I went for a massage on Saturday, as planned, to help me get rid of all the stress generated by my new job. I arrived all excited and bubbly, expecting a relaxing half-hour of gentle but firm kneading. Nooooope. It was thinly disguised torture. I had to exert every particle of self control I have to prevent myself begging my torturer to stop.
To be fair, my modern-day Inquisitor did warn me that it might hurt a bit. She said I had a knot in my back as big as her fist and she wouldn't be able to 'get' it all in one session. After she violently poked and pummelled she casually informed me that I might experience some bruising. Ya think?
The real horror is that she said I need to go again. Several times. And being me, I'll probably go. Am I discovering a masochistic side to myself?
On the plus side, I drove all the way to Birmingham and back today, then went to the gym - something like that would normally have crippled me for a week - and (aside from the bruising) my back is just mildly painful. So maybe, maaayyyybeee it was worth it.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment