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Friday, August 5, 2011

how to get a comped massage and fail in the squat rack

I've been feeling really tight in the shoulders (stress) and really tight in the hip flexors (lots of leg work, lots of walking, failure to do my yin yoga stretches like I know I'm supposed to). On a good day, I can do this:

Lately? Not so much.

Since the friend with whom I usually trade massages has been very busy with family and traveling, I decided I would, alas, have to suck it up and pay for a massage like a normal person. Son of a bitch.

Also, since I felt like it was the fascia in my hips that needed loosening before I resumed my regular hip-opener stretching program, I decided to book some myofascial work at the bodywork place that is convenient to my work and my gym. And since I train with Liz at 6:30 on Fridays, but get out of work 3:30ish, I figured, oh! perfect! I will book an hour massage at 4pm, be redressed and, y'know, sheveled by 5:15, with plenty of time to have a bite to eat and clear my fuzzy massage brain, change into my gym clothes, and pump out a few minutes of warm up cardio before it's 6:30 and time to squat.

Well, it wouldn't be my life if things went seamlessly according to plan, now, would it? This afternoon the massage place calls and says that my therapist will be delayed, and could I possibly come at five pm instead. I say yes. I really want this massage. But it screws up my itinerary plenty. Now I have to eat something at 4, when I'm not going to be particularly hungry, and go have my massage on a full belly. And then I will have only half an hour to redress, clear my head, and get to the gym to warm up. Nevertheless. I REALLY WANT THIS MASSAGE.

I get there at 4:58 and the receptionist/office manager tells me to have a seat. She does not say anything along the lines of, "Jim will be with you in a minute" or "Jim will be out to get you shortly." Indeed, she has what might be construed as a slightly worried look on her face.

Not that worried, but definitely not relaxed.

Minutes tick by. It is getting to the point where I think I am going to have to say that I cannot stay as I have another appointment immediately after. Just as I'm about to do that, the manager lady and a lovely young woman come over and explain Jim is still 30 minutes away and stuck in traffic and they feel terrible and while The Lovely Young Woman cannot give me an hour myofascial treatment, she would like to work on me without charge and then we can reschedule my appointment with Jim. Fair enough!

And she does a very nice job, including performing the simplest and yet best feeling psoas stretch I've ever felt (leading me to wonder why the fuck I *didn't* know it). I would love to show you pictorially, but my amazing google fu has failed me. What she did was abduct my leg so that it hung over the side of the table and my pelvis fell open and then...just left it there for awhile. So simple. Felt so good.

I was enjoying my massage so much that I really didn't have a good sense of how much time had passed. Well, apparently "can't give you an hour myofascial treatment" didn't in fact mean "can't give you an hour treatment." My little therapist left the room for me to get dressed and, holy crap, it was 6:20 pm.

And thus it came to pass that I appeared at the gym still fuzzy-headed (with a side of adrenaline jolt) and with face-cradle face. I proceeded to fail my last squat rep of my last two sets. Stuck in the hole I was.

Like that guy. Only, y'know, with fewer plates. Probably he had bodywork too close to his leg day workout too!



  1. The hottest photo ever (the one at the top) mostly because there is enough physical similarity to allow one with particular memories to have those particular memories...

  2. Glad you specified "the one at the top" lest anyone think you'd suddenly become enamored of wrinkly-faced cats or chunky guys in singlets and begin to worry ;-)

  3. Oh, it is SO wrong, in so many ways that tears are running down my face, not even from watching the video but from the word "singlet" COUPLED with the video and the description of "chunky".