It’s a fine line between pleasure and
pain. No, I am not referring to
80s Aussie rock band Divinyls’ song “Pleasure and Pain”; nor am I alluding to
the kind of ‘proceedings’ as described in E L James’ “Fifty Shades of
Grey”! Okay, let me start
again. As you may have heard, I
have been putting my poor 40-something-year-old body through some punishment
for the sake of training for a running event in Angkor Wat in December. Yes, yes, I’m talking about it again! How can I not when so much of my week
revolves around it at the moment.
Anyhow, a couple of weeks ago, around
the same time Matt got injured, I felt a muscle in my right leg twinge. In denial, my training continued
regardless, but the grumbling muscle finally got the better of me and I booked
myself in for a massage a few days later when a spare hour happily appeared in
my diary.
“Ahhhh.. this will get me back in
proper working order..” I thought as I got ‘into position’ and waited for the
therapist. I was absolutely aching
all over and so tired of being in pain.
My masseur du jour entered the room and the first thing she said was:
“You run.” Just those two words
and then, she got to work.
“How’s the pressure?” she asked.
I told her she could go a little harder. My mistake. BIG
mistake.
With that response, the ‘pain-fest’
kicked up a gear but what topped it off was my now-excruciating massage was
also peppered with all sorts of pointers from my new ‘guru’. Apparently, I had ‘bubbles’ all through
my system (I thought they were knots!) which were brought on by hot showers and
my supposed precarious consumption of peanuts and cold drinks. She admonished me for using
air-conditioning and when I countered I don’t actually have it on during the
day, she tarried with a “what about in the car?” My ‘guru’ then started telling me how one side of me was not
longer bloated due to her expert massaging (okaaaaay..) and then started
prodding different parts of my aching muscles – I think to determine whether or
not I deserved more punishment.
Darn! I started with aching muscles but now felt like my body was riddled with many more ailments that I had walked in
with!
Suddenly, I had a flashback! Some ten months ago, I was at this very
same ‘spa’ and the therapist had, towards the end of my session, started
kneading overly enthusiastically around my stomach region. I remember grabbing at her hands,
saying she had to either stop or be more gentle. That’s when she mumbled something about how my womb had
‘dropped’ and needed pushing back!
I remember pleading with her through the pain that I already had three
children and didn’t need my womb to be in the right place as I had NO intention
of using it again in this lifetime!
She stopped – albeit reluctantly.
And that’s when the penny
dropped! Holy cannenoli! The therapist then and the one
hovering over me now were one and the same! Armed with this new knowledge, the session continued with me
largely dutifully agreeing to everything she said: “Can you feel how much better
that feels?” Me: “Yes, yes, much
better.”
We parted ways with her showing me
how to do a dead lift (she offered, I didn’t ask why but just tried to look
interested!) and a stern directive to make another appointment to see her
within three weeks (okaaaaay…. NOT!).
I made a quick exit citing an imaginary meeting.
I had another much-needed massage
today. Yes, I asked for a
different therapist and yes, her technique was much MUCH more suited to my
‘pain threshold’. That said, perhaps
I should start thinking about why I put my body through so much torture.. ah
yes, now I remember. Its because I
HAVE to due to my love affair with food.
Oh well, as the saying goes: it’s a fine line…
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