Package Deal
Most athletic training 'bibles' will recommend regular massage as part of a serious or semi-serious training program. Putting your muscles under constant stress is hard, of course, and a good massage can not only ease some of the resulting pain but can also prevent future injuries and make training a little less painful.
Since my wonderful shiatsu therapist left town at the end of April I have been sans massage, so I thought it was about time to find a replacement. An inquiring email to a shiatsu clinic close to my work went unanswered (I hate that) so last week I asked my osteopath to recommend someone. Without hesitation she said "oh, you have see C. She's great". No problem. Phone call made, appointment booked for 2 days later.
I get to the clinic. It's in a part of Toronto that's like a little piece of Vancouver Island broke away and lodged itself here, complete with organic markets, hippies, birkenstocks and 'alternative lifestyle' practitioners. Whatever, I needed a massage and I wasn't going to be picky about the touchy-feeliness of the neighbourhood.
C. as it turns out, was (is) a large, solidly built woman with a no-nonsense demeanor. A few pointed questions about me and my ridiculous training regimen, my complaints, my hopes and desires as to the outcome of the forthcoming massage, and off we went. And when I say "off" I'm referring mainly to my clothes. All of them. Which is quite different from the fully clothed shiatsu sessions I had been previously enjoying. Too late to back out now, so I doff the togs and climb under a full length sheet to wait for C. to come back into the room.
Was the massage good? Yes, yes it was. Was it painful? Yes, several times. But it was a good kind of pain. The one thing that stands out in my mind about it though is that for the first half hour while she worked on my legs and butt, all I could think of was "For sure she can see my balls". Even after a fast and discreet tuck, I was convinced that she was getting an up close and personal view of my junk. It was very distracting, I can tell you. And not at all arousing, thank god. Had C. been a lithe and youthful nymphette fresh out of massage school it would have been a very different experience, but as it was it was just kind of weird.
Afterwards I felt like I was about to have an out-of-body experience. My body felt like a ringing telephone and my brain was floating about 10 feet above my head. I had to walk around Hippie Town for a while because I was afraid to get back on my bike. It took a good hour to come down completely.
Highly recommended unless you have an irrational fear of strangers getting an eyeful of your packaged goods. Which I'm sure didn't really happen anyway. I think.
Since my wonderful shiatsu therapist left town at the end of April I have been sans massage, so I thought it was about time to find a replacement. An inquiring email to a shiatsu clinic close to my work went unanswered (I hate that) so last week I asked my osteopath to recommend someone. Without hesitation she said "oh, you have see C. She's great". No problem. Phone call made, appointment booked for 2 days later.
I get to the clinic. It's in a part of Toronto that's like a little piece of Vancouver Island broke away and lodged itself here, complete with organic markets, hippies, birkenstocks and 'alternative lifestyle' practitioners. Whatever, I needed a massage and I wasn't going to be picky about the touchy-feeliness of the neighbourhood.
C. as it turns out, was (is) a large, solidly built woman with a no-nonsense demeanor. A few pointed questions about me and my ridiculous training regimen, my complaints, my hopes and desires as to the outcome of the forthcoming massage, and off we went. And when I say "off" I'm referring mainly to my clothes. All of them. Which is quite different from the fully clothed shiatsu sessions I had been previously enjoying. Too late to back out now, so I doff the togs and climb under a full length sheet to wait for C. to come back into the room.
Was the massage good? Yes, yes it was. Was it painful? Yes, several times. But it was a good kind of pain. The one thing that stands out in my mind about it though is that for the first half hour while she worked on my legs and butt, all I could think of was "For sure she can see my balls". Even after a fast and discreet tuck, I was convinced that she was getting an up close and personal view of my junk. It was very distracting, I can tell you. And not at all arousing, thank god. Had C. been a lithe and youthful nymphette fresh out of massage school it would have been a very different experience, but as it was it was just kind of weird.
Afterwards I felt like I was about to have an out-of-body experience. My body felt like a ringing telephone and my brain was floating about 10 feet above my head. I had to walk around Hippie Town for a while because I was afraid to get back on my bike. It took a good hour to come down completely.
Highly recommended unless you have an irrational fear of strangers getting an eyeful of your packaged goods. Which I'm sure didn't really happen anyway. I think.
posted by carbonman at 9:51 PM
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