Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Rub Me Down

In case you weren't aware, your body starts to hate you when you get old.

And by "old" I totally mean pushing 30. (Although I recently decided to let Kimhead try out being 30 for awhile before I jump on board with it.)

Why did I come to this realization? Well, besides the fact that I creak and crack in just about every joint when I try to pry myself off the couch? I recently learned how sleeping incorrectly can screw you up. Waking up one morning, I realized what I had done. In having to avoid sleeping on my still-healing roach baby surgical wound, I had slept awkwardly on my side. And my neck and the muscle headed down to my shoulder weren't having it. I was in agony.

I dutifully dug out my heating pad and mini-back massager, and had myself a pity party. I popped some Ibuprofen and figured it would be fine by the end of the day. Surprisingly enough, when I was actually up and about at work, the pain subsided. Either that, or I was too busy to worry about focusing on it. Because by day 4, I was popping Motrin like it was candy and forcing Puff to attempt to massage out the kinks. God bless him, but he's not the best masseuse. Perhaps there's a class he can take to learn more?

By day 6, I had left a message with my doctor to call in an anti-inflamatory to the pharmacy. And I was digging through a stockpile of old drug samples to find a muscle relaxer. My next move was brilliant; I called and scheduled a massage. Just a 30 minute one, because it was the cheapest, but 30 minutes of pure bliss was in my future. Although, of course, it was day 9 before I could get an appointment that fit my schedule! I figured it was worth the wait. Either that or let the creepy guy at the office have a cheap thrill by giving me the massage he offered!

I was so pumped to get there, I arrived almost too early. Typically, I'd be totally cool with sinking into their big comfy couch in the dimly lit waiting area, listening to calming music, and reading a Glamour magazine. Except... there was a fountain. Just a tiny, table top water fountain that was supposed to send me into a realm of tranquil bliss. But it didn't. Whomever thought stupid water fountains that sound like someone peeing were supposed to be relaxing was out of their ever-loving mind! Thankfully, when I got into the room, there was no water to be had. Although that Celtic-inspired Musak version of "Arms of an Angel" was a bit distracting. I kept wanting to sing along!

Thirty minutes of rubbing and kneading and oil later, I felt like a new woman. No, the pain wasn't completely gone, but she had worked out some of the kinks and I definitely felt renewed. And going into a few busy days at the office immediately following this excursion, it was well worth it. After I took my time getting dressed (I look super cute in my wrap shirt, but it kicks my ass every time I try to tie it on!) I was met by a staff member with a glass of water for my trip to the checkout. Good thinking... because trying to take a drink on their spiral staircase of doom to the exit was a brilliant move. Great way to get sued when I plummet and break my neck!

Or a great way for me to get injured again and need another massage! I see their vision now.

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