I had my first therapeutic massage yesterday.
Oh VioletSky, why didn’t you warn me?
Today I feel like a truck hit me. I slept like a rock last night and I’m still tired now. My shoulder is sore to even touch – and my masseur told me that he would go easy on me because it was my first time. (Okay, okay, if you want, insert your own joke here. I’m not going to do it!)
I have to say that I was a little apprehensive going in. I’ve only ever had massages at spas, and I was pretty sure that this would be quite different. I am used to coming out of massage treatments feeling warm and relaxed and perfumed and really good. I came out of this one exhausted and wondering if this constant discomfort and at times, sharp pain, was going to be worth it.
He vigorously rubbed and pushed and pulled and stuck what seemed like his whole body weight onto my poor shoulder. He moved my arm here and there and – ow! – even out to there. He said that I would probably hate him while he was working on me, but that I would like him a lot more in a day or two. He kept saying, “Are you okay? Just let me know.” I kept saying, often through gritted teeth, “That hu-u-u-urts!”
But damn, I can painlessly move my right arm sideways just about out to shoulder height today.
Just don’t touch me.
(And glutton for punishment that I seem to be, I’ve already booked my next massage.)