The Accidental Chinese Foot Massage
Thursday, May 18, 2017
What’s better than a massage on Mother’s Day? Well, for my
wife, shopping at a thrift store is better.
I went along for the ride and noticed that there was a little
hole-in-the-wall massage parlor in the adjoining strip mall. It advertised $20.00 for a one hour foot
massage. Being the inquisitive potential
customer, I looked up the establishment on Yelp. There were some conflicting reviews, but the
‘between the lines’ message that I gleaned was that the place offered a good
value and suggested that some reviewers went back for repeat business. It was clear that a $10.00 tip was highly
recommended, but even so, $30.00 for an hour massage seemed a great perceived
value.
There are two schools of thought when it comes to massages:
some people believe that a massage should be a relaxing, spa-like experience
where your body is gently caressed while the air is filled with a hint of
lavender or eucalyptus. Others believe
that a massage should be of the deep tissue type, where there may be brief
moments of discomfort, and no amount of lavender or eucalyptus in the air will
be enough to transform it into a truly pleasing experience. You might call this the “no pain, no gain”
mentality.
I’ve had foot massages before. My most memorable ones were during a trip to
China. While there, I had one full body
massage and a bunch of foot massages.
The full body massage still remains fresh in my mind because of the painful
scraping sensation on my back, and the irritation that I felt on my back
following the session. An hour or so
after I got back to my hotel room, I began to feel something similar to a
sunburn. It persisted to the point where
I felt compelled to look at my back in the mirror. I don’t know if it was more disbelief or
horror, but my back no longer resembled ‘my back.’ It had more of the appearance
of well, I don’t know, perhaps a strange piece of body art created by an out of
control laser. You can see for yourself
what it looked like in the following picture that I captured in the mirror of
my room.
It turns out that I had been given
a coin massage, or Gua sha, and apparently there were a lot of bad demons or
spirits in my back that had to escape.
My foot massages in China were also memorable. I was put in the hands of a diminutive woman,
whose strength was inversely proportionate to her size. Although extremely painful, it was one of
those ‘hurts so good’ kinds of procedures where you almost feel more grateful
that the massage is over than leave with a feeling of relaxation that the
massage is supposed to generate. This
little woman reached in the nooks and crannies of my feet in a way that
suggested she had more familiarity with feet than do some podiatrists.
This past Mother’s Day, I went in for a foot massage. I had the China experience in mind, but
decided that I would keep an open mind and let the eucalyptus leaves fall where
they may. From this point forward, I
have to put the words “foot massage” in quotation marks, because what I got
that day, didn’t so much resemble a straight forward foot massage as it did an
exercise in exploring my threshold of pain (which is high), but even I have my
limits. Afterwards, I was left in a daze
for a few hours as I tried to comprehend what had just been done to my body.
Just a week earlier, I had told my foot doctor not to push
so hard on my heel (I have plantar fasciitis) because he had hurt me during my
previous visit. I had thought about
saying something to the masseuse about my right heel, but decided against it at
the last minute and chose to take my chances.
I admit, in retrospect, that sometimes my instincts are slightly off the
mark.
I was led into a cubicle with shoulder-high curtained
borders and a massage bed in the middle.
The maître d’, if you will, motioned for me to put my stuff in a basket
off to the side. What exactly to put in
the basket was not clear, but I emptied my pockets and put in my socks. Should I have taken off my shirt/pants?
Strange thoughts go through one’s mind before a massage, but I prefer to err on
the side of caution. I remained fully clothed.
After soaking my feet in tepid water, he began with my left
foot. This was a good thing, because it
would give me a sneak preview of what to expect when he got to my right, sore
heel. I’m guessing that it’s not just
me, but I am extremely ticklish when it comes to my feet. It’s hard for me to relax when I’m
simultaneously squirming and trying not to laugh. He didn’t explore all of my foot as his
Chinese counterpart did, but he covered the highlights and didn’t cause me any
undue pain.
The rest of the massage, I’ll admit was intense. I’m not ashamed to say that I wanted to start
crying a few times. I’m convinced that
he wanted to get my back to crack, like at a chiropractor’s office. I thought I felt some frustration on his part
when he didn’t hear any popping noises, but that might just be me imagining
things. There were times, when the
masseuse touched on some pressure points I never knew existed. How did he find them, and why did he have to
push so hard? The thought of being in an
octagon for an MMA fight kept popping in my head. I’m convinced that if I were in a ring, I
would have tapped out – a few times.
Maybe the manhandling that I was subjected to was payback
for not joining my wife at the thrift store – on Mother’s Day. Maybe the masseuse was trying to get me to
tap out or cry, so he could put another notch on his belt. Or maybe, just maybe, I should have spoken up
a little and kindly asked the guy to take it down a notch. I, of course, am going with the second
option; but like I said earlier, my judgement is sometimes slightly off.
