Rubbing Me the Right Way

Today I had my very first massage. Not a major event in the wake of the world, but it meant a lot to me. Before you don your comedy cap and pull a rubber chicken out of your ass, you can save all the Happy Ending gags for open mike night down at the Tickle Me, Schlomo Bar and Grille.

During the past holiday season, we had the extreme pleasure of seeing my grandson Sebastian for the first time in too long of a time before he began his like anew in SoCal as a physical therapist. The esteemed Dr. Seb and I got into a discussion of my numerous aches and pains and he suggested a full body massage. Of course, I went for the crass joke (it's not beyond, you see) which went over like a lead fart then admitted I should indeed do that someday, though I probably never would because, well, "Everyone before me" seems to be my credo and self-procrastination is my jam.

When my birthday arrived a few weeks later, my e-mail inbox contained a gift card from said Sebastian for a local massage joint here in Oregon. No, not Rubs 'r Us, but a legitimate therapeutic bodywork/wellness clinic. While he may have been the initial catalyst for this unexpected present, I learned later that his mom Staci and my daughter Lindsay chipped with the grandkid to make this possible for yours truly. Naturally, I was reduced to sudden tears of gratitude for this sweet gesture. 

Because I am what I am which is a dope about myself a majority of the time, I put off making an appointment for several months. In that time, I moaned and groaned about my owies, bitched and moaned because I hurt so bad (over-dramatically as is my want), and fantasized of making them all go away somehow, some way if only I had the means and, in the words of Bert Lahr, "the noive". And I did have the first part of the equation in one goddamn e-mail. Still, I kept stalling until even I couldn't take me any longer. Knock it off, you insufferable whiner and DO something about it. So I did. Yesterday, I made the next appointment available since I had a couple of days off and lo and behold, I was set to go the very next afternoon.

One of the other charming aspects of my personality is my neurosis about, well, everything and anything. I had my doubts about the whole process. I didn't have a clue what to wear, so the hemming and hawing continued. I threw on a short sleeve line shirt, looked in the mirror and declared myself "too pervy". This called for a standard roll of the eyes from my wife even though I didn't want to go into a respectable place of business looking like a dirty old white guy looking for some action. I let it go and  grumbled something to myself about I'm doing this reluctantly but this will be a one and done experience because this was WAY out of my comfort zone. For a massage.

Arriving early, I was taken right away. The quicker, the better. After my initial questions about attire, the the therapist told me I had a choice to strip down to nothing or my underwear, then climb onto the table and cover myself up like a good little boy. Without another idiotic debate in my head, I complied though it took me a couple of tries to hop onto the massage workbench so as to not maim myself before the big rubdown. After shoving my mush into the padded donut, we were off to the races. 

I submitted to the experience immediately. It really was high time to make it all go away and my massagenator made damn sure it happened with care, precision and expertise. Throughout the whole session, she didn't speak, concentrating on the numerous areas of my back, neck, legs and even thumbs (work relate injuries). Silence wasn't entirely golden since there was some New Agey tunes playing in the background, though at a blessedly low level and I didn't mind it all. I found it an appropriate soundtrack given the situation. It wasn't long before I was actually lulled and fell into a dream like state, maybe momentarily or could have been for a few minutes. As comfortable as I had been, I only had one minor issue which was that my nose was completely congested. It didn't matter because clogged nostrils were a small price to pay for such sudden peace. After an hour, it was all over. She left the room so I could dress myself. As I rose off the table, my nose flowed back to normal, but the rest of my body and brain alike were woozy as all get-out. So this is a natural high, I told myself. Son of a bitch.

After settling up with my therapist, she offered to have me sit a few moments before I got my sea legs back, but I begged off. I thanked her profusely and stepped out into the world, bouncing out the door and down the corridor like a human pinball machine. Driving the long way home away from Friday freeway traffic was the best course of action because it allowed me to evaluate not only the experience but myself. 

I had to admit that felt good. I still do a hours later. This is something I should have done for myself a long time ago and not have it done for me. As grateful as I am to my beloved family for all that they've done, I have got to take care of myself better and not have others do while I am still able. How am I going to take care of anyone else if I don't? Sometimes the simplest realizations are the hardest to consider. Taking the pain away, at least a good portion of it, makes one open their eyes to see the epiphany in the room. It's not the be-all, cure-all for all my problems, but it's a start. 

Now it's time for the gratitude tour. Thanks again to my grandson Sebastian, daughter-in-law Staci and daughter Lindsay for the gift that will keep on giving. I also want to acknowledge the expert hands and professionalism of my therapist du jour Jennifer at Performance Bodywork here in the Portland area. https://performancebodywork.com/

And to you, dear readers, please take care of yourselves and I promise to do the same. Deal?

Namaste, bitches.