle for a little relaxation. A tight IT band is a lovely form of leisure as well. If at all possible, ask for the elbow there. These days, when I go to a day spa I just want to be tickled. Bonus points if I fall asleep and begin to drool. To me, drool = lucky.